Ave Maria

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MATKR AMABII.IS.

HENCEFORTH ALL 0ENERAT10N8 SHALL CALL ME BLE86E0. ST. LUnE, 1., 48.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, JULY 1, 1905.

NO. 1.

[ Published every Saturday. Copyright; Rev. D. E. Hudson, C.S.C]

Friendship.

BY LIONEL BYRRA.

T"© what does candor bind me toward the friend

Who freely proffers me his love and trust?

Inflict some pain at times I doubtless must:
His faults and errors 1 may not commend
Or overglaze, nor yet my sanction lend

To acts or views wherein he seems unjust;

Hence, though rebuke cut deep as scalpel-thrust,
Still must I dare, at need, to reprehend.

Yet, brave to censure, let me not ignore
My counter-duty, to acclaim with joy

His worthy deeds and aims, his goodly store
Of virtues staunch no passing faults destroy.

This debt true friendship owns and willing pays,—

To cheer one's friend with frequent cordial praise.

Our Lady the Type of the Church.

BY THE REV. EDUU.ND HILL, C. P.

VE typified the Church in
two ways: first, as the
spouse of Adam ; secondly,
as taken from his side
during the "deep sleep" which "God
caused to fall upon him,"— thus being
"one flesh" with him. For the Church
is the spouse of the Second Adam, and
was taken from His side as He slept
on the cross in death.

After the F'all, however, Eve forfeited
all right to typify the Church any
further ; whereas Mary, the Second Eve,
was to tyfjify it in many ways.

1. And, first, in her Immaculate

Conception and consequent sinlessness.

The Church, as the spouse of Christ,
was "purchased" by Him at the price
of His death. St. Paul says that "He
loved the Church and delivered Himself
up for it, . . . that He might present it to
Himself a glorious Church, not having
spot or wrinkle or any such thing ; but
that it should be holy and without
blemish."* This means, of course, the
ideal Church, or the finally perfected
Mystical Body.

Now, the Blessed Virgin is the type of
the Church in its ideal perfection, having
been conceived without stain and pre-
served "Immaculate," "Inviolate,"" All
Fair," as we love to call her. And she, as
the new Eve, was taken from Our Lord's
side in her Immaculate Conception ;
this peerless grace having been merited
for her by His death. Whence we say,
in the collect of the Immaculate Con-
ception, Qui ex morte ejusdem Filii tui
praevisaeam ab omni labeprseservasti, —
"Who, in virtue of the foreseen death
of the same Thy Son, didst preserve
her from all stain." Mars', then, wa^
par excellence the first-fruits of the
Redemption, — or, in other words, her
redemption was the first-fruits of her
Son's death. She had greater reason
than any one else to "rejoice in God
her Saviour," who could say to her
alone, "Thou art all fair, O my love,
and the stain is not in thee!" Macula
non est in te,—i. e., the "original stain."

2. Secondly, as we contemplate the
mystery of the Annunciation we behold

• Bphes., V, 25-27.

THE AVE MARIA.

a striking t3'pe of the Church. The Holy
Ghost descends upon Mary and makes
her a Virgin Mother— the Mother of
God made man. So at Pentecost the
same Divine Spirit descends upon the
Church and makes her a virgin mother-
mother of the Christ -life whereby all
the faithful become members of the
Mystical Body. And for this reason
Our Lady was present at Pentecost as
Queen of the Apostles, and by her merits
and intercession co-operated in the
coming of the Paraclete.

3. Thirdly, the Blessed Virgin is a still
more striking t3'pe of the Church in the
mystery of the Visitation. Here we see
the New Testament greeting the Old,
the Church saluting the Synagogue;
and the Old Testament, in turn, bearing
witness that the New Covenant has
come. In the womb of Mary is the
promised Messiah ; in that of Elizabeth,
the greatest of the Prophets, the imme-
diate Forerunner of the Christ. And, lo,
at the Virgin Mother's word of greeting
a wondrous thing is done ! The unborn
Baptist "leaps for joy" at the presence
of his Redeemer, by whose merits he is
instantly sanctified, while his mother
is "filled with the Holy Ghost." And
Elizabeth exclaims to her cousin:
"Blessed art thou among women, and
blessed is the Fruit of thy womb ! And
whence is this to me that the Mother
of my Lord should come to me? For
behold, as soon as the voice of thy
salutation sounded in my ears, the
infant in my womb leaped for joy!"

Our Lady, then, is here the channel of
redeeming grace to the unborn Baptist,
and as such the first apostle of the
Precious Blood and the sacrament of
sanctification. And in all this she per-
fectly typifies the Church, which is the
channel of the grace of Redemption, and
holds within herself the Sacramental
System derived from the Precious Blood
and operated by the Holy Ghost.

4. Fourthly, when the Blessed Virgin
presents her Divine Child in the Temple,

offering Him to His Eternal Father,
and herself with Him, for the world's
salvation, do we not see the Church
making her Offertory at Mass? And
when the venerable Simeon, inspired by
the Holy Ghost, foretells the passion
of Jesus, he adds, "Yea, and thine own
soul also a sword shall pierce"; to let
Mar}' know that she must share in the
work of Redemption b}' a martyrdom
of sorrow. Even so does Mother
Church, while continually oflFering the
Eucharistic perpetuation of the Sacrifice
of Calvarj', partake far more of Our
Lady's sorrows than of her jo3'S.

We will now glance at the remaining
six Dolors, and notice how in each the
Sorrowful Mother bears out the type
of the Church.

The second Dolor is "the Flight into
Eg3'pt." Here we see the Church, feared
and persecuted by the world, withdraw-
ing into forced isolation, her truth and
beaut}^ hidden from the vast majority
of souls. But her Beloved is with her.
The Sacramental S3'stem is safe in her
keeping; and so is the Living Word
entrusted to it. Like Mary, she has
the unspeakable consolation of having
Jesus with her.

"The Three Days' Loss" is the third
Dolor. It has been well said that the
Catholic Church sets more value on a
single soul than on the whole temporal
order of the universe. We see, then, in
Our Lady, as she patientl3' and perse-
veringly seeks her Child, a type of
the Church in search of the souls that
have wandered from her keeping, or of
those which have been stolen from her
and brought up in estrangement. She
beholds Jesus Christ in every one of
them, and seeks to regain them for
love of Him.

In the fourth Dolor Mary meets her
Divine Son as He carries the cross to
Calvary. So does the Church come
to meet us and bear us company as
we toil along the Way of the Cross,
the only road to heaven. When we

THE AVE MARIA.

fall under the cross, she helps us to
rise and comforts us.

In the fifth Dolor, again— Mary
standing by the cross as Jesus hangs
upon it and until He dies, — we see the
same dear Mother Church standing
faithfully by us till the close of our
crucified life.

In the sixth Dolor, we have the
Church mourning for our death, and
tenderly interceding for us as we pass
through Purgatory.

And in the seventh Dolor she re-
members us faithfully, no matter who
else may forget us, with an assured
hope of our glorious resurrection.

But Our Lady typifies the Church
more strikingly still in her last three
Dolors. In the fifth, as we contemplate
her standing by the cross, do we not
sec the Church before the altar of all
time offering to the Eternal Father
the supreme sacrifice of atonement in
its Eucharistic form, the Holy Mass ?
This is the consummation of the sac-
rifice begun at the Presentation in the
Temple. And the sixth Dolor forcibly
reminds us that our Blessed Redeemer
has put Himself into the hands of
the Church with the infinite merits of
His passion and death, that she may
continually plead them with the Divine
Justice. Here we have the Church as
the "Refuge of Sinners" even as Our
Lady herself is. And the seventh Dolor
bids us think of our Mother the Church
keeping watch over the Prisoner of the
Tabernacle; and, again, of her devotion
to the souls in purgatory, and of her
faith so staunchl3' affirming: "I look
for the resurrection of the dead, and
the life of the world to come."

Once more. In her Assumption we
recognize Our Lady as the type of
the Church when "the days of her
mourning shall be ended." For the
Church of the elect, the Mystical Body
finally perfected, will have her assump-
tion at the last day. The bodies of
the just will be "raised in glory," and

eventually assumed into heaven. If
Our Lord's Resurrection and Ascension
were a pledge of ours, yet He rose from
the dead and ascended into heaven by
His own power, being God ; whereas
His Blessed Mother was raised up and
assumed into heaven hr Him. Her
Assumption, then, was still more the
pledge of our own. In her Immaculate
Conception she was the first-fruits of
her Divine Son's victory over sin; in
her Assumption, of His triumph over
death.

And equally in Mary's Coronation
do we see that of the Church ; when
she, in turn, shall be crowned by her
Heavenly Bridegroom with eternal
glory and imperishable joy.

It remains to consider in a future
article the Scriptural t3'pes of Our Lady
and the Church together. We shall
find it a most interesting study.

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. 9ADLIBH.

XXV.— A Declaration of War.

'^*" ORD AYLWARD during all this
11 time had striven, as far as
possible, to make the best of a
bad bargain. He kept up appearances
so well, indeed, it almost seemed to
some that his attachment to Leonora
Chandler had been a mere passing
fancy, and that he himself was more
than half relieved by the turn of
events. Even Jim Bretherton, though
he did not go so far in his conclusions,
was puzzled by his friend's demeanor.
Aylward's gayety at times might have
seemed, to a close observer, a trifle
overstrained, and his laughter to ring
hollow; but he devoted
ously to every spor^/^
familiar figure at tl "
was a shining ligli
cultivated an intini?
dwellers on the ThJ

THE AVE MARIA.

offering himself as a voluntary target
for a score or more of the brightest
eyes.

The Thorneycroft circle, as a whole,
applauded the good sense and discretion
of the Britisher in cutting loose from a
dangerous entanglement; and trusted
that Jim Bretherton would, likewise,
in course of time, see the error of his
waj's and turn his back upon Rose
Cottage and its occupants. Had the
unconscious Leonora been, in point of
fact, a Circe, or that "siren of old who
sang under the sea," she could not
have been discussed with more ominous
shaking of the head and lowering
of the voice. She constituted, in the
opinion of Thorneycroft, a distinct peril
to all eligible young men.

This opinion would have been rather
increased than lessened had they been
aware that Lord Aylward sought in
their exclusive society a refuge at once
from himself and Leonora. He was
anxious to efface himself, in so far as
the girl was concerned ; and to relieve
her from the embarrassment of encoun-
tering him in her accustomed haunts.
He wished, moreover, to save Jim
Bretherton the awkwardness which
might arise, and to give him full
opportunity of prosecuting his suit,
unfettered by the presence of a whilom
rival.

In truth, however, he often longed
for a sight of Leonora's face, with that
bright and winning smile which, he
knew to his cost, was so irresistibly
attractive. He looked back upon that
evening sjient at Miss Tabitha's hearth,
with the blazing log fire roaring up
the chimney, and the spinster's beau-
tiful niece at his side, as the happiest
of his life. It somehow stuck in his
memory longer than any other incident
of his acquaintance with the girl.

To the Thorneycroft young ladies,
one and all, he was courteous and
deferential, ever willing to oblige and
to join in any of their projected amuse-

ments. But he was clad in triple-plated
armor as regarded all the shafts of
coquetry. Bright eyes cast their most
bewitching glances at him in vain;
neither smiles nor honeyed words could
touch him. He never paid compliments,
and he showed no special preference for
any one at Thorneycroft. Therefore,
though he was a general favorite, there
was a universal, if secret, disappoint-
ment at his attitude of imperturbable
reserve.

When he was not at Thorneycroft,
he often took long solitary walks, in
the course of which he sometimes fell
a-wonderingwhat might have happened
if Jim Bretherton had not been in the
running. Would Leonora then have
cared for him and have been willing to
share his fortune and his title?

During these rambles he occasionally
met wnth Jesse Craft, and there grew
up between the two a curious intimacy.
The old man was, perhaps, the only one
to enter into the young lord's feelings
and appreciate his efforts at unconcern.
He declared that "the Britisher was
game every time. Yes, sir-ee, Jesse Craft
knows a man when he sees him; and
this here don't wear no heart upon his
sleeve for daws to peck at." The philos-
opher in his ruminations frequently
lamented that two such men as Lord
Aylward and young Mr. Bretherton
should have set their heart upon the
same woman. "As if there ain't gals in
the world plenty as blackberries; only,"
he added, "the tarnation pity is that
there ain't a few more like Lenora
Chandler!"

One day Lord Aylward met the old
man down Ijeside the brook, at the
point most distant from the mill. Jesse
sat there angling, though he gave it
as his opinion that the pond was
about "fished dry." Lord Aylward
seated himself upon an upturned boat
which lay near, and entered into con-
versation. The unspoken sympathy
between them lent a flavor of friend-

THE AVE MARIA.

liness to the talk, which was upon
homely subjects, and widelj' enough
removed, at first, from anything like
personalities. Jesse Craft discoursed of
Millbrook and its industries, of the
changes that he had seen even in the
comparatively few j'ears in which he
had made his dwelling there. Previ-
ously he had, as he himself expressed
it, "growed up like a sapling among
the Green Mountains of Vermont." He
had a good deal to say about fishing,
an art in which he professed to be an
expert; and the discourse widened out
to the big catches which were caught
in other places — in broad rivers, great
lakes, and the wide, wide sea.

It was a gray November day. The
overcast sky threw a shadow over
the brook, in which lay reflected the
willow-trees and elms and alder bushes,
almost leafless now ; and, at some
distance lower down, the mill itself.
A chill breeze was blowing; there was
a suspicion of frost in the air, and
distant Mount Holyoke was completely
hidden.

Jesse Craft, who was fond of a bit
of gossip now and then, fell into some
personal anecdotes of the townspeople.
He gave them a quaint and piquant
flavor, and Lord Aylward found himself
listening to the simple details of these
local celebrities with an interest which
surprised him. He, who had familiarly
known many of the great personages of
Mayfair and Belgravia, and had heard
in his time the tittle-tattle of a court,
found quite as keen a relish in learning
how Miss Spencer, the buxom vender of
chocolates, had been jilted in her youth
by a commercial "gent" from New
York; how Reuben JacksoiT had wor-
shiped Leonora Chandler at a distance ;
and how Tommy Briggs had written
verses about her, some of which found
their way, unsigned, into the corner of
the local paper; how, too, the butcher,
Mr. Venn, had striven to console Miss
Spencer for her early disappointment,

and had been soured by the refusal of
that lady to accept such consolation.

It was another instance showing
that the whole world is much akin, and
that human nature in its broad, general
features is universally interesting. The
great or the lowly are but relatively
great and lowly. Their loves and their
hates, their jealousies and their ambi-
tions, are cast, so to say, but in different
sizes of the same mould.

The discourse at length turned upon
Eben Knox, concerning yvhom Lord
Aylward, mindful of his late observa-
tions in the electioneering tour with his
friend, asked a question :
^ "Do you know the manager of the
mill down yonder, — a fellow called
Knox?"

"I know him jest as well as I want
to know him. He's a pizon snake,
he is!"

Aylward smiled at the description.

" He growed among the marshes
there on the edge of the pond. He's a
slimy sarpent, and no mistake. And,"
continued the old man, emphatically,
"I could overlook his crawlin' about
as if he was scared of the light of
heaven — it's the nature of the beast, —
but when I see him castin' them fishes'
eyes of his at Lenora Chandler, then
I want to jump and to trample on
the scoundrel!"

Lord Aylward grew very red in the
face.

"How do you mean?" he inquired.
"What has this fellow Knox got to
do with Miss Chandler?"

" He ain't got nothin' to do with her.
She won't look at him. But folks say
he's mighty set on marryin' her."

"On marrying Miss Chandler! Im-
possible I "

"He don't put it in that way at
all. To him it ain't impossible. He's
got a pile of tin stored up. He could
buy and sell pretty near the whole of
Millbrook. He'd like to have Lenora
thrown in to the job lot, d'ye see?"

THE AYE MAFWA.

Lord Ay 1 ward did see and waxed
very wroth ; he would Uke to have had
a chance of kicking the manager, of
dousing him in the pond, of challenging
him to a pugilistic contest. He did
not, however, give much outward ex-
pression to his emotion, repressing its
ebullitions within his own breast.

"Of nights," went on Jesse, "I've
seen him come in Miss Tabithy's gate
and crawl round that there cottage,
with his eyes glued to Lenora's window
upstairs. Jerusha Jane! how bad I
wanted to pelt him out of there!
And Jesse Craft would have done it-
yes, sir-ee, — if it hadn't been for the
hornet's nest of talk it would have let
loose."

Lord Aylward smothered an excla-
mation which was in hearty sympathy
with the dispositions of his garrulous
acquaintance; and Jesse continued :

"But what worries me most is that
Miss Tabithy encourages Eben Knox.
She brings him in and sets him on her
best chair, and she tries her level best
to make Lenora take a hand in the
game. Furthermore, it's my belief that
she'd be willin' to marry the girl to
Knox. I'd see him first in the Kingdom
of Perdition, I would!"

And the old man, in his excitement,
drew his line so sharply out of the
water that it broke, and he spent the
next few moments in seeking to recover
and to join together the broken ends.

Lord A3'lward, amazed at Jesse Craft's
disclosures, especially as regarded Miss
Tabitha, exclaimed incredulously:

"What could be her motive?"

"The motive that's tempted many a
one before her," replied Jesse Craft,
grimly, — "money, cash down, and no
mistake."

"But," objected Lord Aylward, "if she
wanted her niece to marry for money,
there were — other opportunities."

" Mebbe Miss Tabithy didn't set store
by them, seein' that birds too high
above head might be unsartain, She

preferred, I take it, a bird in the hand."

"She might have had— that is, Miss
Chandler might have had — any bird,"
blurted out the young Englishmstn.

"Wall, mebbe she found that out
too late, or mebbe she's got some
other crank in her head. There ain't
no ends to the twistin' and turnin'
of women's minds. I take it, from
scraps of talk that come over my way,
that Knox is bound to marry the girl,
and that Miss Tabithy has promised
to help."

"Why— why, that's iniquitous ! " cried
Aylward. "I never heard of anything
so outrageous. But I am sure of
one thing — Miss Chandler will never
consent."

"Not if she can help herself," Jesse
Craft declared, thoughtfully. " But there
may be a heap sight more to this
business than you or I knows."

"Why doesn't she marry — "
' Lord Aylward stopped abruptly. He
had no right to make his friend's secret
public property.

The old man, however, finished the
sentence quite complacently:

"You want to know why she don't
marry the Governor's son, — a fine
feller, son of a bright father, and
means business ; leastways it looks like
that now. That's jest the question
that's worryin' me. Why don't she
marry him, or — another fine feller that
took a shine to her?"

Knowing that this was meant as a
delicate allusion to his own unsuccess-
ful suit, the young man flushed hotly
under the tan which thickly imbrowned
his face. But Jesse Craft was too
intent upon the problems which were
agitating his mind to observe the
other's embarrassment.

One thing, however, was clear to
the perception of Lord Aylward: the
motive which had inspired Eben Knox
in opposing the election of young Mr.
Bretherton was that of personal
enmity. The inspiring cause of that

THE AVE MARIA.

enmity was, all too evidently, Leonora
Chandler. It was a hateful thought
that this man should have dared to
raise his eyes to such a girl ; but it
was, nevertheless, natural enough.

In his own opinion, perhaps in that
of some others, Eben Knox was, after
a fashion, a magnate. He was at
the head of an iitiportant business
concern, and had acquired wealth,
which is the modern lever that can
raise the world. However objection-
able he might be as regarded his
personality, he was, in point of position
and importance, the only one outside
of Thorneycroft or the Manor itself
who could be an admissible suitor for
Miss Tabitha's niece.

Lord Aylward's reasoning power,
which was not very swift or subtle, was
exact ; and he saw that Eben Knox, to
a certain extent, had right upon his
side. It was his privilege, as well as
another man's, to bestow his attentions
where he would.

The young Englishman, therefore,
strove to combat the indignation which
rose within him, nevertheless, at
thought of the "fellow's presumption"
in aspiring to Leonora. He felt a sort
of loathing at the thought that,
through Miss Tabitha's intermediacy,
Eben Knox might be permitted to
intrude with his odious proposal of
marriage upon the unwilling girl. He
would have done almost anything to
prevent such an occurrence. He had
made up his mind to relinquish Leonora
with as good a grace as possible, in
favor of Jim Bretherton, whom he knew
to be, as he expressed it, the best and
finest fellow in the world.

"But, by Jove," he exclaimed— in the
solitude, be it understood, of his own
breast, — "if it is a question of that
death's-head over at the mill, there'll
be a fight for it! If Jim doesn't stand
to win, then hurrah for the Union Jack !
I'll contest every inch of ground with
the other chap."

He did not, how^ever, communicate
this resolution to his companion ; but
he thought it no harm to inform Jesse
Craft of what he had observed at the
political meeting. This information was
received by the old man, who had been
furiously indignant at Jim's defeat, with
appropriate sentiments.

" The low-down sneak ! " he cried. " If
I had been behind him, I'd have let fly
a kick that would have made him
jump. Religion, indeed, and liberty!
Well, he'd have got religion that time,
anyhow, camp-meetin' style. He ain't
got no more of it than a dog; and as
for liberty, he treats his mill hands as
if they was black slaves, he do ! "

All this time Jesse Craft's fishing had
progressed but little. In his agitation
he gave vigorous pulls upon the line at
the very moment when, according to
the indication of ripples on the surface
of the water, a bite might have been
expected. He began now to wind up the
tackle, with a view to discontinuing his
profitless sport; stopping, however, in
the middle of this new occupation, which
he pursued with trembling fingers, to
point out a kingfisher circling over the
pond.

"D'ye see that thar bird?" he said.
" He circles about and he circles, gettin'
closer every time to the critter swimmin'
under water, until — thar goes! Yes,
sir-ee, he's got it!"

Down went the hawk with the
rapidity of a lightning flash, and up
again, with its finny prey writhing and
struggling in the strong beak.

"Thar you have it!" cried the old
man, excitedly. "Eben Knox circles
round and round, nearer and nearer.
Lenora don't know what's afoot, until
at last he's got her. I'd rather see her
drowned first."

"Or married to some other fellow,
which is a far better alternative ; don't
you think so, Mr. Craft ? Now you and
I must put our heads together and see
what we can do about it. My passage

8

THE AVE MARIA.

is booked to England this day two
weeks."

"I wondered what you was stayin'
around here for," observed Jesse Craft,
thoughtfully.

"Much on the principle, I suppose,
that the moth stays near the candle,"
the young man answered, reddening
again, and laughing. "Besides, I had
promised to see my friend through the
election. That being over, I have taken
mj' state-room for Liverpool a fortnight
from now. If, however, there is any
chance of helping Mr. Bretherton in
another matter, and of defeating in
any way whatever the designs of this
hawk-manager, or manager-hawk, why,
I shall let my passage go to Jericho
and stay on here a bit longer."

"How far you can be useful, I can't
say instanter," rejoined the old man,
concluding his operations with the
fishing tackle, which he deposited in a
capacious pocket; "nor how far it is
wise, when your own feelin's is con-
sidered. My advice to you, at this
partic'lar time, would be to cut and
run, — run for your life. Yes, sir, that's
the treatment where feelin's and the
female sex is concerned."

This was not precisely palatable
advice, though it was eminently wise.
Very possibly a grain of hope had
entered the young man's heart. He
would not oppose Jim Bretherton, even
if he could ; but if it might be supposed
for a moment that Eben Knox were
the real competitor, then, indeed. Lord
Aylward felt that he would ignore
Leonora's rejection of his suit and
enter the lists once more. On the
other hand, should it turn out, as was
more probablj' the case, that the mill
manager was engaged in some more
of his nefarious machinations, by which
he hoped to secure Miss Tabitha's niece
for himself, Lord Aylward felt that he
would make almost any sacrifice to
defeat him.
His face set into lines of obstinac}', as

he declared his intention of remaining
a bit longer at Millbrook.

"I shall be a very prudent moth,
though," he explained; "and avoid
singeing my wings at the blaze."

Jesse Craft eyed him steadily for some
moments, without speaking. Presently
he blurted out:

"It seems tarnation easy when a
body's young to keep at jest the safe
distance from a flame ; when you're old
you've larned that you can't run far
enough away. It's like a ship goin'
down in mid-ocean. Only the old tar
suspicions that the farther off from her
the better. It took me thirty-five odd
years of my life to lam that lesson;
but you bet when I did get it into
my head, I jest cut and run. Yes, sir,
I put three thousand miles between
me and the Green Mountain State. I
wintered in Californy, and I summered
off the coast of Greenland in a whaler.
I only ventured back again twenty-five
years later; and then I didn't settle
down in Vermont. I split the differ
and came here to this town of Mill-
brook, State of Massachusetts, where
I hadn't ever been before."

Lord Aylward sat and looked at the
old man with sympathetic interest,
but he asked no question.

"And yet, sir, if you was to ask
me what thar is to-day in that thar
town among the Green Mountains to
keep me out of my native place, why,
I'd tell you there ain't nothin' but a
grave. It's been green, I reckon, a
dozen summers now."

Jesse Craft looked away into the
distance, where clouds were lowering,
dark and heavy, over Mount Holyoke;
and Lord Aylward, busying himself
with a rope's end attached to the
boat upon which he sat, affected not
to notice that his companion furtively
wiped his eyes with the back of a horny
hand. There was silence, — a silence full
of meaning between the two men. The
wind, more chilly than ever, blew past

THE AVE MARIA.

9

them in a cutting blast ; and the young
peer of the British realm shivered, not
so much with cold as at the suggestion
contained in this simple history — the
wreck, in so far as happiness was con-
cerned, of a life.

"I'm awfully obliged to you for
telling me," Lord Aylward said at
last, in a low voice; "and I'm quite
sure you're right. Only we'll help Mx-
Bretherton, if we can, through this
affair, and then I'll follow your advice
and put thousands of miles between
me and Millbrook."

"I'm yer man for whatever's on foot
in respect to the crushin' of sarpents
and such like work," said Jesse Craft,
heartily; "and I swan it's a tarnation
pity theic ain't two of them."

Aylward knew that his companion
was not referring in the numeral to
"sarpents" but to Leonora Chandler;
and, despite his own pain, which the
conversation with the old man had
intensified, he laughed his wholesome
boyish laugh.

"Hooray," cried Jesse Craft, "for the
war on pizon snakes!"

And as he spoke, and as the two
stood up preparatory to leaving the
spot, the bell of the mill clanged out
the hour for the cessation of work.

"There's that pestiferous bell," said
Jesse Craft, "ringing for five o'clock!
It's the most ear-splittin' contrivance
that ever was, and fit to lift the roof
off a feller's head."

He eyed the bell wrothfully, as it
swung sullenly on the red roof, under
the ominous gray of the sky.

"They tell me it's been disturbin' the
peace of this town for seventy odd
years. It was the father of the sarpent
that put it up there. He's quiet enough
now, under the sod ; but his pesky bell
goes on jest the same."

The old man and the young walked a
little farther together, to a turning of
the road where their paths separated ;
and they parted, with a hand -shake

which was the sincerest possible token
of good will and amity. It mattered
not that the one was destined to
take his seat some day in the proudest
legislative body in the world, to
administer vast estates, and to cut
an important figure in the world of
fashion ; and that the other had but
to live out his allotted span in an
humble frame -dwelling within sound
of the mill bell, and to find his place
at last among the Millbrook worthies
in an obscure cemetery. There is a
sympathy which levels all barriers,
which is broad as the world, universal
as humanity.

As Jesse Craft passed homeward, he
caught sight of Eben Knox wending
his way to the mill-house; and, mut-
tering some uncomplimentary epithets
concerning the manager's nefarious
doings in the late election contest, he
vowed that, like Lord Aylward, he
would do his best to thwart him in
any fiiture projects against Leonora
Chandler or young Mr. Bretherton.

( To be continued. )

The Creed of the Cheerful.

BY EDWIN CARLILE LITSEY.

I BELIEVE in saying the best I can.
In every way, of my fellowman.

I believe in faith, and the power of prayer;
I believe that God will in mercy spare.

I believe In speaking a word of hope

To the desolate ones who in darkness grope.

And I think that to bind up a broken heart
Is more marvellous far than a work of art.

I believe there is joy in excess of pain ;
I believe there is good in excess of bane.

I believe that we each must watch with care;
That none are too strong for the evil snare.

I believe that in putting ourselves aside
We nearer come to the Crucified.

I believe each life is given the power
To meet the needs of each passing hour.

10

THE AVE MARIA.

A Sturdy Heroine.

BY JANET GRANT.

" V/'OU and your husband go to the

1 theatre very often, is it not so ? "

The stohd- looking German Frau
who occupied the choice second • story
apartement of the Hotel Lincoln, on one
of the West Side streets of New York,
was paying a neighborly call upon the
pretty little woman whose large family
of children overcrowded the suite below.

Lucy Connell received the question
with a stare of surprise.

"We go often to the theatre?" she
repeated blankly. "Why, no! It is
some time since Jack and I have been
to a play; though, indeed, I do love
a good comedy. And before we were
married — well. Jack was a generous
and attentive lover, and I believe we
saw every play worth seeing that was
on the boards during the winter we
were engaged."

A far-off expression crept into the
eyes of the young matron as her
thoughts went back to that happiest
time in a woman's life, when love's
sweet question has been asked and
answered, and she is like a queen come
into possession of her own, as sovereign
of a good man's heart.

"Then if it is not the play, it is
the music," persisted Mrs. Von Koener,
phlegmatically. "Sometimes you go
out by yourself of an evening during
the week; sometimes he goes alone;
but on Sunday evenings you always
go together. 'No doubt it is to the
concert at the Metropolitan Opera
House they are bound,' I said to my
Carl last night. Ah, one time I used
to like the music also! But now my
Carl never takes me anywhere."

"Dear Frau Von Koener, what do
you mean?" gasped her cheerj- hostess,
perplexed. "Indeed I should just love
to go to the concerts, and so would

Jack; but, you know, with so many
little children to care for and work
for, we have not much money to spare
for amusements."

"Ach Himmel, then where do you go,
the both of you, on Sunday nights and
once in a while of an evening during the
week?" inquired the visitor, with no
attempt to "hide her curiosity.

Mrs. Connell colored with indignation
at the impertinence of the query. Then,
as the humorous aspect of her* neigh-
bor's persistence presented itself to her,
she broke into a peal of merry laughter.

"Well, Frau, if you must know," she
said, "we go to church. In this parish
there is always something going on.
Jack is interested, and when I go I feel
happier and better fitted to take up the
duties of another day."

"It is to the church of the Catholics
you go ; that is your pursuasion, so my
Gretchen, who plays with your little
Mary, tells me," pursued Mrs. Von
Koener, imperturbably. "My Carl used
to be a Catholic once already."

' ' But there is no such thing as ' used to
be' among us," protested Mrs. Connell.

"Yes, before he married me, who have
no religion," pursued the other woman,
as if she had not heard. "Oh, for long
after indeed, he was a good man! But
now, since some time— there is no trying
to hide it: you yourself have seen
him coming in, — for some time yet his
onl3' church is the saloon; his only
God is Gamljrinus, as we say in the
old countrj'."

Frau Von Koener spoke hopelessly,
with her e3'es fixed on vacancy, and
her hands resting upon her knees as
she swayed to and fro in her chair.

All at once there came to light-hearted
Mrs. Connell a sense of what this
outwardly passive woman must have
suffered alone and in silence. During
the months of their acquaintance, never
before had she uttered a complaint.
Kind little Lucy cast about in her mind
for words in which delicately to express

THE AVE MARIA.

11

her sympathy without inviting from
the other an unwifely revelation of the
shortcomings of the jovial Von Keener,
whose employment with a steamship
company called him away very early
in the morning, and who loved genial
society and a "good time" better than
the staidness of his household. She
was, however, spared the necessity of
replying.

"I think I will go with you to your
church sometime already," said Frau
Von Koener, calmly. "I will see for
myself what makes you so contented
in working for your little children, and
what makes your husband so good
to you."

A slight frown of annoyance crossed
Mrs. Connell's pretty face. Sunday
evening was about the only time she
and Jack had to themselves. A book-
keeper in a wholesale house down-town,
his salary was small; 'although his
prospects would surely improve when
his employers learned his worth,' Lucy
always assured him bravely. Still, he
had scant leisure; moreover, even the
best of mothers likes to get away from
the children sometimes and go out with
her husband. Jack did not fancy Mrs.
Von Koener ; and perhaps if he heard of
her offer to accompany them, he would
not go to church at all.

Lucy, nevertheless, promptly took
herself to task for the wish to invent
an excuse for not taking up the Frau's
proposal.

" Very well, if you really wish to go,"
she said sweetly.

At the next opportunity that pre-
sented itself for carrying out her project,
Frau Von Koener descended upon the
Connells, attired in her holiday best.
Jack "behaved like an angel," Mrs.
Connell observed which was certainly
an extraordinary compliment for a
man to receive from his better half.
Suppressing an inclination to vent his
impatience in expletives, he escorted the
ladies with an outward amiabilit3'

that won for him this appreciative
comparison from his little helpmate.

In the church Frau Von Koener sat
between the couple. She was still
stolidlj' serene, but her large black
eyes roved about, taking note of her
surroundings. When the time for
the sermon came and the preacher
announced his text. Jack looked across
at his wife and raised his eyebrows,
half in regret, half in amusement. Lucy
flushed and cast a sidelong glance at
her guest. But Frau Von Koener never
moved a muscle; nor did she allude
to the subject on the way home.

"I thank you, my friends, for a very
interesting evening," she said, as she
took leave of them at the door of their
aparternent. That was all.

"I am afraid that sermon on 'Mixed
Marriages' was rather hard on your
friend, Lucy," remarked Jack, as he
turned up the gas in their small parlor.
"But you may console yourself with
the reflection that she came with us
through no suggestion of yours."

"Yes: she invited herself," replied
Lucy, with a sigh, as she took off her
hat and, from force of habit, fluffed up
her hair before the mantel mirror.

The morning was usually a time of
commotion with the Connells. Jack
was always in haste to set out for
the office; the older children had to
be hurried off to school; there were
the two -year -old and the hahy to
be dressed; the maid-of-all-work must
be instructed in her duties, and the
orders must be given to the provision
boy.

Scarcely had the young mistress of
the household time to take breath after
having lent a hand here and there to
make everything go well, when Frau
Von Koener arrived unceremoniously
for one of her visitations.

" Acb Himmel, you are still busy!"
she exclaimed in surprise. " My Gretchen
and Fritz have been gone to school for

12

THE AVE MARIA.

more than an hour ; since when I read
the Herald.''

" When my babies are as old as Fritz
and Gretchen, perhaps I shall have more
time too," laughed Lucy, taking off an
expansive white apron. " But now I am
quite ready for a chat."

The Frau awaited no second invita-
tion, but ensconced herself forthwith in
the Morris chair, her favorite coigne of
vantage, since from here she could look
out of the window as well as survey
the room. On this occasion, however,
she did not, as usual, keep one eye on
what was passing in the street; for
she evidently had something especial
on her mind.

"My friend, I am beginning to see
why things go wrong with me," she
cried presently.

Lucy was at once all sympathy.

" Has anything happened, dear Frau? "
she inquired anxiously.

Mrs. Von Koener was always kind
about the children, and the little mother
was grateful.

"Nein, nothing new," explained the
Frau, with the faintest show of im-
patience. "But I have been thinking of
what your priest said, that a marriage
contracted in opposition to the wishes
of the Church often brings its own
punishment."

"Yes?" said Lucy, interrogatively.

"Years ago, when I first met my Carl,
he was the best among the young men
I knew," went on Mrs. Von Koener.
"When we were first married it was
the same, but after awhile all was
changed. And now I am thinking it
w^as my fault. In marrying with me,
who am of no religion, he brought a
punishment upon himself, upon our
children. It is for this reason that he
has ceased of late to prosper, that he
is growing idle, that he is beginning
to drink."

Thus she uncompromisingly shoul-
dered the burden of blame.

"Irreligion certainly brings a punish-

ment upon a household; yet perhaps
you reproach yourself too much,"
protested Lucy, aghast at the extent
of her neighbor's self- denunciation.
"Even though one may have to suffer
for his mistakes of the past, his faults
of the present are the acts of his
own will."

"He married me out of the Church,
as you say. How could he expect to
have luck?" pursued Mrs. Von Koener,
relentless toward herself "Why, I have
never even been baptized!"

"Oh!" ejaculated Mrs. Council. And
then suddenly she checked the words
upon her lips.

Here was a strange problem, — one
far beyond the power of her simple
perceptions to grapple with unaided.
But she felt intuitively that a turning-
point had been reached in the life of her
neighbor ; that, by a way of bitterness,
and a self-reproach which partook of
the heroic, the mind of Frau Von Koener
was struggling toward the light. ,

One evening, a short time later, Carl
Von Koener was aroused from his
easy indifference by his wife's abrupt
announcement :

"To-morrow, my Carl, I am to be
baptized a Catholic, — the same as you
were when we met in Germany in the
days when we were young. Now again
you must return to the faith in which
you were reared, is it not so?"

A few weeks afterward, won partly
perhaps by very shamefacedness for
his own shortcomings in contrast to
her persevering zeal, he yielded and
made his Easter duty for the first
time in many long j'ears. The children,
Fritz and Gretchen, needed only to be
instructed. Soon they asked for and
obtained baptism. Thus did Frau Von
Koener work wonders through her
plodding determination to set right
any wrong of which she might have
unknowingly been the cause.

In this remarkable domestic drama

THE AVE MARIA.

13

with which young Mrs. Connell had
been brought into such close touch
there was, however, one point that
caused the latter lady much uneasiness
and plunged her into a quandary as to
what she ought to do. An end was
put to this dilemma by the valiant
Frau herself.

"Since I had never been christened
when I married my Carl, and as I have
been told there is no marriage between
a Christian and an unbeliever, it must
be that I am not married to him at
all?" she said.

" Oh, legally, of course it is all right ! "
answered Lucy, hastily. "And it can
readily be set right also in accordance
with the laws of the Church."

" Ach Himmel! what will my Carl
say when I tell him I can take another
husband if I choose?" continued Frau
Von Koener, bluntly.

Lucy uttered an exclamation of
shocked astonishment. But a quick
glance at her neighbor, and the wave
of color that swept over the face of
the good German woman, presently
told her that, in spite of the hght
word with which the Frau attempted
to veil her distress, this was the
greatest trial of all.

Lucy's misapprehension restored het-
friend's gravity.

"To be sure, I spoke only in jest,"
she avowed. "But what, then, am I
to do? Is it that I must deck myself
as a bride again and go up to the
altar on the arm of my Carl, as we
did when we were young? A fine bride
I will be, already yet!"

While speaking she cast a critical
glance at the counterfeit presentment
of her ruddy face and ample figure in
the mirror over the chimney-piece.

Lucy smiled at the picture conjured
up by her visitor.

"No, no! You and Herr Von Koener
need only to go and be quietly married
by Father Byrnes in the rectory parlor,
or by any other priest," she explained.

"Jack and I will be glad to be the
witnesses, and no one else need know
about it."

"But my Carl would fell to the
ground any one who would dare to
say I am not his wife!" cried Mrs.
Von Koener, entirely serious now.
"How, then, am I to get him to go
through the ceremony again?"

Carl was, indeed, as angry as she
predicted, and at first it was impossible
to convince him that there was any
necessity for a repetition of the cere-
mony. He finally agreed to it, never-
theless, "to please the good Frau."
Thus all was made smooth.

"It is just like we have begun life
anew," Mrs. Von Koener confided to
Lucy some time later. "We are having
a second honeymoon, — is not this what
you call it? And I tell Carl that my
second husband is much better than
was my first. Indeed — what you think —
he is growing quite steady again, brings
home his money, and we are happy as
the day is long!"

So did the domestic skies of the Von
Koeners continue fair. If Carl on his
part found this new wife less given to
upbraidings than the old, she now kept
him up to his duty by an unswerving
example.

"My friend," he said to Jack Connell,
"you know I have to go to work early
on Sunday mornings as on other days,
but I do not stay from church any
more. For the Frau wakens me before
daylight, and is ready to go with me
to the five-o'clock Mass. Ach, a mar-
vellously clever woman she is ! I would
marry her a hundred times over if she
wished it. For a man who has a good
wife can put up with any trouble that
comes to him in life. Have you not
found it so already yet?"

Though a woman's counsel isn't
worth much, he that despises it is no
wiser than he should be.

— Saacho Panza.

14

THE AVE MARIA.

The Potomac's Monument to Stafford.

BV wn,LIAM F. CARXE.

HEW know that the Virginia side
of the Potomac River, opposite
the nation's capital, and for scores of
miles above and belov^\ was named, by-
its people, Stafford County, in honor of
Viscount Stafford, the history of whose
martyrdom was published in the pages
of this magazine some time ago.* Its
boundaries have, as the years passed,
been contracted and several other
counties formed ; but about thirty miles
of river front, which the tourist passes
journeying on the river to and from
Washington, is still a monument to
that illustrious martyr for the Catholic
Faith and religious liberty.

The needs of the terrible times that
preceded Stafford's death made prudence
a cardinal virtue indeed. The faithful
Catholics were sent as sheep in the
midst of wolves, and needed the wisdom
of the serpent. All movements to obtain
freedom for the worship of God in the
dominions of the King of England were
of necessity cloaked ; and undertakings,
especially designed to give the faithful
Catholic opportunity to practise his
religion, took the shape of literary or
commercial enterprises.

Of all undertakings of this kind, in
his neighborhood of English Stafford-
shire, we can not doubt that the
martyred Viscount was quietly but
diligently the promoter. We have no
record of his work; yet we can see
his hand building up on the Potomac
a home for Catholics in Virginia similar
to that which Lord Baltimore, under
more powerful protection, had estab-
lished in Maryland, — a home for Catho-
licity and religious freedom. He saw
from the skies, after his martyrdom,

• "How a Martyr .Met His Death." By the Rer.
H. G. [lughen Th« Av« Maria, Vol. lix, No«. aj. 14.

his designs realized, and his name for
all time planted on the Virginia shore,
opposite Lord Baltimore's colony and
close to Mount Vernon.

It is indeed fitting that a Virginia
county so near the capital of the United
States should be named for an English
Catholic who was a martyr not more
for his adhesion to the Faith of our
fathers than for religious liberty. Says
Hume: "Stafford, when again called
before the House of Peers, discovered
many schemes which had been laid
by himself and others, for procuring
toleration to the Catholics, — at least
a mitigation of the penal laws enacted
against them; and he protested that
this was the sole treason of which he
had ever been guilty."* For this he
died. The blood of the martyr became
the seed of the Church in Virginia,
which, for years choked by thorns, has
found, nevertheless, some good ground,
and is now filled with the promise of
an abundant fertility.

The Catholicity of Staffordshire,
England, has been a feature of its
history. In the perilous days of the
penal laws some of its gentry, embark-
ing to seek and to give religious liberty
in Maryland, found their way to the
shore of Virginia, a few miles distant,
at most, across the Potomac from the
confines of Lord Baltimore's colony. A
recent genealogical notice f of the Brent
family in America tells succinctly of
the arrival of the family in Maryland
and in Virginia:

On November 22, 1638, there arrived in Mary-
land Mr. Foulk Brent and Mr. Giles Brent,
accompanied by their sisters, Margaret and
Mary Brent, and a large number of servants.
The iirst entry of a patent for town lands on
the Rent Rolls of St. Mary's County is one for
"Sisters' Freehold" to Margaret and Mary Brent,
dated December, 1638.

Captain George Brent, the sixth son of Richard
Brent and Elizabeth Reed, and younger brother

• " History of England." By David Hume. Esq. Vol. iv,
p. 361. American Edition. Albany: B. D. Packard. i8i«.
t Baltimore Sun, March 37, 1904.

THE AYE MARIA.

16

of Captain Giles and Mistress Margaret Brent,
married Marianna, daughter of Sir John Dun-
nington, in the Isle of Ely, by whom he had
George, John, Henrj', WilHam, Edward, Robert,
and several daughters. George came to Virginia
and settled at Woodstock, in Stafford County.
He married the daughter of Captain William
Green, of Bermuda, and niece of Sir William
Layton. For his second wife he won the daughter
of Henry Sewall and Jane Lowe, his wife.

The Stafford history seems to be that
Gerard Fowke, or Ffowke, of Gunston
Hall, Captain Giles Brent, and Isaac
Allerton came together, and brought
with them some retainers. Gathering
others in Maryland, and obtaining land
grants in Virginia, some of them as
early as 1655 settled about Potomac
Creek. They were not missionaries, but
they worked to keep the Catholic Faith
and further their fortunes in the new
country. The priests of the Maryland
side of the river visited them, and
traditions of Masses offered in that
section of Virginia have never faded
out. They thus renewed the Holy
Sacrifice at almost the same sites at
•which Father Altham had offered the
Mass among the Potomac and Doegg
Indians thirty years before. This v^-as
the more easy because the Cromwellian
government of Virginia had bridled
the Anglican State Church; and its
ministers were more anxious to protect
themselves than to enforce the penal
laws against priests.

Among the names of minor Catholic
families which record or tradition has
handed down from the unreckoned time
are those of Woolls, Pape, or Pope,
and Hammersley. For a long time
they enjoyed exemption from perse-
cution, because few in number and
distant from the central authorities
at Jamestown or Williamsburg. They
traded with the Indians, raised tobacco,
and kept the even tenor of their way.*

• Stafford County was created by the act of
its people without legislative enactment. " About
this time [1665] the upper part of Westmoreland
was cut off, apparently by the act of the people

Four years after Stafford's death
James II. came to the throne; and the
result of Stafford's work was seen in
what is known as the Woodstock Pro-
tection, by which 30,000 acres of land
in Stafford County, settled by Brent,
Bristow, Foote and Hayward, was
made the home of religious freedom
in Virginia, — "all inhabitants being
given the free exercise of their religion,
without being persecuted or molested
by any penal laws."

This document, with its religious
freedom, came to Virginia amid the
bigotry which had been aroused by
the appointment of Allerton, a Stafford
Catholic, to a place in the council of the
colony. John Waugh, a parson of the
State Church, inflamed the mob, and
commotions took place. "Nothing,"
says Burke, "but the moderation and
reserve of the council prevented civil
war."

All that persecution could do to root
out the Faith in Stafford was done.
The Stafford County records show that
"in 1693 Richard Gipson presented
George and Robert Brent as being
Popish recusants, and called upon the
court to insist upon their taking the
test oath in order to the practice
of law." This oath was the declara-
tion against Transubstantiation. "The
court sustained the presentment, and
required them to take the oath; but
they refused, and appealed to the
general court at Williamsburg." The
result of the appeal to Williamsburg
is not on record, but they continued
to practise law. Their seat, near
what is now Widewater, was the centre
of a Catholic residence that defied
persecution.

John Lewis Peyton, in his "Advent-
ures of My Grandfather," finds this
entry :" Stafford County, Sept. 20,

themselves, and erected into the County of
Stafford, which was first recognized by the
Assembly in October, 1666." ("Sketch of History
of Alexandria" in Alexandria Times, 1895.)

16

THE AVE MARIA.

1772.— Gaston came with me and
remained a week, and then left for
Alexandria, where he has manj- friends.
He is a Roman Catholik in faith, and
my sister told him yesterday that she
thought he must be going to Alexandria
to confession."

At the seat of the Brents in Stafford
a few years later there landed, fresh
from his ordination in Europe, the Rev.
John Carroll, who entered with ardor
on the American mission, supported
the cause of Independence, and accom-
panied Franklin Chase and Carroll of
Carrollton on their mission to induce
the Canadians to make common cause
with the patriots of the Continental
Congress.

Meanwhile the Catholics of Stafford
County struggled on; and in a few
years their women, left at home while
the men were at the front, heard the
guns of Yorktown, where Protestant
and Catholic, fighting side by side,
made good the great Declaration of
the Fourth of July, 1776.

Back to the Fold.

AN EPISODF. OF ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY.

IN commemoration of the great eccle-
siastical event which marked the
year 1854, a series of wall-paintings
was executed in one of the noble halls
of the Vatican, by command of Pope
Pius IX. The Italian painter, Podesti,
was entrusted with the work; it was
finished in 1858. The painting on the
principal wall represents the procla-
mation in St. Peter's of the dogma of
the Immaculate Conception. The Holy
Father stands beneath the baldachino,
his countenance beaming with holy joy
as he reads aloud the decree ; he is sur-
rounded by a brilliant circle of cardinals,
bishops, minor prelates, the members
of the Pontifical Court, and the repre-
sentatives of the Roman people.

To the right of the picture, in the
foreground, the artist has introduced a
group of eminent theologians, renowned
for their able defence and erudite
explanation of the dogma. Occupying
a prominent position among them may
be seen a man of imposing appearance
and lofty mien; his countenance wears
a thoughtful expression; in his hand
he holds a book, for he is the author
of a work of great weight and impor-
tance, bearing on the dogma which at
that moment is declared to be an
article of belief for every Christian.

It is Father Passaglia, S. J., to whom
the principal place amongst the learned
divines is assigned. And not undeserv-
edly ; for by his magnum opus, a work
consisting of three good-sized volumes,
he earned the gratitude and esteem of
all loyal Catholics. To this day it is
unrivalled as the most exhaustive and
valuable book on the subject, owing
to the masterly manner in which the
doctrine is elucidated and proved, and
the wide research, the vast erudition
displayed by the writer. It is, in fact,
regarded as one of the bulwarks of
the Faith.

Alas for the frailty and instability
of human nature ! In a few years' time
the name of the great theologian no
longer evoked feelings of admiration
and respect in the heart of every loyal
Catholic, but rather of grief and indig-
nation. The famous champion of Our
Lady's glorious prerogative became a
renegade and an adversary of the
Church.

In 1860 the Piedmontese govern-
ment, in concert with Freemasons and
Revolutionists, began their fatal work
in the overthrow of the temporal power
of the Vicar of Christ and took posses-
sion of the States belonging to the
Church. While all true Catholics took
the part of the Pope, oppressed and
shamefully despoiled by the secular
power. Padre Passaglia, a member of
the Society which has gained the name

THE AVE MARIA.

IT

of the Church's militia, went over to
the side of the enemy, and employed in
the interest of the sacrilegious robbers
the pen once consecrated to the service
of the Blessed Virgin. One inflammatory
pamphlet after another bearing his
name issued from the press, attacking
the claims of the Vatican in forcible
language. Dazzled by the prospect of
a "United Italy," he lacked the spirit
of humility and obedience, — the spirit
of prayer which alone could direct his
studies aright ; otherwise he could not
have fallen so low. Inflamed with pride
and ambition, he was deaf to all expost-
ulations, arguments, and entreaties.

It was suggested to the Holy Father,
after this lamentable event, that the
figure of Padre Passaglia should be
painted out of the picture in the Hall of
the Immaculate Conception. But Pius
IX., always charitable and generous,
negatived the proposal. "For many
years," he said, "Passaglia labored for
the greater glory of the Mother of
God. Sooner or later she will bring
him back to the Fold."

The years went by, yet this prediction
remained unfulfilled. Pope Pius passed
hence to his eternal rest without the
happiness of witnessing the learned
Jesuit's cbnversion. In 1887 the apos-
tate, then an old man seventh' -five
years of age, himself was laid on his
deathl)ed in Turin. Praise be to God
and His Blessed Mother, before the
relentless hand of death was laid on
its prey, Passaglia braced himself to
make the diflicult, painful effort of
recantation. With deep contrition he
deplored his errors, and, in humble
submission to the Church, revoked all
he had written against her authority
and oflSce ; and with heartfelt compunc-
tion he received the last Sacraments.

When, in recognition of the sacerdotal
dignity of the penitent, the priest, before
administering to him the Sacred Host,
handed him a stole, he was greatly
.affected. Taking ;(; jptO his trembling

hands, with tears he exclaimed : " How
little do I deserve to wear the stole
again, now for the last time!" After
receiving Hol3- Communion, he remained
for an hour engaged in prayer; then,
raising his voice, he earnestly implored
the mercy of God, the help of the Blessed
Virgin, and while repeating an act
of contrition breathed his last, on
March 8, 1887.

We all know how hard it is for a
man who, through pride of intellect
and self-confidence, has wandered from
the right way, to return to the path
of humility and obedience; for this a
powerful advocate and intercessor is
needed to obtain from God the grace
required to conquer nature. There is
every ground for hope that Pope Pius'
confident assertion proved true, and
that the Mother of fair love did not
suffer one who had been her valiant
defender to die impenitent.

M. Paul Bourget on Divorce.

A BOOK OF UNUSUAL POWER AND IMPOSTANCE.

TH E statement of a Protestant
writer of high standing among
his co-religionists that, in preparing a
recent article on the subject of divorce
for one of the most popular reviews,
he had "carefiilly read" two reputable
Catholic books ; and the fact, of which
his article aff"ords abundant proof, that
he did not understand either of them,
caused us to sigh for some popular
work of fiction in which the question
of divorce would be dealt with in a
way that even,'one could understand,
and that should depict in all its horrors
the evil which has now become so
widespread that every serious mind ia
appalled at its magnitude.

Our wish has been gratified in the
appearance of an English translation
(printed in Holland, and published in
London by David Nutt ) of Paul

18

THE AVE MARIA.

Bourget's great novel, "Divorce. A
Domestic Tragedy of Modem France."
Its purpose is to show the evils entailed
by any departure from the strictest
monogamous standard ; and this pur-
pose is carried out with the vigor and
subtlety characteristic of the best
French writers. The novel is not with-
out unpleasant scenes and episodes—
they were not to be avoided,— but its
high morality is unmistakable, and the
strong sincerity of the author is revealed
in every page. It is a powerful book.
We sincerely hope that it will be widely
read, and that as a drama it may
become familiar to thousands who need
its message.

Unlike the .\merican writer to whom
we have referred, M. Bourget thor-
oughly understands Catholic teaching,
and fully realizes that outside of the
Catholic Church there is no remedy
against the monstrous evil of divorce.
But, whilst making no secret of his
convictions, and expounding them with
all his power, he is never guilty of
misrepresenting those whose views he
regards as most detrimental to social
welfare. He holds that "ancient moral
truths are in such close harmony with
the inner needs of our nature that
honest minds perforce bear witness to
them even when they deny them."

We had marked a number of passages
in "Un Divorce" for ■ quotation, but
must confine ourselves to a single one —
a portion of a dialogue between a
woman with two living husbands and
a priest whom she had consulted in
the hope of securing an annulment of
her first marriage.

"No," said the Oratorian, shaking his head
with a melancholy in which severity was again
overborne by pity, "you can not! No priest could
lend himself to a compromise which rests on
no solid basis. The reasons you mention would
not even justify a claim for the annulment of
your marriage. You appear to believe, Madame,
like many other worldly people, that Rome has
power to loose the marriage bond. She has
not. Rome recognizes that there are marriages
which are void, — that is to say, where certain

conditions necessary to the validity of the
marriage have not been complied with. The
Church has decided upon these, and has defined
them with a precision which leaves no chance for

equivocation You acknowledge yourself that

your marriage was voluntary, when you say that
if you had known your husband's dreadful vice
you would not have married him. It is obvious
there was consent. ... When the Church blessed
your marriage, She did not promise to exempt you
from trials. If they were too hard to bear, you
had the remedy in separation, which the Church
has always authorized. But she authorizes
separation only. To go further is to disobey
the precept, so clearly given in Scripture, which
forbids second marriage during the life of the
first husband or wife. Annulment, as you under-
stand it, would only be a sham divorce, and
the Church has none of these accommodations.
When she marries two people, she binds them
by a contract which can not be broken, because
it is sanctified by a sacrament. Do not hope
to escape by that door: it is closed."

"What must I do, then?" exclaimed Madame
Darras, wringing her hands in distress. "Is it
possible that God" — she dwelt upon this word
with infinite sadness — "has ordained that I must
abandon my home, must break the heart of the
man whom I love and who loves me, must
separate myself from my daughter — for my
husband will not give her to me, and he would
have the law on his side, — or else be denied
religious life, be forbidden absolutelj- from kneel-
ing side by side with my dear child in the same
religious service during a momentous hour of her
girlhood, and be cut off from pardon too ? Is it
possible, I a.sk you again. Father, that the law
of man is more just, more charitable than that
of God ? For, after all, when I was so unhappj' —
so indescribably unhappy, — the one allowed me
to renew my life loyally, honestly. The other
requires me to destroy it again ; it barely consents
not to fetter me to a hateful past ; it forbids me
from redeeming past mistakes. Ah, M. Euvrard !
how, in the face of this difference between divine
and human justice, can you prevent the objections
I have so often heard against religion from over-

powering me agam ;

I suffered so much after

my visit to the other priest that 1 said to myself:
' The adversaries of the Church are right : she is
an instrument of oppression and of death; prog-
ress is accomphshed without her, and in opposi-
tion to her.' And, in bemoaning my separation
from her with such a poignant homesickness, I am
the dupe of a mirage; for the truth is not there!"
"Do not talk in that way," said the Oratorian,

speaking with animation "Above all, do not

harbor such a thought Do you reproach the

marriage laws of the Church for lacking justice
and chcrlty?" he continued. "Let me give you

THE AVE MARIA.

10

an illustration, commonplace it may be, but to
the point. A ship has arrived at a port where
a passenger wishes to land. It is of the highest
importance for him ; he wants, for instance, to
see a dying father or to take part in a lawsuit
upon which depends the welfare of his family, —
imagine anj-thing you like. But a case of plague
has broken out upon the boat, and the authorities
have forbidden that any passengers come ashore
for fear of contagion. Would it be just, would
it be kind, to give way to the entreaty of the
one traveller at the risk of spreading the plague
in a city of a hundred thousand inhabitants ?
Clearl3' not. Here, then, is a case in which
justice and charity demand the sacrifice of the
individual interest for the general good. This
principle dominates all society. If we are called
upon to decide between two courses — the first
clearly beneficial to the whole community and
painful to some individual, the second agreeable
to him but hurtful to the whole, — both justice
and charity demand that we shall adopt the first
course. This is, indeed, the test which we must
apply to every institution ; and, applying it to
indissoluble marriage, what is the result ?

" Society is composed of families, and the better
the families the better will society be. Now,
think how much greater likelihood there is of
healthy families where a system of indissoluble
marriage prevails. If marriage is irrevocable,
it will be entered upon only after the most
serious reflection ; there will be greater closeness
of bond between grandparents, parents and
children, since the family comprises fewer alien
elements; there will be the chance of greater
unity of spirit, of a common tradition.' Mar-
riage of this kind is the strongest pledge for
that social permanence without which there is
nothing but anarchy and j)erpetual unrest And
here history confirms reason. It teaches that
all superior civilizations have developed toward
monogamy. Now, divorce is not monogamy ;
it is successive polygamy. I will not give you
a course of sociology, but do you know what
statistics show ? . . . To base social order upon
the supposed needs of possible degenerates is to
set up the abnormally low as a standard. You
may call that progress, but science calls it
retrogression.

"Note that we have been looking at the matter
from the point of view of pure observation.
Purposely, as I wished you to realize the identity
there is Vjetween the law of the Church and the
law of society, between the teaching of experience
and the teaching of Revelation. In its struggle
for existence, hunmnity has fallen back upon the
very same rule of which the Church has made
a dogma. Try to realize, in the light of these
ideas, how seriously you have erred in availing
yourself of the criminal law which the worst

enemies of social well-being, the would-be
destroyers of the family, have introduced into
our Code. You yourself have assisted in this
task of destruction, as far as lay in your power.
You sacrificed society to your own happiness.
You and your second husband have set up in
a small way a type of the irregular home, —
one, too, all the more dangerous because your
virtues enable you to set an example of decency
in irregularity, and present an appearance of
order in the midst of disorder. It is that
which renders so dangerous the errors of the
gifted: they retain their natural nobility even
when they sin ; they fall without becoming
degraded ; they cloak the deformity of evil and
spread it all the more insidiously. You need not
seek any other explanation for the difficulty you
meet in your efforts to return to the Church.
Realize the extent of your fault in the light of
that difliculty, and thank God that He has not
afflicted you and your family even more than He
has done."

How the family tragedy involved in
virtually every divorce reached its
supreme and logical climax is the burden
of the book, not a page of which fails
to enhance the vivid exposition under-
taken by the author. It is easy to
believe the statement that in the force
and subtlety of the character drawing,
in the penetrating analysis of motives,
in the masterful depicting of all the
tragic scenes involved in the situation
created, "Un Divorce" takes high— per-
haps the highest — rank among M.
Bourget's works. His conversion is
something to rejoice over.

It should be pointed out to children
that ... a lie may be told by silence,
by equivocation, by the accent on a
syllable, by a glance of the eye attach-
ing a peculiar significance to a sentence ;
and all these kinds of lies are worse and
baser by many degrees than a lie plainly
worded; so that no form of blinded
conscience is so far sunk as that which
comforts itself for having deceived
because the deception was by gesture
or silence instead of utterance; and,
finally, according to Tennyson's deep
and trenchant line, " A lie which is half a
truth is ever the worst of lies." — Ruskia.

20

THE AYE MARIA.

Wise Counsel.

AMONG the college graduates whose
privilege it has recently been to
listen to words of counsel from men of
approved wisdom and discretion, those
of Fordham University were notably
fortunate in having for their adviser
the scholarly and efficient young Mayor
of New York. Mr. McClellan spoke of
the educated man's duties as regards
the general public welfare, and his
thoughtfid discourse is well worth
reading. We select some passages that
will prove of general interest:

It may not be your fortune to enter public life.
I am not advising 3'ou to enter it. Public place
is not the garden of the gods. The prizes are
few, the temptations many, and it has been said
that even republics can be ungrateful. ... I am
sure that I do not exaggerate the case when I
say that almost any other way is an easier
road to the stars. . . . The duty upon which I am
insisting does not necessitate the adoption of
politics as a profession, but rather the creation
and support of a safe public opinion resulting
from the influence of patriotic men of liberal
education.

Concerning the pre-eminent evil of our
age and country, Mayor McClellan said:

Our besetting sin is avarice. Our mad rush
for wealth is not an honest effort to increase
the products of nature or the avails of human
effort, but a hideous vice of ever increasing
and insatiable greed. Year by year we see it
invading the government with ever increasing
audacity. Men cry out against tainted money —
that has its vile record behind it. What we have
to fear is money which taints, which brazenly
tempts men to sell their honor, .ind then buys

it Let us not delude ourselves with sophistry.

The man who betrays his public trust for
money makes, by comparison, the crime of
Benedict Arnold sink into insignificance, and
lends a re.sj)ectable hue even to piracy.

After enforcing the truth that courage,
patience and prudence, on the part of
those whose intellects are trained, are
required to offset this and other public
evils, and that no hysterical display, no
resort to visionary theories is necessary,
New York's chief magistrate concluded
his address with this forceful plea:

I urge you with all the earnestness that is in
me never to forget, as you go through life, that
the grace of fortune which makes you educated
gentlemen, imposes upon you the duty of striving
for the diffusion of those principles of government
which will make for the peace and prosperity of
our country.

Excellent advice for every one of the
thousands of university and college
graduates who have just assumed the
full responsibilities of American citizens.
May it be taken to heart!

An Odd Metaphor.

To drag a red herring across the
track, is a figurative mode of expressing
the idea: to cloud the issue; to turn,
or attempt to turn, an opponent from
the question directly in point ; to forsake
the real matter in dispute and dwell
on irrelevant topics. As used by many,
it is equivalent to that other metaphor,
"throwing dust in one's eyes." The
forcefulness of the figure is more appar-
ent in England and other fox-hunting
countries than elsewhere. Its derivation
is thus explained by a recent writer in
a metropolitan daily :

The expression is derived from the
English national pastime of fox-hunting
whenever a southerly wind and a cloudy
sky proclaim a hunting morning. The
hounds follow the chase by the scent
that lies just above the grass. One of
the few things in art or nature that
smells stronger than a fox, whether
dog or vixen, is a good stalwart red
herring. If that be drawn judiciously
across the track where a fox has passed,
the dogs are thrown at fault, and it is
only a very wise hound that can carry
the scent true and not "give tongue"
on the track of the red herring.

Better to hunt in fields for health unbought
Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught.
The wise for health on exercise depend ;
God never made His work for man to mend.

—Dryden,

THE AVE MARIA.

21

Notes and Remarks.

One reason why there is so Httle
understanding of social and other con-
ditions in France among foreigners, is
that most of us derive our knowledge
of modes of thought and living in that
country from the works of French
novelists and playwrights. Those who
wish to make themselves acquainted
with home life as it really exists in
France, and to get an insight into
many customs and habits of the French
people, should read a new book by
Miss Betham - Edwards ("Home Life
in France," Methuen & Co.) It is a
collection of papers on France and
the French contributed by the author
to various periodicals. "There is no
doubt," remarks the Athenaeum in a
notice of this volume, "that the French
have never been more cruelly libelled
abroad than by their own authors
whose works are read in foreign coun-
tries. In these times of entente cordiak
it would be doing both countries a
service to explain to the English reader
the immense difference there is in France
between 'Fiction and Firesides,' as it
is aptly put."

The Holy Father's Encyclical on re-
ligious instruction, we are happy to
notice, has excited much interest among
non-Catholics. It is still being quoted
by preachers and commented upon by
newspapers, secular as well as secta-
rian ; and all the references to it are in
terms of praise for its timeliness and
practicableness. The Chicago Tribune
advises ministers whose sermons fail
to attract or to hold hearers to 'copy
the Pope's methods.' "The Encyclical
is worth reading by ministers who are
distressed because their sermons do
not seem to hit the mark. It does
not relate to creeds. It promulgates
no doctrine to which they can take
exception. It is really addressed to all

churches; for there are suggestions in
it which should be of value to preachers
of all denominations."

The Boston Transcript quotes at
some length from the Encyclical, and
comments as follows:

Surely it would l)e an excellent thing if all
preachers and teachers, even those who count
themselves outside the Pope's jurisdiction, and
who would not think of receiving any religious
hints from Rome, would lay to heart this passage
from the Encyclical. People who now take to
the woods on Sunday would then be found in
church more frequently, and there would not be
such wailing from the pulpit about empty pews.
Let us get back to the simple in preaching as in
other things.

A committee has been formed at
Turin, under the presidency of the Arch-
bishop, to celebrate the four hundredth
anniversary of the death of Columbus.
It is proposed to erect a monument to
him in Rome, in the neighborhood of
the Vatican. An appeal for subscrip-
tions will be made to the Catholic
world. It is hoped that the celebration
will revive interest in the Cause of the
canonization of the great discoverer,
for which his biographer, M. Roselly
de Lorgues, and some of the Spanish
and French bishops, worked so zealously
during the pontificate of Pius IX.
Historical research has vindicated the
memory of Columbus in regard to
certain accusations against his moral
character; and it is claimed that he
fully deserved the title "Ambassador

of God."

> ■ * —

From an interesting series of papers,
appearing in Les Missions Catholiques,
under the general title " Forgotten Pages
of our Colonial Epopee," we cull the
following tragic incident of heroic life
on the Foreign Missions:

On May 14, 1859, Bishop Br^sillac and four
priests arrived from Brest in Freetown harbor.
West Africa. An epidemic of yellow fever, the
most deadly ever experienced in the colony, was
raging at the time ; and the captain of the
vessel on which the missionaries were passengers

22

THE AYE MARIA.

vigorously opposed their landing. "You are
going," said he, "to a certain death." — "But
this is ray diocese," replied the Bishop. "Can I
remain away when my ministry is so sorely
needed ? Should not we— I and my missionaries-
share the fate of our flocks?" And, with sublime
imprudence, the five heroes disembarked. Heroes
at the moment, within a few weeks they were
martyrs. On June 2nd, Father Rivereux died ; on
the 5th, Father Bresson was stricken; and on
the 15th, Father Gratien. Ten days later Bishop
Br^sillac and his vicar-general. Father Reynaud,
having reciprocally given each other the last
absolution, passed away almost at the same
moment.

With increasing frequencj' as the
years go by we notice in our American
exchanges announcements of pilgrim-
ages to the Canadian shrine of Ste.
Anne de Beaupre. Originating among
the large French-Canadian population
in the manufacturing cities and towns
of New England, these pious visits to
the sanctuary of "the good St. Anne"
have grown more and more popular
among Catholics generally, and by
many hundreds, not to say thousands,
of Americans are looked forward to
as an annual event. While it is quite
possible that some of those who go
to Beaupr^ undertake the trip from
recreative rather than purely religious
motives, the vast majority of pilgrims
are animated with the congruous spirit
of faith and piety ; and even the small
minority, the excursionists pure and
simple, are undoubtedly impressed by
the religious atmosphere of the shrine,
and by the prodigies which from year
to year attest both the intercessory
power of St. Anne and her willingness
to exercise it in favor of devoted clients.
Even as a brief holiday trip, a visit
to Beaupre may well be commended to
all who can afford the expense.

fundamental truths of faith are thus
sometimes jeered at by editors and
reporters or letter writers, who would
find it difficult to pass the sixth
standard in our elementary schools, and
still consider it their privilege to revile
mysteries that the best cultured of
men and women find quite compatible
with knowledge of the highest kind.
Fortunately, the best papers written
in English do not take up this
cheap attitude of blatant belief.
One of our papers, not long ago,
put a popular argument for belief in
God in a few pregnant words. "In the
main, the men and women who are
doing the most useful work in the
world are believers in God and a future
state; whilst the majority of those
whose lives are spent in frivolity — or
something worse— have surrendered all
faith in the Unseen. ... I like to deal
with facts as I know them, and the
one plain fact which stares me in the
face in this connection is that a belief
in some sort of religious creed is a social
force which in the main operates for
good, and that unbelief is a force which
in the main operates for evil."

It is not an uncommon thing, observes
the Catholic Magazine for South Africa,
to find, in our newspapers of the gutter
or quasi-gutter type, violent abuse of
religion and religious 'things. The very

Advocates of what is termed unsec-
tarian religious education in public
schools would do well to ponder and
inwardly digest the following words
from an article contributed to a recent
issue of the London Daily News by
Mr. G. K. Chesterton:

It is much more dogmatic to be undenomina-
tional than to be denominational. For the man
who propounds an undenominational religion is
propounding a new religion, — a religion made up
of what he, on his own responsibility, supposes
to be the first or best or deepest elements in all
the old ones. The sectarian professes to know
only what is most important to him; but the
unsectarian professes to know what is most
important to everybody — even to his opponents.
He claims to be in the love -secrets even of his
enemies.

Now, there is plenty to be said for the sincerity
or spiritual value of both these positions; but
surely there can be no doubt about which is the

THE AVE MARIA.

23

more arrogant, dogmatic, and final. The man
who claims to have found the truth in his own
religion makes a claim comparatively modest;
but the man who claims to have found the
truth in other people's religions makes a claim
of which the sublime and sacred impudence
reaches the madness of Mahomet. He declares
himself to have seen something more than all
the creeds of the earth. He has seen the creed
below the creeds, the sea below the sea. He
understands Calvinism better than the Calvinists,
and Catholicism better than the Catholics ; he
knows the first principles of Sandemanianism
better than the Sandemanians ; he knows why
Salvationists wear red jerseys better than they
know it themselves. In the dark heart of some
Indian temple he learns the secret which is
bidden from the priests. He picks up the missals
of the mighty mediaeval civilization, and he
reads them right, while those who would die
for them read them wrong.

To our mind, Mr. Chesterton's con-
tention i§ fully established — viz., that
undenominationalism is more dogmatic
than denominationalism.

Writing of " Child Literature," in the
current Irish Monthly, M. A. Curtis
makes a strong plea for a more general
use of the Bible as a story-book for
children. "The Creation, the story of
Joseph, the Israelites in Egypt, the Ten
Plagues, the Red Sea, Mount Sinai, —
every word of it all the children hang
upon and absorb ; and it has been
found more interesting straight out of
the Bible itself than from any prepared
biblical child-literature, — just as a
good cut of mutton is more satisfying
than the best of mutton-broth." While
conceding that there is much to
recommend this view^point, it must be
said that the contributor to our Irish
contemporary' is something of an
extremist in his denunciation of ordi-
nary books for children. To call
them "a flood of twaddle, ... bindings
gorgeous, illustrations brilliant, letter,
press nil" is to indulge in a vein that is
itself but little removed from absurdity.
As a matter of fact, during the past
twentj' years — the period over which,
it is stated, the critic's experience with

the "infant mind" extends — there has
been a marked improvement in the
quality, as well as the quantity, of the
literature provided for young Catholics.
M. A. Curtis is one of those partisans
who weaken their advocacy of a good
cause by sweeping and exaggerated
statements derogatory to all who
presume to differ from their own partic-
ular point of view. All the same, the
Bible is a treasury of entertaining
narrative for the young or the old. .

In the recent death of Mgr. Scalabrini,
Bishop of Placenza, Italy lost the
services of a notable churchman, and
Italian immigrants in North and South
America a devoted friend and generous
benefactor. Consecrated at the excep-
tionally early age of thirty -five, Mgr.
Scalabrini ruled Placenza with distin-
guished efficiency for thirty years, and
in all probability would have been
created cardinal before the close of the
present year. Founder of the Society of
Missionaries of St. Charles Borromeo,
whose distinctive work is to provide
priests for Italian immigrants, the dead
prelate had dealings with the Church
in America, several Italian congrega-
tions in New York having been supplied
by him with pastors. One character-
istic of this model Bishop was his
insistence on the catechetical instruction
of his flock. His zeal in this direc-
tion won for him both the title of
Apostle of the Catechism and the
thorough approval and admiration of
Pius X. R. I. P.

A Baptist parson, of Trenton, New
Jersey, has recently been giving a series
of sermons, or lectures, against the
Church. His discourses, announced as
being especially interesting to "non-
Protestants" — a would-be smart allu-
sion to missions to non-Catholics— have
been productive of one good result.
They have elicited from Bishop McFaul

24

THE AVE MARIA.

a trenchant reph', which may well
afford the Baptists and all other Prot-
estant sects food for earnest thought.
As to one specific charge of the preacher,
the Bishop makes this declaration,
which we quote from a report of his
rejoinder in the Catholic Standard and
Times :

I say the Catholic Church has never claimed
that the Pope by divine right can depose civil
rulers and absolve subjects from allegiance. You
may reply : " But Popes have done so." That is
true; but when a Pop; did it he did not exercise
his power as Pope: he exercised the power con-
ferred upon him by the constitutional law of the
Middle Ages. By the common consent of Catholic
natii.ns, he had been made their supreme arbiter
and judge. That was the condition of things,
and I am not sure but its revival in modern times
would be beneficial. How much blood might
have been spared if the troubles in the far East
had been settled by arbitration! So far as civil
and spiritual allegiance are concerned, both Cath-
olics and Protestants hold the same principle.

In these days of scholarly historical
criticism, when the action of the Roman
Pontiffs during the Middle Ages has
been superabundantly vindicated by the
most authoritative of non- Catholic
writers, it ought to be plain to the
most fanatical enemies of the Church
that obsolete lies concerning her prin-
ciples and polity are very apt to
become boomerangs in the clumsy hands
of those who fling them about so
recklessly. Not all, even of the Baptists,
are so prejudiced, or ignorant of history,
as the Trenton pastor fondly believes
them to be.

bishop, and, as a logical sequence of the
episcopal injunction to give no further
expression to such views, he gravitated
toward the true Church. For more
than half a century he had been a
devoted member of the All Hallows'
faculty, and was distinguished among
other members in that he remained a
layman. His passing away in his
ninetieth year will evoke a heartfelt
prayer for his eternal repose from many
an All Hallows' priest now at work on
the American, Canadian, or Australian
mission. R. I. P.

In the death of the venerable Professor
Belford, of All Hallows, Dublin has lost
a notable citizen, one who during many
years was prominent in her literary,
scientific, and social circles. Mr. Belford
was bom in England in 1816, studied
at Cambridge, took orders in the
Established Church, and served both as
curate and rector in London. Having
preached on one occasion what w^as
styled an "advanced Puseyite" sermon,
he was taken to task by his Anglican

I went once into a grotto, a little chufch under-
ground in Florence, where the poor and humble
worshiped according to the Catholic Faith; and
I was struck by the spirit of reverence pervading
it. The people came in silently and knelt down
in silence to their devotions. I tiptoed in and
knelt down in silence myself, and I found the
Master there. On the other hand, I have been
into Protestant churches where the people came
and went and acted as if it were a store or a
public hall.

On these words, from a recent sermon
by the Rev. Roland Grant, a Protestant
minister of Boston, the Pilot comments
as follows:

The secret of the reverent bearing of good
Catholics in their churches, whether in Italy or
Massachusetts, which Mr. Grant holds up as an
example to Protestants, is in their conviction of
the Real Presence of Christ on the altar, and that
the Sacrifice of the Mass is the renewal of the
Sacrifice of Calvary. To be sure, even in family
devotions or in the privacy of his own chamber,
the true Catholic gives to God the homage of
body as well as of spirit, as beseems the creature
before his Creator. The starting point of the
"new revival" for which Mr. Grant hopes will
be the return to the old doctrines.

There are many signs of this revival.
It is beginning to be realized by out-
siders that a false creed can not teach
correct morality, unless accidentally,
as a result of a sprinkling of truth
through the mass of false teaching. As
Dr. Brownson used to say, it is the
truth in all heresies that sustains them,
and it is the error that ultimately
brea'KS them up.

In the Country.

BY SYLVIA HUNTING.

•\X/AKE, wake, little children !
The morning star has set;
I saw it fading from the sky
As Dawn came gliding by.

Wake, wake, little children !

Day and the breeze have met;
From the damp earth sweet sounds ascend.
To greet the morn — their friend.

Wake, wake, little children !

Now, that the stars are gone,
The flowers unclose their petals bright,
Fast folded all the night.

Wake, wake, little children !

How can you still Sleep on?
The nightingale has hushed her lay,
The lark proclaims the day.

The Little Hungarians.

BY MRS. MARY E. MANIOX.

IX. — The Departure.

FTER the stranger had gone,
Rose asked :

"Who was that man? Oh,

/Alii* w yes, I know!" she continued.

It was the one who came

home with us Saturday night. What

did he want, Louis?"

" Let me think a few moments before I
tell you," replied her brother, crashing
down with both elbows on the open
piano, as he leaned over and hid his
face in his hands. He was very pale.
Rose did not persist, though usually
she was impatient, and was not accus-
tomed to brook delay in having her
questions answered. She thought Louis
might be ill, and sat quietly watching
him till he spoke again.

"How would you like to go away
from here. Rose?" he inquired at last.

The child began to sob.

"O Louis," she cried, "how cruel you
are to ask me that, when you know I
shall die — yes, die, — if you send me to
the convent!"

"I did not mean that, Rose. How
would you like to go away wth me, —
far from here?"

"With you? Far from here? Where
could we go?"

" I will tell you. You saw that man ? "

"Yes, I saw him, and I do not like
him a bit."

" He is a very nice man, I think," said
Louis. "And he is a Hungarian."

"What do I care for that? I have
told you often that Jam an American."

"Very well. Be one, then, Rose. What
I meant was this — that he takes an
interest in us because our father was
his countryman. He has a troupe, — he
goes about at the head of a company
of Hungarian musicians, and he has
proposed that we join them."

"To play about the streets all the
time?"

"Never to play on the streets. He
takes his troupe to large halls. Rich
people come to hear them. They live
in fine hotels, and they earn a good deal
of money. We could see a great many
cities and lots of beautiful things, and
in the end we should be almost certain
to find Florian."

"How could we find Florian?"

" He is living somewhere in the United
States, I am sure. Mr. Steffan says
that as soon as Hungarians hear of
his great troupe in the towns where
they give their concerts, they come to
hefir them play and sing. In that way
Florian would come; he would see us,
and so — we should find him."

36

THE AYE MARIA.

"I don't like Mr. Steffan one bit,
Louis," rejoined Ro^e,— "if that is what
you call him. But I think it would be
fine to travel about that way, and to
find Florian in the end."

"I am inclined to accept the ofier,"
said Louis. " We could leave the troupe
whenever we pleased, I suppose. We
should be able to save some money,
too; and when we came back you
could go to school."

"To (/a_v- school, Louis, — please say
to day-school."

"Yes, yes, that is what I mean. I
would get something to do, and maybe
Mrs. Mullen would take us to board."

"But, Louis," cried Rose, suddenly
remembering, " Father Garyo will never
let us go with that man. Because we
played on the streets that night, he is
sending us away from each other ; and
how could he change so suddenly and
tell us we might go travelling around
with a strange man?"

Louis looked long and steadily into
his sister's eyes.

"Rose," he said, in a very low^ voice,
as though afraid some one might hear,
"he would never let us go, — that is
true. We should have to — run away."

"Run away!" echoed Rose.

"Yes, that is what we should have
to do."

"And what about the house?"

" I'll have to think about that. I only
want to know if you are willing to go."

"Yes, I am willing," said Rose. "I
will go whenever you please. But how
shall we get our clothes away?"

"That will be easy enough. After
I have decided, Mr. Steffan will see to
it. What I don't like is that we shall
have to deceive Father Garyo and the
Mullens, who have been so very good
to us."

"That is true,— it is not at all nice;
but it is better than to have me die,
isn't it, Louis?"

"Yes, a good deal better, little sister!
And we shall come back pretty soon —

in a year or two; perhaps sooner, if
we find Florian."

Then Rose wanted to go and pack
a vahse at once. She was sure that in
an old one belonging to her father she
could put all her small wardrobe; and
there was an old-fashioned carpet-bag
which Louis could blacken and reserve
for himself. But her brother restrained
her, saying that nothing could be settled
until Mr. Stefifan returned at nine that
evening.

The day seemed very long to both.
Rose especially began to be afraid that
the man might change his mind and
go away without them. As soon as it
grew dark she began to run out to the
gate every few moments; thus tiring
herself more after her exciting day, so
that when he at last made his appear-
ance she was asleep in the rocking-chair.
Throwing a shawl over her, Louis led
his visitor to the adjoining room.

"Well?" inquired Steffan, anxiously,
as he seated himself.

"We have decided, sir, — we will go,"
said Louis.

"I am very glad," rejoined Steffan.
"It will be a good chance. You will
never regret it, my boy. And now for
our plans. When can you be ready?"

"Whenever you say. The sooner the
better, for they will be wanting to
take Rose to the convent very soon.
We shall have to go secretly."

"Yes, yes, — I understand! That is
what I wanted to talk to you about.
" Those priests are terrible, trying to
boss everybody — "

"Oh, no, sir! Father Garyo is not
terrible," interrupted Louis. "He is
very good, and has been so kind to
us always. It will make him feel bad,
I know; and it is not right to deceive
him. But maybe he never had a little
sister and can not know how Rose
and I feel,— especially Rose. That is the
worst thing about it,— not telling him."

"Nevermind! Only be sure you don't
tell him," said Steffan. " He may mean

TFIS AYE MARIA.

m

right, but he doesn't know everything.
And, now, how soon can you leave? "

"At any time," said Louis, "as I
told you."

"Have you any money?"

"About ten dollars."

"That is not much. I was hoping
you had more. Travelling is expensive,
you know."

"But you can take the money you
spend for us out of our wages later."

"Yes, that's so. Only I happen to
be a little short just now. But we'll
manage somehow."

Pursing up his lips and knitting his
swarthy brow, the Hungarian began
to tap with his knuckles on the table.
He was perfecting his plans. At length
he said :

"I'll tell you. Have everything ready ;
as little luggage as possible, for you'll
get new things in Philadelphia. Stuff
all your clothes — or as much as you
can get — into a gunny-sack, if you have
one. It is the easiest thing to carry.
And be sure to bring the little costumes.
Whatever you leave behind, they may
come in handy sometime. Remember
now, a gunny -sack; it is the least
trouble to carry."

"But aren't we going on the train?"
inquired Louis, in surprise.

"Yes, yes, of course! But we'll have
to walk to the train. I'll take the
baggage on my back. They won't be
so likely to suspect us."

This plan did not seem very reason-
able to Louis ; but, accustomed to
obey, he said nothing.

"And see here. You had better write
a note and leave it on the table, saying
that you f^re starting for Philadelphia
by the Pennsylvania Central on the
morning express. They won't get it
till we are way beyond their reach."

"Yes," said the boy, "I will do
that. But I must see Father Garyo
to-morrow about the musical instru-
ments. They must be taken care of"

"Oh, you can't do that!" exclaimed

Steffan. " You'll have to bring them
along."

"Not the piano or my father's
violins?" said Louis.

"Have you a violin of your own?"

"Yes, and a mandolin and guitar."

"Very well. But couldn't you sell the
piano and take the money along?"

"No, sir, I could not do that, and I
would not do it."

"Very well; but it is a pity," replied
Steffan, seeing there was a certain limit
he could not pass with the boy, — at
least not until he had him entirely in
his power.

Before he left, all the arrangements
had been completed. After he had
gone Louis woke Rose and told her to
undress and go to bed. He spent half
the night packing and wrapping up
his father's music, which he placed in
two boxes, leaving the cover to be
nailed down in the morning. These he
intended to entrust to Father Garyo.

After breakfast he sought the priest,
who told him he would take Rose to
the Sisters the next afternoon. Con-
fused, the boy did not reply.

"She will like it after awhile," said
the priest. "Try to coax her a little,
Louis."

"Father," said the boy, "would the
piano and papa's violins be enough to
pay the mortgage?"

"Perhaps so," replied Father Garyo.
" But I can not bear to think of selling
them."

"Do whatever you like about it,
Father," said Louis. "And I think I
would be glad to have Mrs. Mullen
living in the house. The rent could be
the same as the one she is in now ; and
she would take good care of it and of
the garden, so that when — "

He had almost betrayed himself The
unsuspicious priest, however, observed
nothing.

"Yes, if she would like it, Louis," he
said. "We will see."

"And, Father, you must not think us

28

THE AVE MARIA.

ungrateful, Rose and me. We are not-
only — only — she could not bear to
leave me."

"I understand, Louis,— I understand.
Poor little girl ! That will be all right."

"And I want you to believe that I
will try to be a good boy, wherever I
am ; and Rose, too, will always remem-
ber to say her prayers."

"She will not have any trouble in
remembering to say them where she
is going," rejoined Father Garyo, with
a smile.

Louis grew furiously red. It seemed to
him that he was a liar and a deceiver, —
a very bad boy indeed, for one who
was promising to be good. He longed
to get away, and did not know how
to do it. He held out his hand.

"Good-bye, Father!" he said.

"Good-bye, Louis, till to-morrow!"
answered the priest, for the first time
noticing his disquietude, which he
attributed to the dreaded parting from
his sister. "Be brave now, Louis," he
added kindly, making the Sign of the
Cross with his thumb on the boy's
forehead.

"Father— I will try to be— all right,"
answered Louis in a trembling voice,
as he rushed suddenly away.

The priest looked after him compas-
sionately, as he disappeared.

"Too bad, too bad!" he said to
himself. "But it can not be helped."

Several times during the morning he
found himself thinking of the boy's
xmusual manner. It was not till next
day that he understood the cause.
About eleven he was summoned to the
parlor to meet Mrs. Mullen, who held
a piece of paper in her hand.

"God defend them and protect them.
Father, but they're gone,— oh, they're
gone!" she exclaimed.

"Who are gone?" asked the priest.

"Louis and Rose," she replied. "This
morning— as I hadn't seen a sight of
them since yesterday evening at supper-

(To be

time, when they came over, very blue,
the two of them,— I went to the house.
The key was on the outside of the
door. Everything was as still as the
grave, and I found this pinned to
the tablecloth. Read it for yourself.
Father dear!"

The priest took the note from her
hand and read as follows:

Dear Mrs. Mullen:— Rose and I
are going with the great Hungarian
Troupe, to play and sing. We shall make
a lot of money, and we are almost sure
to find Florian. We will come back
maybe in a year, maybe in two. We
would like you to live in the little grey
house, and use our furniture, and take
care of the garden. We hope Father
Garyo will find some way to pay the
mortgage. Let him sell the piano and
violins, if he wants to, but maybe the
rent will pay it.

We thank you and Father and the
boys for all your kindness to us and
to our poor father. We are very sorry
to leave you, but we have to go. Rose
and I can not be separated. It would
kill her. We leave on the morning train
for Philadelphia, by the Pennsylvania
Central. Good-bye !

Louis Vladych.
Rose Vladych.

"1 am dumfounded," said the priest.
"I can not understand it."

Then Mrs. Mullen told him of the
visit of the stranger, and they came to
the conclusion he must have persuaded
the children to go away with him.

"It will be an easy matter to get
them back," she said. "They haven't
much of a start, Father."

The priest shook his head,

"God and His Holy Mother protect
them! " he murmured. "Of one thing I
am certain : we shall have to look for
them in an opposite direction from that
taken by the Pennsylvania Central.
Whoever kidnapped those poor children
threw that in as a blind."

continued. ) *■

THE AVE MARIA.

29

Gem Lore.

BY FLORA L. STANFIELD.

I. — Diamonds.

Not long ago the manager of a
diamond mine in South Africa discov-
ered, while making his usual rounds, the
largest and most wonderful diamond
ever beheld, so far as we know, by the
eyes of man. Its weight was nearly
two pounds, and its length four inches.
This remarkable gem has, however,
proved a white elephant to its owners.
Its value is so great that no one can
afiFord to buy it, no insurance company
will insure it against theft, and the
guard over it costs so much that it is
likely in time to make its possessors
poor.

It was not until the fifteenth century
that diamonds began to be cut with
the little level places called "facets,"
which add so much to the brilliancy
of the jewels. A Frenchman named
Louis de Berquem was the inventor of
the new method, but in a few years
England was the rival of France in
the lapidaries' art.

The cutting of a diamond consists
of three operations — splitting, cutting
and polishing, — of which splitting is
by far the most important, requiring
as it does the most accurate judgment
on the part of the workman to avoid
injuring the stone. The first thing is
to decide just where to cut, then a
little notch is made with another
diamond, followed by a quick and
accurate blow with a steel instrument.
Sometimes the stones can not be split
but must be sawed through. This is
done with a fine iron wire strung on
a fiddle bow, and the operation requires
almost endless patience.

Diamonds have various colors —
white, yellow, brown, red, blue, and
green. They possess also the remark-
able quality of becoming phosphores-

cent from the result of friction, and of
emitting rays of light when energetically
rubbed in a dark room.

These gems are the purest form of
carbon known, and can be burned as
easily as we bum a shovelful of coal
in a furnace. Until two hundred years
ago all diamonds came from India,
but since 1727 Brazil has furnished a
large supply of these beautiful gems.
In 1867 it became known to the world
that South Africa contained more
diamonds than all other diamond fields
combined, and a great rush began to
the hiding-places where they had lain
so long waiting for the covetous hand
of man.

The story of the historic diamonds of
the earth reads like a romance. There
was, and is, for instance, the Sancy
diamond, worn in the cap of Charles
the Bold at the battle of Granson, and
lost by him there as he led his men
into action. We next hear of it in the
possession of one Sancy, a Huguenot
nobleman, treasurer of Henry III. That
sovereign, needing money, borrowed the
gem of his financial agent and sent it
to Switzerland by a trusted messenger,
who was to leave it there and return
with money advanced by the Swiss
government. The messenger was way-
laid and murdered by robbers, and,
by the kindness of a charitable priest,
interred in a churchyard. The diamond
was buried as well; for the faithful
man had swallowed it, and it was
found safe in his stomach. The Sancy
diamond is now owned by the Russian
government.

Everyone has heard of the diamond
called the Koh-i-noor, or Mountain of
Light, which for thousands of years
was the cause of wars and murders.
It formed one of the eyes of a famous
Indian idol ; and, after the English
mutiny passed into the possession of
Queen Victoria, and is now one of the
crown jewels of England.

A diamond set in the sceptre of the

30

THE AVE MARIA.

Czar of Russia is called the Orloff, and
has a historj' similar to that of the
Koh-i-noor, having been at one time an
eye in the head of a Brahmin image.
A French traveller carried it off and
sold it for a small fortune; and when
the Russian Empress Catherine pur-
chased it she was obliged to give in
exchange 450,000 roubles, a large
pension, and a title of nobility.

lift its head and bite its captor. When
this happens the bird immediately drops
it, and, hastening to the Guaco plant,
eats of its healing leaves. When it has
partaken sufficiently of the antidote it
flies contentedly away.

The Guaco Bird.

There grows in Mexico, although
originally a native of South America,
a perennial plant well known as an
antidote for the venom of poisonous
snakes. In the former country there is
also a large, strong bird, somewhat
resembling the crow, though smaller,
which is distinguished by its passion
for snake-killing, and which invariably
has its haunts in the vicinity of the
Guaco bushes. It is called El Pajaro
Guaco or the Guaco Bird, and that
wonderful instinct which often seems
to reach intelligence in lower animals
causes it to establish itself in the
neighborhood of these bushes.

It has a curious method of capturing
and killing its prey. Seeing a snake
crawling along the ground, the bird,
which has been hovering about, w^ill
suddenly swoop down and seize the
serpent as nearly in the middle of the
body as possible, so that the subsequent
flight may be well balanced. Then,
holding the snake tightly in its bill, it
ascends to a considerable height and
suddenly drops its prey to the ground.
If the fall does not kill it stuns the
serpent; and the bird, once more pounc-
ing upon it, again takes it in its bill,
repeating the performance until the
serpent is dead; after which it is said
to bite off and eat the head, leaving
the body on the ground.

But occasionally the snake, not being
held in the proper position, is enabled to

Popular Names of Cities.

Among the popular nicknames of
American cities may be mentioned : Bal-
timore—Monumental City. Boston-
Modern Athens, Hub of the Universe.
Brooklyn— City of Churches. Chicago-
Garden City. Cincinnati — Queen City,
Porkopolis, Paris of America. ■ Cleve-
land—Forest City. Detroit— City of the
Straits. IndianapoHs — Railroad City.
Keokuk, Iowa— Gate City. Louisville-
Falls City. Lowell— City of Spindles.
Milwaukee— Cream City (from the color
of its bricks). Nashville— City of Rocks.
New Haven — City of Elms. New
Orleans — Crescent City. New York-
Gotham, Manhattan, Empire City.
Philadelphia — Quaker City, City of
Brotherly Love. Pittsburg — Smoky
City, Iron City. Portland— Forest City.
St. Louis— Mound City. Washington-
City of Magnificent Distances.

A Hero who was Devoted to the Blessed
Virgin.

On June 3, 1849, while the Garibal-
dians and the French troops were
engaged in a deadly encounter, Major
Saint-Frdmond asked for a volunteer to
carry a message across the Tiber. Cadi,
a Lyonese soldier, offered his services,
swam across the river amid a very
hailstorm of bullets, delivered his mes-
sage and swam back again uninjured.
"You confronted almost certain death,"
said his commander ; "you are a hero."
"I had a talisman," replied Cadi, show-
ing the officer a medal of the Blessed
Virgin which had reached him that
morning in a letter from his mother.

THE AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

31

—"The Flute of Pan," by John Oliver Hobbes;
and "The Memoirs of Constantine Dix," by
Barry Pain, are included in T. Fisher Unwin's
list of new fiction.

— "The Cathemerinon (or Hymns of the Day;
of Prudentius," translated by the Rev. Martin
Pope and R. F. Davis, with Latin text, is the
latest addition to the admirable Temple Classics.

— The author of "A Publisher's Confession,"
who still preserves his anonymity, is very gen-
erally guessed in literary circles to be Mr. Walter
Page. The book is shortly to be brought out in
England.

— The Society of Authors, founded in England
by Sir Walter Besant some twenty years ago, is
said to be steadily growing in membership. The
members hope to enroll still others until the
Society includes the three thousand English men
and women who can justly claim to be, in some
sense or other, authors.

— Donald Grant Mitchell, the "Ik Marvel"
who, more than half a century ago, published
"Reveries of a Bachelor" and "Dream Life," is
still living near New Haven, Conn. The friend
of Washington Irving, and American Consul to
Venice from 1853 to 1855, Mr. Mitchell continues
to enjoy robust health at the age of eighty-three.

— We can not welcome as an addition to
standard Catholic fiction "Reaping the Whirl-
wind," by Christine Faber (P. J. Kenedy &
Sons). Although issued by a Catholic publish-
ing house, it is in no sense a Catholic story. It
is as distinctly undenominational or nothingarian
as a public -school reading- book. For the rest,
the tale is long ; the plot — or plots, for there are
several — is sufficiently involved; the incidents are
manifold and multifarious; the characters are
interesting, and in several instances — Barbara
Balk, for one — anything but commonplace; and
the denouement is conventionally satisfactory.

— The announcement of a new edition of the
works of Bishop England should have interest
for a great many persons. He was one of the
most scholarly meml)ers of the American hierar-
chy, and much of what he wrote is of permanent
value. The most ephemeral of his writings is of
enduring interest on account of the circumstances
of his episcopate. It will be remembered that
he was the first Bishop of Charleston, South
Carolina (1820-42). His works have been out
of print for many years; and as the edition (in
six volumes) was comparatively small, complete
sets are very scarce. The Buffalo Catholic Publi-
cation Co. proposes to bring out the new edition
in handsome style, to sell for about $15. The

number of volumes will be the same as in the
original edition. We must express the hope that
a competent editor has been chosen, and that a
thorough index will be provided.

— The death of Abbot Cozza-Luzi, Vice-Librarian
of Holy Church, formerly abbot of Grottoferrata,
is the loss, not only of a devoted priest, but of
a prolific and erudite writer on art, history,
hymnology and liturgy. R. I. P.

— Messrs. J. M. Dent & Co.'s announcements
include " Saint Catherine of Siena, as Seen in
Her Letters." Translated, with notes and intro-
duction, by Vida D. Scudder. These letters of
St. Catherine are very fascinating, not for any
literary quality, but for "the impetuous outpour-
ings of the heart and mind of a daughter of the
people, who was also, as it happened, a genius
and a saint."

— W. Thornton Parker, M. D., has compiled
a pamphlet which he calls "The Cross and
Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ." It consists
of a judicious selection of short meditations and
prayers that refer exclusively to the "Man of
Sorrows." St. Bonaventura, St. Cyril, St.
Chrysostom, Cardinal Newman, and Abbot Gas-
quet are among the authors quoted.

— A notable instance of individual Canadian
annexation to the United States is found in New
York. Prof Charles Roberts, poet and author
of animal stories ; William Carmen Roberts,
editor; Theodore Roberts, author of "Brothers
of Peril"; Lloyd Roberts, editor; and Bliss Car-
men, editor and poet, — all residents of America's
metropolis, are members of a family from Fred-
ericton, New Brunswick.

— Professor Royce's "last word on Herbert
Spencer," lately issued by Fox, Dyffield & Co.,
is something more than a bald statement of
the philosopher's tenets on "Evolution." "In
Spencer's own usage," says Mr. Royce,"the term
'evolution' was a name for one of two processes
which together, according to him, comprise the •
'whole range of natural events,' so far as these
can be known to us. These processes are for
Spencer Evolution ana Dissolution." The expo-
sition of Spencer's educational theories serves to
emphasize his limitations as a practical teacher
as also to illustrate his hard common-sense,
so much in evidence ir) this passage from one of
his own books:

Not lonfc since we had frequently tn hear the reprimands
visiied on a little girl who was scarcely ever ready in time
for the dai y walk . . . the governess and the other children
bad almost invariabl> to wait ; and from the mamma therf
almost invariably came the same scolding. Utterly as this
system failed, it never occurred to the mamma to let

32

THE AVE MARIA

Constance experience the natural penalty. ... In the wor d
„nreadine.,s entails the loss of some advantage that would
elK have been gained: the train is gone: or the steamboat
i, ju.t leaving its moorings: or the best things m the
market are sold. ... Is not the inference obvious? Should
not the prospective deprivations control a child's conduct
also ' If Constance is not ready at the appointed time,
the natural result is that of being left behind and losing
her walk.

Particularly interesting is the concluding chapter
of the present volume— personal reminiscences by
James Collier, for nine years the secretary, and for
ten the amanuensis, of Spencer.

— One of the most charming books published in
recent years — a volume that no reader could
forget or would miss an opportunity of recom-
mending—is "Lettres d'un Curd de Campagne,"
the English translation of which appeared under
the title of "letters of a Country Vicar." The
announcement of a new book by Yves le Querdec
will give pleasure to a host of readers everywhere.
It deals with the supposed life, not of an eccle-
siastic, but of a zealous young layman, and is
entitled "Le Fils de lEsprit." "It is an open
secret," says the London Catholic Weekly, "that
the writer of these books ["Lettres d'un Curd de
Campagne," "Lettres d'un Curd de Canton," and
"Le Journal d'un Eveque"] is M. George Fonse-
grive, the editor of the Quinzaine, and the author
of some works on philosophy. They have run
through many editions, and represent the aspira-
tions of a considerable number of Catholics in
France. They are not only important in their
bearing on Catholic social work, but also charm-
ingly written."

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

"Nut- Brown Joan." Marion Ames Taggart.

$1.50.
"Beyond Chance of Change." Sara Andrew

Shafer. $1.50.
"The Gospel According to St. Mark." Madame

Cecilia. $1.25.
" The Redemptorists at Annapolis." $2.
"The Devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus."

Rev. H. Noldin, S.J. $125.
"The Life and Letters of Eliza Allen Starr." Rev.

James J. McGovern. $5.
" Holy Confidence." Father Rogacci, S. J. 60 cts.,

net.
"Vigils with Jesus." Rev. John Whelan. 40 cts.
"The Catechist in the Infant School and in the
Nursery." Rev. L. Nolle, O. S. B. 60 cts., net.
"The Dark Side of the Beef Trust." Herman

Hirschauer. 75 cts.
" The Chronicle of Jocelyn." 90 cts., net.
"The Luck of Linden Chase." S. M. Lyne. 35 cts.
"The Light of Faith." Frank McGloin. $1, net.
"Juvenile Round Table." 2d Series. $1.
"The Love of Books" (Philobiblon). Richard De

Bury. 40 cts., net.
" Reflections from the Mirror of a Mystic." John

Rusbrock. 75 cts., net.
"Apologetica: Elementary Apologetics for Pulpit

and Pew." Rev. P. A. Halpin. 85 cts.
" Religion and Art, and Other Essays." Rev. J. L.

Spalding. $1.
"Studies in Religion and Literature." William

Samuel Lilly. $3.25.
"A Manual of Mystical Theology." Rev. Arthur
Devine, C. P. $2.50, net

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
appear at the head, older ones being dropped oat
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not Ik indexed.

Orders may be sent to oar Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will he imported with ns little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad.
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"The Blessed Virgin in the Nineteenth Century;

Apparitions. Revelations, Graces." Bernard

St. John. $1.75, net.
"The Imitation of Christ.." Sir Francis R. Cruise.

30 cts.
"The House of God and Other Addresses and

Studies." Very Rev. Thomas J. Shahan, D. D.

$1.50, net.
"The Lodestar." Sidney R. Kennedy. $1.50.

Obituary.

Remember tbem that are in bands. — Hub., illl, j.

Rev. Ignatius Delveaux, S. J.

Sister Vibiana and Sister M. Liguori, of the
Sisters of Charity ; and Sister M. Ambrosia, Order
of St Ursula.

Mr. Henry Naphen, of South Boston, Mass. ;
Mr. Joseph Garland, Pittsburg, Pa. ; Mr. Charles
Reilly, Brooklyn, N. Y. ; Mrs. Maria Murtaugh,
Philadelphia, Pa. ; Miss Catherine Houghton
and Mr. C. W. Newton, Butte City, Mont.;
Master Joseph O'Brien, Anaconda, Mont.; Mr.
J. J. Lanigan, Lawrence, Mass. ; Mr. Frederick
Miller, Allegheny, Pa. ; Mr. William Hammer-
smith, Cleveland, Ohio; Mr. P. H. Connor, Miss
Gertrude Connor, and Miss Elizabeth Burke,
Amesbury, Mass. ; also Mr, Louis Harmon,
Massillon, Ohio.

Reqttiescant in pace!

HENCEFORTH AIL QENERAT10N9 eHALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. IU«, I., «a.

VOL. LXl.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, JULY 8, 1905.

NO. 3.

I Published every Samrday. Copyright : Rev. D. E. Hudson, CSC]

Magnus Deua Potentiae.

Translated by Denis Florence MacCarthy.

(~) GOD, whose power .md loving care

For every living thing provides,
Who to the bird assigns the air,
And to the fish the crystal tides;

That one through heav'n's blue space may soar.
The other cleave the unfathomed deep,—

Types of the varying fates in store
For creatures of like birth to reap:

Oh, grant unto Thy servants all,
Cleansed in the fountain of Thy blood.

That they may know no second fall,
Nor dread the thought of death's dark flood!

Let not despair our souls depress.
Presumption not too highly dare;

But, safe in trustful lowliness.
Let us to meet our God prepare.

This, pitying Father, we entreat,
For this the sole-born Son we pray.

Who, with Thee and the Paraclete,
Our Triune God, dost reign for aye.

Our Lady of the Arts.

ANY years ago one of the most
celebrated French artists saw,
entering his school, a child whose
curly head and timid manner seemed
rather to indicate a shy girl than a fine
young boy. This lad had heard the
master spoken of as one of the best of
men ; and, without knowing him or
having any letter of recommendation,
had come to place his destiny in his
hands.

When little Julien entered the school
the master was absent, and his pupils
were profiting by their freedom and
unrestraint to give free vent to their
frolicsome spirit. None so daring,
venturesome, roguish or so fond of
bantering as a rapin, or painter's
pupil, — the name given to young fellows
who are learning design and coloring
in an artist's atelier. There is no harm
in them, but they are greatly addicted
to tricks and practical jokes. So when
little Julien found his way among this
clamorous crowd there was a lot of
noise, joking, and game-making.

They gathered round Julien, jostled
him, questioned him, turned him round
and round, and shouted what they
meant for pleasantries into his ears.
One said: "Mademoiselle, voulez-vous
danser?" Another put an improvised
paper bonnet on him and daubed his
fresh-colored face with vermilion, under
which still appeared the beautiful bloom
of youth. " What does monsieur wish ? "
"Has monsieur come to have his por-
trait painted?" "Does monsieur want
to pose for Ajax and Agamemnon?"
were among the questions they asked.
It was monsieur here and monsieur
there. They were a gay, careless lot, —
shock-haired, uncombed, unwashed, and
more or less ragged Bohemians of the
genuine Parisian type.

They were still laughing, shouting,
and jesting, when all at once a voice
was heard: "To the water — to the
tub with the little countryman ! " And
they raised Julien on their shoulders

34

THE AYE MARIA.

and passed him from one to the other.

What would his good mother, who
had so carefully washed and combed
him and adjusted his little blouse, say
if she saw her boy with his paper
bonnet and face smeared with red paint
and on the point of being plunged,
dressed as he was, into an immense
tub? He, however, let them do what
they liked. He was quite cool, not in
the least afraid. He gave himself up to
the young scamps who were carrying
him ; he wanted to be a painter at any
cost, and was quietly letting himself be
thrown into the water, as it appeared
to be necessary to begin in that way.

One can not say what might not
have happened, to what point they
would have pushed their pleasantry,
if suddenly profound silence had not
succeeded this general clamor. All at
once voices were hushed, the noise
ceased, and Julien remained suspended
from the shoulders of the biggest of
the band. It was the master, Vanloo,
who had just come in !

He was a kind but severe master. He
hardly liked his pupils' horseplay. He
was disposed to be angry when he saw
the grotesque figure of little Julien
hanging from the shoulders of one of
his companions. But at the sight of
that pretty face daubed with red, those
wild, wondering eyes, and his imper-
turbable coolness, the master burst out
laughing, and, approaching the child,
said in his gentlest voice:

"Where have you come from, mj'
child ? Poor lamb ! don't you see that
you have got in amongst a pack of
wildest wolves ? "

Simultaneously Julien slid down,
found his feet, and replied :

" Sir, I'm a poor boy ; my mother has
nothing, and I've no calling, and have
come to ask you to receive me into
your school."

"Welcome, my son!" the master
answered. Then, turning to his pupils :
"To your places, young gentlemen! "

And everyone returned to his work.

From that day Julien was the most
assiduous pupil in the school. He soon
realized that his terrible companions
were not so bad as they seemed ; they
vied with one another to make the
way he had entered on easier for him.

To be intelligent, courageous, labo-
rious, patient, to be full of heart and
soul,— such are the first conditions, the
first elements, for the formation of an
artist. Julien had them all. He began
slowly, studying nature little by little,
bit by bit ; first confining his attention
to details, to be able shortly afterward
to grasp the whole. Every day was
marked by a new step in advance;
every day nature appeared more
beautiful to him. He was docile to
the master's lessons ; and still more so
to the teaching of nature, which he
studied in all its features, all its aspects.

He was soon able to draw, with a
free and firm hand, men and animals,
plants, running waters, solid earth, and
blue or cloud -flecked skies. So much
learned, he advanced more and more
until he rose to the reproduction of
human emotions,— from the objective
to the subjective. He finally had re-
course to the great masters to learn
the science of color.

His leisure was spent in studying the
masterpieces in the Louvre, at which
he gazed with silent devotion, like one
rapt in prayer before a shrine. Admi-
ration prompted emulation; and from
the union of both these sentiments
was bom the desire, the resolve to be
a great artist.

Progress is rapid in the arts, once
progress is made at all. The difficulty is
to make a good beginning, to obey a
well-defined vocation. Julien's vocation
was revealed to him by his mother when
he was still a child. Of her lost fortune
she had reserved only a beautiful
"Virgin" of the Italian school, before
which every morning she taught her
son to pray to God and Our Lady.

THE AVE MARIA.

85

This Madonna, with its pure white
hands joined and its sweet, downcast
glance, was so lovely that the child,
from the habit of contemplating it and
saying his prayers before it, gradually
grew to look up to Our Lady and love
her as a second mother.

In this way Julien had early learned
to feel the mysterious power of form
and color over human souls. He
loved, then, this beautiful "Virgin"
with the love of a little child until he
came to love it as an artist ; and that
was what urged him to go to the school
of painting.

One winter's day— one of those long,
dark days, when mother and son were
cold and hungry, without fuel or food, —
an ill-favored man, shrewd and sharp-
eyed, entered their lodgings. He went
straight up to the picture of the Blessed
Virgin, the only adornment of that
mean dwelling, took it unceremoniously
into his hands, and, drawing near the
window, looked at it long and atten-
tively. Then, turning toward Julien's
mother, and in a voice which made the
child tremble, he said :

"This picture is worth ten pounds.
Will you have them?"

The mother hesitated. Her son was
hungry, but the Virgin was so beautiful !

"O mother," said Julien, "don't sell
it! It has blessed us so often, — please
don't sell it!"

"Twenty pounds?" said the man.

But Julien continued to plead for the
retention of the picture.

"Well, going for fifty?" queried the
stranger.

And mother and son, in a unanimous
transport, snatched the picture from
the stranger's hands.

One would have said that the Blessed
Virgin had become the protectress of
such poverty. Smiling down on Julien,
the picture had inspired him with a
taste for poetry and the fine arts; by
dint of contemplating it on awaking
in the morning and going to rest at

night, he discovered the secret of that
exquisite color and those divine forms.

"Where do you go to look for your
models, my little Julien ? " Monsieur
Vanloo, the master, often said to his
pupil. "Where did you get the blue
of those charming eyes, the blonde of
those sunny locks?"

Julien did not know what to say.
He was forgetting the "Virgin," the
revered guest of that humble home.

And when at last came the great
day of the Exhibition, under the roof
of the Louvre, in the very place where
shine with an' immortal splendor
Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci, Carracci,
and Murillo, Julien's "Virgin," calm
and serene, one foot on the abyss and
her gaze turned heavenward, drew all
hearts and eyes toward her.

"Honor to Julien!" cried the whole
school.

"Ah, my lad," exclaimed M. Vanloo,
"bravo! You are a master!"

The greatest painters were astonished
that a boy should have penetrated
so deeply into the mysteries of their
art. It w^as Julien's "Virgin," it was
the unknown masterpiece, it w^as the
blessing of Our Lady of the Arts, it
was Raphael's picture, which they
would not ijart with for gold even
when in the lowest depths of their
poverty, which had wrought these
miracles, raised this great artist, and
glorified that humble home.

How few are those whose passage
upon this foolish planet has been
marked by actions really good and
useful! I bow myself to the earth
before him of whom it can be said,
"He goes about doing good"; who
has succeeded in instructing, consoling,
relieving his fellow-creatures; who has
made real sacrifices for the sake ol
others, — those heroes of silent charity
who hide themselves and ask nothing
in this world. — De Maistre.

36

THE AYE MARIA.

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SAOUEB.

XXVI. — Miss Tabitha is Confronted
WITH THE Past.

ERY soon after that memorable
evening of the tableaux, just as
the earlj' dusk of the November
day was gathering about Rose Cottage,
Miss Tabitha sat crouching over the
sitting-room fire. Leonora had gone
over to the convent to spend an hour
with the Sisters, and to be present
at Benediction; and her aunt was
feeling very old, extremely depressed,
and full of forebodings. She had been
seriously alarmed by the late course
of events. The applause which had
greeted the conjoined names of her
niece and young Mr. Bretherton, the
appearance of the two together, and
the obvious absorption of the man in
the beautiful girl at his side, had been
so evident that the spinster would have
felt uneasy even if Eben Knox had been
left out of the question altogether.

In her reverential and traditional
devotion to the Brethertons — a sen-
timent which partook almost of the
nature of superstition, — she could
scarcely wish that their sole represent-
ative should throw himself away upon
her niece. She apprehended serious
opposition, moreover, on the part of
the ex-Governor and his wife. She was
quite sensible of what would be their
disappointment in the failure of their
son to make the brilliant alliance which
they had a right to expect; and she
could not gauge those motives which
would induce them to forego their
opposition, and give, when it became
inevitable, a ready and gracious consent
to the match. She minimized that
power of moral rectitude which would
hinder them, on conscientious grounds
alone, from interfering with their son's
free selection and legitimate choice, for

a wife, of one who was, save as to
worldly prospects, eminently desirable.

Miss Tabitha accordingly believed
that it would be precisely as it had
been in her own case : that the parents
would exert such pressure upon their
son as would induce him to stifle
his natural impulses. It did not even
occur to her that the warm and gen-
erous nature, the solid stratum of fixed
principle which characterized young
Mr. Bretherton, together with his love
for Leonora, might be relied upon
to override all unjust opposition, and
that her niece's peace of mind stood
in no danger.

Added to her misgivings in these two
contrary directions, were her fears with
regard to Eben Knox. She guessed
rather than knew the desperate nature
of the man; though she was, indeed,
ignorant that the depth and force of
his infatuation for Leonora made it a
passion which would carry him to any
lengths. Like many others, she held
the theory that the twentieth century
could not produce thos^ romantic
attachments which on the one hand
led to unselfish sacrifice, and on the
other to reckless ill -doing and crime.
Human nature in its prosaic, modern
aspect did not seem the same as
that which through the centuries was
hurried to fierce excesses of love and
hatred, jealousy and despair.

She was aware, however, that Eben
Knox, in his dogged fashion, had deter-
mined to marry her niece, and that
it would be dangerous to cross him.
She knew, too, that he had been present
at the charity entertainment; she had
beheld him there, grimly observant as
some evil spectre. She well knew that
he was far too shrewd not to draw his
own conclusions from what had been
so palpable to everyone; and Eben
Knox, who had always been bitterly
envious of the Brethertons, and yet, as
Tabitha surmised, impressed by their
importance, would consider Leonora all

THE AVE MARIA.

37

the more desirable since the brilliant
young son of the house had singled
her out for his attentions.

Now, as Miss Tabitha, revolving these
thoughts, shivered over the fire, and
the room grew dark about her, she
was suddenly aware that some one had
come in at the door and was cautiously
shutting it. Her heart sank, and she
sat transfixed, staring straight into
the fire, and not daring at first to look
around. When at last she raised her
eyes, she encountered the sinister gaze
of Eben Knox fix£d full upon her face.
She met that glance with much the
same sensations that a traveller in a
lonesome wood might feel if suddenly
confronted by a savage beast. The
man kept silence till he saw that his
victim was fairly writhing under the
torture; then he spoke.

" I have come here to settle old scores.
There is going to be a general raking
over of dead bones. I shall clothe some
of them with flesh and sinews, like
your prophet in the vision you Bible-
reading folks delight in."

Miss Tabitha trembled, but said no
word. Her cap ribbons and her other
attempts at adornment seemed to
shrivel in the scorching glare of Eben
Knox's gaze.

" It will all come out now ! " he cried.
"No more concealment, no more gloss-
ing over for any one, but a black
quagmire of ruin to ingulf us all."

Miss Tabitha, by a swift, terrified
movement, covered her eyes v^nth her
hand, as if the quagmire had indeed
suddenly opened before her and she was
being forced into its slimy depths.

"You, who do not know what it is
to suffer," continued the manager, "can
not understand how I have been put
upon the rack. During that charity
performance I sat still and endured
torments. I saw those two people
together in a paradise from which I
was shut out."

He struck his hands sharply together,

as if the movement and the collision
relieved that torrent of feeling which
would find exit. Even Miss Tabitha,
oppressed as she was by fear and
horror, was impelled to wonder at the
passion which could thus seize upon
this singular being. His face was drawn
and haggard, furrowed by a line of
suffering as distinct as though it had
been traced out by a pencil.

"And that suffering," Eben Knox
declared, "I will inflict as far as is
possible on all concerned. The time for
talk being past and that for action
come, I shall briefly recapitulate those
occurrences of w^hich you and I are
cognizant. You must be a witness,
willing or unwilling; and, like myself,
a criminal, because you have aided
in baffling the ends of justice, and in
sheltering the guilty at the expense of
the innocent."

Miss Tabitha's eyes were wide dis-
tended with a horror which she made
no effort to conceal ; while Eben Knox,
preparatory to resuming his narrative,
seated himself at the side of the fire.

" Before proceeding further, however,"
the manager observed, "I will suggest
an alternative. As innocent persons
have suffered in the past, let one inno-
cent person, at least, suffer now."

"What do you mean, Eben Knox?"
queried Miss Tabitha, a faint hope
creeping into the darkness of her terror.

" I mean this : that this ruin may
be averted by dashing the cup of joy
from the lips of the latest Bretherton
and from those of Leonora herself.
Such happiness as he, that detestable
popinjay, knew in her society during
the continuance of those tableaux, and
afterward upon the moonlit lawn —
where I saw them and fled in my
despair, — is enough for any man. Let
him pay the price. When he read in her
face, by the light of the moon shining
in high heaven, that she loved him, he
enjoyed the one supreme happiness left
on this black earth."

3t

THE AVE MARIA.

"I wish you would say what 3'ou
mean," urged the bewildered Miss
Tabitha. "What has the moon got to
do with that horrible affair which
you are always bringing up out of
the past?"

"Not much, indeed!" rejoined Eben
Knox, with a sardonic chuckle,— " not
much, indeed ! It was the love-making
and not the moon I was thinking of."

"You will drive me crazy if you go
on speaking in riddles!" wailed Miss
Tabitha.

"I shouldn't hke to do that," sneered
Eben Knox. " A mind in ruins, a noble
intellect toppled over — anything in the
Ophelia line would be inconvenient, as
I may want you for a witness. But to
come to the plain statement of facts — "

He paused, while the darkness which
had inclosed the two left the man's
pallid face and cavernous eyes barely
visible to the terrified gaze fixed upon
him.

"There is only one way in which
ruin maj' be averted and everything
be allowed to remain as it is. Let
your niece give up her fine lover and
marry me instead."

"She will never marry you!" cried
Miss Tabitha, hastily.

"Never willingly, I grant you, since
her head has been turned by her swell
admirers. But let her marry me as a
sacrifice to save others. That is the
sort of thing would appeal to her.
Once married, I am sure of her. She
will never disgrace a man's name."

It was curious how the wretched
manager's face softened and what a
tenderness crept into his voice as he
spoke of Leonora.

"She will have to suffer, but such
is the universal law. No human life
escapes it. So far as she is concerned,
I am sorry ; but I am no saint and no
hero. I am just a plain business man,
who has had to fight every step of
his way. Therefore, I shall have my
pound of flesh in this bargain. But I

am not a monster. I shall make her
a good husband, as the world goes.
She'll get a love and devotion from me
that she needn't expect from any of
these fine suitors, because there'll be
nothing to come between us. I'll spend
my life just to make her happy in
whatever fashion she prefers. There'll
be no fine friends to look coldly on
the girl, and there'll be no society of
snobs and toadies to lead me away
from her. As for the rest, half the
women in the world get over their
young fancies and marry the first man
that makes them an offer."

He spoke as if he were "holding an
argument with himself, — attempting
to carry conviction against his better
judgment. He knew that there was
no possibility of happiness or even
contentment for Leonora Chandler in
such a marriage, and yet he strove to
offer a convincing plea in its favor.

"As for your young Mr. Bretherton,"
he said presently, "it will be a sweet
morsel to snatch away from him his
victory in this affair as in that of
the election. Leonora, whom he had
intended to clothe with the Bretherton
glory, as King Cophetua clothed the
beggar maid, shall be plain Leonora
Knox, wife of the despised manager,
the social outcast, the pariah. But a
truce to heroics! Let me turn instead
to that page of ancient history which
you and I, as well as some others who
shall be for the present nameless, know
so intimately."

He paused and wiped his brow, upon
which the sweat was standing in great
beads, from that inward agitation
which convulsed the miserable man,
and the contending emotions which
held him as their prey.

"Go back, Tabitha Brown," he cried,—
"go back thirty years, a generation in
the life of man ! Even at that time you
were not young, — at least you had
outlived your first youth. You had
suffered as much as women of your type

THE AVE MARIA.

89

can suffer; and you had thrown away
your heart — the best you had to give —
on a young scapegrace who chanced to
be ennobled by the name of Bretherton.
In your eyes a Bretherton, and least of
all that Bretherton, could do no wrong.
There were some who said that his
people might have done better to let
him marrj' you, and that he might have
settled down the sooner into the life
of a reputable member of society. I
remember him years after, an ornament
to the social world, a legal luminary,
bland and civil-spoken and as cursedly
patronizing as his brother, the Gov-
ernor. Well, at the time that you and
I are thinking of, the neighborhood had
been stirred unpleasantly by rumors of
wild doings : card-playing, winebibbing,
roistering, — all that .such fine gentlemen
may do with impunity. There was a
clique of them, but Reverdy Bretherton
was spoken of as the leader."

Poor Miss Tabitha trembled at the
sound of that name. The ashes of
her life, and the fire of romance that
still burned in their midst, were being
ruthlessly stirred by this brutal hand.

"At last," Eben Knox cried, bending
toward the old woman in the darkness,
and lowering his voice to a whisper,
"there came a night, — you remember
it well, Tabitha Brown. It wasn't so
late in the autumn as this, — oh, no,
not nearly so late!"

A shudder ran through the listener,
and the narrator himself shivered ;
while the neglected fire upon the hearth,
flickering upward, showed two ghastly
faces, and eyes haggard from the inten-
sity of the emotions thus evoked.

A sound without caused them both
to start. Eben Knox leaped to his
feet as the opening of the outer door
heralded the approach of some one
from without. He stood staring and
expectant, as if he had been detected
in a crime and justice were about to
enter and claim him for a victim. Miss
Tabitha, too, gazed helplessly toward

the door, cowering over the dying
embers, and far less afraid of whoever
might be entering than of her saturnine
visitor and his tragical recollections.

It was almost an anticlimax of
absurdity to hear the sound of vigorous
sweeping, evidently upon the front
steps, and the voice of Mary Jane
singing, in a high and not too melodious
falsetto, a verse of a popular ditty.
She sang it lustily, without regard to
the opinion of the passers-by, or those
proprieties which Miss Tabitha had
striven so hard to inculcate. In fact,
the girl, who chanced to know that
Leonora had gone over to the convent,
believed, from the stillness of the house,
that Miss Tabitha had likewise vacated
the premises. She was, therefore, giving
free exercise to her lungs, and bewailing
at the top of her voice the perfidy of
a lover "who ran up one street and
down the other," always in pursuit of
a novel attraction.

As the two in the darkened room
still listened, with strained ears and
unsmiling faces, they heard an interrup-
tion to the song, evidently from Jesse
Craft's premises.

"Mary Jane," the old man said,
addressing the girl from his customary
station between the sunflowers, "it
ain't any matter of doubt that you've
got consid'able vocal power. With an
accompaniment of them Scotch pipes
that a feller was playin' round
here the other day, your voice would
sound tarnation fine up thar on
Mount Holyoke. It's jest a mite too
ear-splittin' for ord'nary use. If I
was you, I'd save it for the concert
platform."

To this address Mary Jane somewhat
shamefacedly responded :

"You just stop, Mr. Craft!" She
suspended her vocal efforts, however,
and redoubled her industry with the
broom.

"And as for that thar young feller
you're wastin' so much breath on, he

40

THE AVE MARIA.

ain't a patch on Dave. And Dave don't
run up no other street, I take it, than
this one."

"Quit your foolin', Mr. Craft!" cried
the girl, delightedly. "Dave and I are
only friends."

"You don't say! Wall, I guess we'll
have the minister cementin' up that
friendship down to the Methodist
meetin' house one of these days."

Mary Jane giggled.

"I'm never goin' to marry," she
rejoined. " I'm goin' to be an old maid
like Miss Tabithy."

"I reckon, then, Dave will take up
the single profession, too — like your
humble servant, J. Craft, — and take the
house next door."

Mary Jane dissented from this prop-
osition emphatically, declaring:

"Dave'd have another girl inside of
a week if I was to throw him over."

Jesse Craft gave a grim chuckle.

" 'Pears to me, Mary Jane, you're
makin' out Dave to be as slippery as
one of them eels down in the mill-pond.
And 'tain't no use tryin' to hold an
eel either."

"Dave ain't no eel, Mr. Craft!" the
girl remonstrated, indignantly.

"I'm powerful glad to hear it," said
the old man. "I was afeerd from your
description he might belong to that
tribe, my dear. They ain't pleasant
customers to handle, though a long
sight ahead of pizon snakes."

"Good gracious ahve, Mr. Craft,"
exclaimed the girl, "I hope you ain't
goin' to call Dave by any such name
as a pizon snake!"

"No, I ain't, Mary Jane," said the old
man, soothingly. "Dave ain't got no
pizon about him; he ain't venomous."

"Nor he ain't no snake."

"No, only a snake's boy."

"He ain't neither!" cried Mary Jane,
on the verge of tears. "He ain't got
nothin' to do with snakes."

"I meant to say a mill boy," Jesse
Craft responded blandly.

And Mary Jane was appeased ; but
not so Eben Knox, who had heard
and understood. He knew, by a swift
flash of intuition, who it was that
Miss Tabitha's garrulous neighbor
meant by the epithet of " pizon snake " ;
and from that moment he included
Craft in the savage hatred which he
felt toward the majority of his fellow-
citizens of Millbrook, and especially
those who were known to entertain a
particular good -will to the family at
the Manor.

Jesse Craft, who had been watching
the girl by the fast fading glimmer of
light in the western sky, saw that she
had concluded her sweeping.

"I see you're about at the end of
your broom exercise," he said. "You
handle a broom in first-rate style,
Mary Jane. I hope you won't ever go
for to try it on Dave."

"You just stop, Mr. Craft ! " ejaculated
Mary Jane once more.

"I was tumin' it over in my mind,
as I stood here, whatever made you
take it into your head to sweep in
the dark."

"I ain't in the dark: I've got the
porch lantern lighted. And I'm sweepin'
because the steps is all over sticky
mud, like as if somebody had been
walkin' in a pool, and come right up
here. I ain't seen nobody come in,
neither. But if Miss Tabithy sticks her
shoes into this clay, she'll raise Cain,
she will; and she'll swear 'twas Dave
that was foolin' around here."

"How did you know the mud was
there?" the old man inquired.

"Know? Why, I just come out here
for a mouthful of air—"

"And Dave chanced to be passin' by
at that minute," added Jesse Craft,
with a twinkle in his eye.

" Well, so he was, and I went down to
the gate for half a minute," admitted
the girl, defiantly. "He didn't bring no
mud. though ; and he didn't come nigh
the steps. But when I got back there, I

THE AVE MARIA.

41

stuck my foot right in a lump of mud.
I wonder who's been round here?"

"Mebbe Miss Tabithy had visitors,"
suggested Jesse Craft. "And that
reminds me, now that j'ou've got
through sweepin', would j-ou jest tell
Miss Tabithy that J. Craft wants to
come and call on her?"

"I'm most sure she's out," answered
Mary Jane, with a look of alarm,
remembering her vocal performance,
and her stolen interview with Dave at
the gate. "There ain't a speck of light
in the parlor. But I'll go and see, if you
want me to."

So saying, Mary Jane threw open the
parlor door, which had been ajar; and
when her eyes grew accustomed to the
faint ligl.t of the fire she uttered a
piercing shriek. For she beheld the two
silent figures, mute and motionless, as
if they had been grim shadows.

' ' Bakes alive ! ' ' she cried , — " sakes
alive! Who are you?"

Miss Tabitha's voice, hollow and
tremulous, sounded out of the dusk :

"Go out of the room, Mary Jane, and
close the door after you!"

Mary Jane obeyed, nothing loath ;
but not before she had recognized Eben
Knox. She forgot to deliver her message
from Jesse Craft, but rushed out again
to where the old man still stood peering
through the sunflower stalks.

" Miss Tabithy's in there all right
enough ; but she told me to go out, and
I did. Mr. Knox from the mill is in
there, and I guess he brought the mud
upon my clean steps, he did."

"I guess I'll call round some other
afternoon," declared Jesse Craft.

"I didn't tell Miss Tabithy nothin'
about you. I was so scared when I
saw them two sittin' in there like
scarecrows, that I just let a screech,
and I didn't think of nothin' else, till
Miss Tabithy told me to go out."

" It don't matter any," observed Jesse
Craft. "I can see Miss Tabithy most
any time."

But as he hobbled away he said to
himself:

" I wonder what the snake's up to this
time, and what in tarnation he's got to
say to Miss Tabithy ? The mud off his
boots is cleaner than he is, I reckon;
and if I was that old lady, I'd do like
Mary Jane, and take up the broom."

Eben Knox had, however, resumed
that grim recapitulation of past events
which Mary Jane had interrupted ; and
Miss Tabitha again cowered before it.

( To be continued. )

Rest.

In all these I sought rest, and I shall abide in*
the inheritance of the Lord. (Ecclus., zxir, //. J

Q MY soul! our life is weary,—
So they tell us, friend and foe ;
Striving, toiling, make it dreary,

As through lengthening years we go.
Heed thou not thy kin or neighbor.

Keep this one word in thy breast:
Earth is but a place of labor,

Heaven above the place of rest.

To unjust and just replying,

Spake the Christ of Calvary:
Each shall plainly, self-denying,

Take his cross and follow Me.
Martyred saints by block and sabre

Have fulfilled the Lord's behest,—
Earth is but a place of labor,

Heaven above the place of rest.

Would we reign within His palace.

As the sons of Zebedee?
We with Him must drink the chalice

Of His lone Gethsemane.
Oft e'en those who witness Thabor,

In the wine-trough sore are pressed, —
Earth is but a place of labor.

Heaven above the place of rest.

Some day soon, or night or morning,

Will the welcome message send ;
God Himself will give the warning

That our work is at an end.
Serve thy God, then, and thy neighbor.

Strive this day to do thy best,—
Earth is but a place of labor.

Heaven above the place of rest.

R. O'K.

42

THE AVE MARIA.

My Holiday.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "SCENES AND SKETCHES IN

AN IRISH PARISH ; OR, PRIEST AND PEOPLE

IN DOON."

DURING my whole time in the
Mountain Parish I took but one
brief holiday of a fortnight. I must
honestly admit that the reason of this
was not -that I was so overburdened
with missionary work that I could not
spare time to go away for a while;
my nose was not, indeed, held to the
grindstone so constantly as all that.
So long as I provided "a supply" in
my absence, I might have availed myself
of the annual three weeks' leave of
absence which diocesan law allowed.

No: the true reason of my having
taken my holidays at home was one
connected with domestic economy and
financial troubles. I should not, per-
haps, disclose such family secrets, or
intrude my petty grievances on an un-
interested and, possibly, unsympathetic
public. But, if the whole truth is to
be told, I must confess that I had no
money to spend on a vacation, and
simply could not afford one. I was
little better off than the immortal Vicar
of Auburn, "passing rich with forty
pounds a year." In that poor parish
it was no easy task to keep house,
live like a gentleman, help those poorer
still than I, like "a rale gintleman,"
and make ends meet withal. My
experience was that they were as
obstinately disinclined to meet as
similarly electrified bodies. My old
housekeeper crj'stallized the situation
when she told me on my arrival in
the Mountain Parish that it was "a
poor, bleak, wild, hungary soort of a
country."

I have already mentioned that I was
obliged to keep a horse in order to
be able to attend to the various calls
of my office of spiritual physician. I

thought, therefore, that as 1 must keep
a horse, I would have a good one that
would sell well whenever I elected to
part with him. A neighboring curate,
who was of a "horsy" turn of mind,
assured me that he managed, not only
to make his horse pay for his keep, but
to turn out, in the selling, more profit-
able to him than many marriages or
funerals. His conversation inoculated
me with the equine virus, and fired me
with the ambition to possess a horse
"with money in him."

After satisfying my conscience, there-
fore, that it was in no sense a violation
of the ecclesiastical law . regarding
Negotiatio, I invested almost my entire
fortune in a very promising colt —
to all appearances, at least, — which I
fondly hoped would turn out in time,
when trained and brought out, a
matchless steed. I engaged a local
horse-trainer, Tom Gannon, who under-
took to make the colt as "quiet as an
ass"; and who furthermore promised
that, at five -off, he would be "worth
a pocketful of goold." I looked on
that horse as a valuable investment,
one that would return a rich interest
for my outlay. True, he devoured more
hay and oats than a couple of cobs
would ; and the total cost of his
training was more than I liked to
compute accurately. I know it was
much in excess of the amount I at first
calculated on.

Well, after all my expense, trouble
and anxiety, that horse turned out
a dismal failure. He seemed to have
inherited or contracted most of the
diseases to which horseflesh is heir.
He harbored bots, contracted glanders,
developed splints, threw out a curb,
showed symptoms of spavin, got capped
hocks, and a sprain that turned to
a bad thoroughpin. The veterinary
surgeon was a familiar (and expensive)
visitor at my house for long enough.
I got a gentleman's knowledge of
veterinary science through having that

THE AVE MARIA.

48

horse. Finally, when he was tried for
his wind at the great January fair
of A., he proved to be a " whistler,"
according to some authorities; and a
" roarer," according to others. My
trainer considered this latter ailment
to be due to want of exercise and over-
feeding. He furthermore volunteered
the consoling postfactum information
that he had suspicions all along that
the "garran would turn out a bad
'erreb of a brute." Not to appear
a mere Job's comforter, however, he
prophesied that I would surely have
better luck with the next one I trained.
I sold for a song that horse, which I
had hoped would bring me a compe-
tence for my time in the parish. I rashly
attempted to force my Pegasus to scale
forbidden heights of affluence, and, like
that bold rider, Bellerophon, got a bad
fall in the attempt.

Having failed, however, to turn an
honest penny in the horsy way, I
determined to try another means of
retrieving my fallen fortunes. I had
another string to my bow; for, after
all, my true forte was not so much a
taste for horses as a taste for books.
Literature was more like my metier
than horse-dealing, with which I vowed
I would have nothing more to do. I
had no longer the least ambition to
emulate my neighbor, the horsy curate,
compared with whom in equine lore I
was a mere child. I resolved to be
satisfied in future with an humble,
useful cob, that would carry me on my
errands, and live and thrive on plain,
coarse fare.

A far simpler means of supplementing
my scanty income was at hand in pens,
ink, and a few quires of foolscap. In
this, at any rate, I was but returning
to my first love. I had been smitten
early in my career with the scribbling
mania in a mild form. I sent from time
to time some sketches of parish life to
various Irish and British magazines,
with a stamped and addressed envelope

for the return of the manuscript in case
of non-acceptance. It came back to me
in all cases with admirable quickness
and dispatch, accompanied by a scroll
with the legend, "Declined with
thanks." Disheartened and disillu-
sioned, I had locked up my sketches and
resolved to learn a little common-sense.
But when I came to the Mountain
Parish I began to write again, and
recast my first attempts, having now
an admirable opportunity of drawing
my scenes to the life. I had, then, plenty
of free time on ray hands ; and many a
delightful hour I spent in flinging off
sheet after sheet to phantom printers'
devils waiting at my elbow for "copy."
Such was my pleasing hobby until I
bought that ill-starred colt, when I
became enamored of such books as
the "Illustrated Horse Doctor" and
" Points of the Horse."

Indeed, during the time I had the
horsy fever I scarcely gave a thought
to the literary projects which had
once so preoccupied my mind ; or if I
did, it was only to dismiss them as
visionary and ludicrous in the extreme.
The natural fear of ridicule had pre-
vented me from taking counsel with
any one on the subject of my literary
ambition; and, now that I believed
the scales had fallen from my eyes,
and that I saw my egregious folly,
I was glad I had held my peace on
the subject. In truth, at this period
of mental lethargy, so much afraid
was I that my absurd pretensions to
authorship might be discovered, that
I burned the rough sketch of a novel
of Irish life on which I had expended
much time and thought. I felt half
inclined, too, to consign my series of
"Sketches" to the flames, and thus
rid myself of the temptation to get
them printed. I confess it cost me no
small effort to overcome, as I after-
ward did, the haunting dread I felt of
some day being unmercifully quizzed
over my literary dreams, and made a

44

THE AVE MARIA.

laughing-stock of for the whole diocese.
But the paternal instinct prevailed, and
I respited these darling children of my
brain, which I lived to see arrayed in
all the glory of print.

It was while I was suffering from
a bad fit of the "dumps" over that
unfortunate affair of the sale of my
much - blemished horse, that I routed
my manuscript out of its secret drawer,
unmindful of the advice of Horace —
Nonumque prematur in aanum, — and
began to read it again by way of
distracting my mind from brooding
over the disastrous failure of my horse-
dealing scheme. It was then, too, that
the cacoethes scribendi returned with
increased virulence; and I forthwith
set to rewriting and improving ray
productions, which I also got typed in
order to wheedle some editor into at
least reading them. So very promptly
had my manuscript returned before,
when I sent it to the magazines, that
I verily believed it had not been read
at all. I found some consolation for
my wounded vanity in this thought.
It was at this time, too, as I have
already mentioned, that I ventured
to tell in confidence my plans to my
clerical neighbor. I shall not soon forget
the look of mingled amusement and
pity he gave me when I told him what
I was then engaged on.

At any rate, I sent my type-script
to a well-known American magazine;
and I think that day is amongst the
happiest of my life when I got a reply
saying my contributions were accepted,
and that I would receive payment on
a liberal scale for anything more I
might write in the same strain. I never
saw any one look more astonished
than did my friend, the horsy curate,
when I showed him the money -order
I got from America. He declared
that I had certainly chanced on a
"good thing," adding that a "rank
outsider " sometimes wins. I there-
upon resolved to expend some of this

windfall on a well-earned holiday, as
the phrase runs.

The desire of revisiting the scenes
of my first missionary labors came
strongly on me, and I crossed over to
Liverpool to renew old acquaintances.
When the steamer arrived in Prince's
Dock, I saw a great crowd surrounding
one of the Irish boats. Urged by that
unconquerable curiosity which impels
one to know the why and wherefore
of a crowd collecting, I joined them,
and elbowed and wormed my way
toward the inner circle of the throng.
I laughed heartily, more at them than
with them, when I saw what attracted
them hither ; for what, think you, was
the sight that engrossed the attention
of this grave-looking, sedate gathering
of English people ? Why, nothing more
than my familiar acquaintances of
the mountain - side, the oft -caricatured
"gintlemen that pay the rint," — namely,
a long line of pigs wending their way
to shore from the boat, grunting,
snorting, or uttering querulous com-
plaints, as their drivers twisted the
tails of the lazy ones.

An Irish peasant trudged after
them, — a good-natured, undersized man
in a frieze coat, with straw - rope
leggings, and between his lips a black
dudeen as short in the stem as the
tail of Tam O'Shanter's mare. As my
countryman passed along the gangway
close to me, I said in my best accent :
"Go mbeannuighidh Dia dhuit?" He
stood like one thunderstruck, and
looked around ; and when he saw me,
the soggarth aroon, who had addressed
him in his mother tongue, he took
off his old cavbeen, made the Sign of
the Cross on his forehead with his
thumb; tears filled his eyes, and he
broke out into a perfect tornado of
Irish, while the gaping crowd listened
in dull wonder to the strange sounds.

"O mother!" I heard a little girl
say, "what is he?"

"A poor Irishman, dear," she replied.

THE AVE MARIA.

45

"O mother!" she continued, "is he
dangerous, or would he kill you?"

As I passed along the landing stage
I saw two "apple-women" — as we call
them at home — conversing amicably
together, each holding out a hand con-
taining an apple and an orange. When
I dropped a few coppers in their
baskets in passing, they verily deluged
ray "reverence" with blessings in the
familiar and mellifluous accents of the
Irish brogue. I encountered, in like
manner, a flower-girl, a bootblack, and
a newsboy before I left the landing
stage; and I judged them to be Irish
also, by their broad way of saying
"Father," and the artful, wheedling
manner in which they circumvented
me, and coaxed me into parting with
more coppers by their palavering and
blarney. They were real plaushies, as
we used to say in Killanure.

But I had not done with my country-
people yet. As I crossed over to Water
Street, I passed close to a group of
corporation laborers engaged in repair-
ing the street-way. I recognized one of
them at once, — old Tom Brannan, who
used to live in my district. He was a
Connaught man, who, although resi-
dent in Liverpool for thirty years,
remained as unmistakably Irish in
speech, manner and appearance as the
day he shouldered his bundle to start
for the English harvest fields. When he
saw me he advanced, with outstretched
hand and tears in his honest eyes,
saying: "Musha, Father O'Carroll, is
it yourself that's in it ? And how is
every bit of you, alanna wacbree?"
And he spoke with a brogue as pure and
undefiled as my own parishioner, Mick
Moran, of Drumbawn, could lay claim
to; and looked as countrified and
Hibernian, everj' inch of him, with his
thirty years' exposure to the formal,
chilling Saxon atmosphere, as any
cottier on his native heath.

But, if thus agreeabl}' surprised at
meeting an old friend on setting foot

once again on English soil, I soon
experienced disappointment. I sought
the business addresses of two old
friends, but I found strange names on
their oflice doors. I inquired from a
clerk where Mr. E. had removed to.
He answered curtly: "Don't know,
I'm sure."

On my way to St. O.'s, my former
mission — for which, of course, I steered
on landing, — I called at No. 55 B. Road,
where one of my most particular friends
used to live. My heart beat fast with
pleasurable excitement as I pictured to
myself the joy and surprise of Mrs.
O'M. and her children — with whom I
was a special favorite — when they
saw me. How the youngsters used to
shout with delight when I crossed that
threshold! I was wondering if little
Brendan would recognize me — when
a strange lady opened the door, and
regarded me with a cold, hard, and,
as I imagined, unfriendly look, that,
like a killing frost, blighted at once
my pleasant anticipations. The incident
reminded me of the time when I went
round my district to take the census.
I remember some such receptions when
I asked at each house if they were
Catholics or Protestants who lived
there. When I inquired, now, if the
O'M. family still lived there, I received
for reply a serious, solemn shake of
the head from the sour-looking lady,
who as yet had not spoken, but, like
the Ancient Mariner, "held me with
her glittering eye."

"They have left this house, then, I
suppose?" I remarked.

She assented with an inclination that
was ever so slight; while I felt myself,
in a manner, fascinated by her stare,
like the unfortunate wedding guest in
the immortal "Rime."

"Would you kindly tell me where
they have gone to, Madame?" I said.

"Don't know, I'm sure," she replied,
and forthwith shut the door on me
with a bang.

46

THE AVE MARIA.

I went down the steps from that
house with an indescribable feeUng of
loneliness and sadness, for I had passed
many a pleasant evening there. Mr.
O'M. was a wealthy, self-made man;
his wife, accomplished and kindly ; and
their little children, delightful company
for one fond of children as I was.
Besides, the family were Irish of the
Irish, and Catholic of the Cathohcs. I
afterward heard, with a keen pang
of regret that financial misfortunes
compelled them to leave Liverpool,
and that they were now Hving in
another English town, in rather poor
circumstances.

Yet another disappointment was in
store for me when I called at " Carriglea
House," in P. Road, where lived my
former very dear friend, Mr. K. He was
a cattle salesmaster in comfortable
circumstances, and one of the best and
truest Irishmen I have ever met. I
doubt if one could be found anywhere
with a deeper or fonder love for his
motherland than Mr. K. had. When
I came to the house I saw in front of
it a board affixed to a pole with the
legend on it "House to let." I began to
think I had now no friends in this great
city, and I almost feared to call at the
residences of any more of my former
acquaintances. On inquiry, I was told
that poor Mr. K. was dead, and that
his family had left Liverpool. A few
short years had brought many sad
changes.

When I arrived at St. O.'s presbytery
I exjjerienced a still greater sense of
loneliness. Although only a few years
absent, I was as little known there
as Monk Felix of the "Golden Legend"
was to his brethren when he walked in
among them after his hundred years'
rapture listening to the angelic singing
bird in the monastery- woods. I found
there a new rector, a new curate, and
new servants. None of them knew me
except by hearsay. I missed especially
the genial smile of my old rector, my

first parish priest, as I might call him,
dear old Father Van—, who had died
two years after my recall to Ireland.

I retain to this day a vivid recollec-
tion of my first meeting with him on
the cold March day, when I announced
myself as the Irish priest who had been
sent him as his assistant. I arrived
in Prince's Dock in the ghostly small
hours of the morning, after passing a
sleepless night, varied with the horrors
of seasickness, in my berth on board
the steamer Connaught ; and I might
say that, although in a land of plenty,
I was practically both supperless and
breakfastless when I arrived about
noon at my new home. Not, indeed,
that I arrived destitute, as so many of
my countrypeople had before me; but
I felt in so sorry a plight after the
rough voyage that the choicest viands
of the royal table would not have
tempted my appetite.

But I received a welcome as kindly
and warm as I would have got in my
father's house. The servant (an Irish
girl) who opened the door greeted me in
the musical accents of the brogue ; and
presently Father Van — himself, a great,
portly man of imposing presence, wel-
comed me in his foreign, broken English,
and smiled benignly on his woe-begone,
forlorn - looking young Irish curate,
whom the cook, Mrs. Murphy, declared,
as I afterward heard, to be " only a
gossoon -priest," from a cursory first
impression of me.

I was not a little surprised to hear
the old Belgian priest pronounce some
words with a rich, well-flavored brogue.
I understood the meaning of it, how-
ever, when he told me that he had
learned English from the good Irish
people of his district. He would tell
with great gusto how they insisted on.
changing his strange-sounding, foreign
patronymic into a famihar Irish name,
and called him Father Devanny. He
would never tire of talking of the
wonderful faith of the Irish, and o

THE AVE MARIA.

47

their kindness to himself when he came
among them a foreigner, ignorant of
their speech and their customs. Peace
to his ashes! He was a grand ecclesi-
astic, a true pastor, an enthusiastic
lover of Ireland, and a kind friend to
me. I think I see him now as he used
to sit at the head of the dinner table,
his napkin tucked under his many-
folding chin, his smiling face beaming
satisfaction and good humor, and his
huge frame sometimes shaking with
laughter at an oft -told joke of his
own anent his missionary experiences
among the Irish.

I spent a verj' pleasant week among
ray Liverpool friends, who vied with
one another in their kindness and
hospitality. They had not yet forgotten
me, and many of them gave me a warm
and pressing invitation to renew my
visit the following year. Those Irish
exiles who had prospered in England
kept a warm corner in their hearts for
the old country, toward which they
ever turned with a yearning fondness
akin to that of the banished Israelites
for their beloved Sion. When I related
incidents of my experience in the Moun-
tain Parish, I could see tears gathering
in sympathetic eyes as memory recalled
some far-off, half-forgotten scene of the
kindly, well -loved land they had left
forever. Those warm - hearted exiles
might truly say — with the substitution
of "Eire "for "Sion" — in the words
of the disconsolate Jews sitting and
weeping by the waters of Babylon,
their neglected harps hung on the
willows by the banks thereof: "If I
forget thee, Ireland, let my right hand

be forgotten Let my tongue cleave

to my jaws if I make not Ireland the
beginning of my joy." If Bums could
say, "My heart's in the Highlands
wherever I go," those exiles could as
truly say — even those who had won
wealth and fame — that their hearts
w^ere in the purple -clad mountains, the
fair, swelling hills, the dreamy, misty

valleys, or the green, smiling fields of
Eirinn. Ireland is a name, I doubt not,
that might be found written on many
a heart that is still, although only
God's eyes have seen it.

The second week of my holidays I
resolved to spend on my native heath
of Clonmore. I found when I came
there that a programme of visits to
friends and relatives — aunts, uncles,
and cousins — had been already arranged
for me. In my student days I used
invariably to make a round of visits
among them during the midsummer
holidays. It was a matter of course,
or rather of duty ; for if I left out
any of them "I'd never hear the end
of it," — which, being interpreted, meant
that they would have and keep a
perennial crow to pluck with me when-
ever we met. During my time on
the English mission, however, I had
practically lost sight of them. I was
now to renew old acquaintance. I
shall take our visit to Aunt A., of
Coolfin, as typical of all the others.
I had, in youth and childhood, spent
months, off and on, at Coolfin, and
hence it naturally held the first place
in my affections. Aunt A. was my
favorite aunt, and her children were
my favorite cousins. A visit to Coolfin
was always exceedingly pleasant, both
in the anticipation of it and in the
remembrance of it.

Aunt A. was a widow from the time
of my earliest recollection, her husband
having died when her youngest child
was a mere infant. This loss of a
good and devoted husband so early
in married life, combined with the
increased cares and responsibility that
fell to her lot in consequence, gave a
tinge of tender melancholy and resigned
sadness to my aunt's features^,
large, lustrous eyes, mild a/
their expression, and her
with Quaker-like simplicity,^
impressed me as being vei
Mater Dolorosa picture in

48

THE AYE MARIA.

back bedroom at Clonmore. In youth
she had been a parish beauty; and,
but for this shade of sadness and care,
the winning graces of girlhood were
little affected by the years. Her voice
was one of the sweetest and most
pleasing I ever listened to. It was low
and gentle, soft as the cooing of the
dove, and as musical in its intonations
as the murmur of a mountain rill.
She was a woman very lovable, very
gentle, and very motherly.

My visit to Aunt A. was on a glorious
day in the beginning of August. My
mother, sister, and brother accompanied
me. Every object along the well-
remembered road was redolent of fond
recollections of the past. My first
distant journey, when I was a child
of about five years, was along that
road. My mother brought me with
her on her annual visit to her sister
at Coolfin. The brand-new suit I wore
will, I think, live in my memory for-
ever, with its intricate interlacements
of tape on the sleeves and front, and
its rows of wonderful shining buttons,
which I counted and recounted till my
eyes tired.

We arrived at Coolfin about two
o'clock, and found Aunt A. waiting for
us at the gate, in her snow-white
frilled cap and check apron, just as I
had seen her twenty-five years before.
She even used the same kindly greeting
that I then heard for the first time:
"You're welcome as the flowers of
May!" In her manner toward myself
there was a blending of the old
familiarity and motherliness with re-
spectful reverence and deference for my
sacred character, that was as inimitable
as it was perfectly natural and easy.
And when she said to m3' mother, " Isn't
it you that ought to be the proud
woman to-day! " it was with such an
air of sincerit}' and simplicity that I
could not think she meant to flatter
me in the least.

My cousins were three in number —

two boys and a girl. The latter, Nora,
was about nineteen, and the speaking
likeness of her mother. She had the
same beautiful blue eyes, raven hair,
damask cheek, and even the same
thoughtful, melancholy shade of coun-
tenance. Her voice, too, was soft and
musical like Aunt A.'s, and she had
the selfsame bell-like laugh. My aunt
cherished Nora as the apple of her eye ;
and, through an excess of jealous love,
gave her little or no opportunities of
associating with others, even of her
sex and age. To this fact I always
attributed her almost perfect imitation
of her mother's ways. In the convent-
like seclusion of her quiet home, she
had grown into a lovely and lovable
woman ; unconscious, apparently, of
her native charms as they expanded
and bloomed into still fresher and
more winning beauty, like some shy
wild flower in a lonely dell gradually
unfolding its pure, delicate petals into
a thing of surpassing fairness.

Dinner was on the table soon after
we entered the house; and a plentiful
repast it was, with "lashin's and
lavin's" of all kinds of good things,
solids and liquids. Although we dined
heartily, my aunt continued to upbraid
us during the meal with our want
of appetite, and coaxingly encouraged
us "to try and eat a little bit, such
as it is."

After dinner we all sallied forth to
inspect the fields, the crops, the flocks
and the herds; partly to rejoice with
my aunt in her worldly possessions,
and partly to fill up the interval until
tea-time. Many a time and oft on
former visits, when I was a boy, had
I gone the rounds of these same fields
in the same idle, strolling fashion,
although I saw more to wonder at
then than I did now. To my boyish
imagination there was a glamour of
romance and mystery and awe round
the fairy rath in the big field of
Moghera ; but now the spell was gone.

THE AVE MARIA.

49

I used to think that the river which
flowed through* Curraghglass was a
noble stream ; but, now that I was
a travelled man and had seen seas and
lakes and great rivers, I thought the
Brosna no better than a puny brook.
For me, as for Wordsworth, "there
hath passed away a glory from the
earth."

All the same, every field through which
we sauntered was associated with well-
nigh forgotten memories of the past, —
recollections that were partly cheering
and partly sad. In former rambles
through these pleasant meadows and
pastures we generally had with us one
that was dear to us all, but who had
since passed away. Seated on one of
the grassy circumvallations of the old
fort, we watched the lambs running
friendly races, or fighting and butting
one another in frolicsome wantonness;
and a foal careering round its dam,
and performing various foolishly jejune
and fantastic feats of wild equine
gymnastics. Some one mentioned that
on the very last occasion when he
visited Coolfin he — my father I, of
course, refer to — sat on this very bank,
chatting and laughing in rare good
humor. He always vastly enjoyed a
visit to Coolfin, and he dearly loved
a good, long, comfortable chat with
ray aunt. We returned to the house
in a thoughtful mood, and I noticed
that both my mother and my aunt
furtively applied their handkerchiefs to
eyes that swam in tears.

After tea my mother, having learned
that it was six o'clock, declared that
it would be "all hours before we'd get
home," and began to prepare to start.
But my aunt and cousins would not
hear of it. In vain she pleaded the
necessity of being at home for the milk-
ing of the cows, the feeding of the
calves— that made evening hideous with
incessant and dismal roaring when not
attended to promptly,— and other like
excuses for getting a waj. But no: we

must stay another hour or so. Cousin
Nora hid mother's bonnet and »hawl,
and cousin Jim had our cushions and
coats "in pound"; while John, bis
brother, said that our horse was onJy
just beginning to munch a feed of oats,
which would take him some time to get
through.

At last, however, we got under way
for home. My aunt and Nora parted
from us with moist eyes ; while the two
boys came with us for a bit of the road,
and finally left us with as many regrets
and hand-shakings as if we were bound
for a far country, instead of Clonmorc,
only ten miles distant. Ah, that was a
warm welcome, indeed, which we got
at Aunt A.'s,— a welcome kindly, genial,
and warm as God's own love! Poets
have raved about hours of happiness
that were "glowing," "golden" or
"winged," and the rest; but I look
back on the honeyed and nectared
hours of that visit to Coolfin as my
ideal of what an earthly paradise
might be.

It may seem cruel of me, perhaps,
to mention what must form an
unpleasant sequel to these reminis-
cences; but such things are happening
constantly in this dreary world of
woe. The day came, within ray own
memory, when I saw the old homestead
of Aunt A. a deserted ruin. The story
is soon told. Her youngest son received
his portion out of the farm, and went
to America, where he had an uncle,
and died there from an accident within
less than two years after landing.
Nora married ; and Jim, the eldest of
the family, fell a victim to the dread
disease of consumption, and died. All
these events happened within half a
dozen years from the time of the visit
I have described. Broken-hearted and
dispirited, my aunt struggled on at
the farm for a few years more, and
was finally obliged, through financial
difficulties, to yield up the place to the
landlord, who turned it into a grass

50

THE AVE MARIA.

farm, and allowed the dwelling to
fall into ruin.

Many years after the pleasant visit
I have tried to describe I happened to
be in the vicinity of Coolfin, and I
went out of my waj' for no other
purpose than the melancholy satisfac-
tion of seeing once more that well-
known house. As I approached I
fancied that I should see ray aunt in
her snowy cap and check apron stand-
ing at the gate as of yore ; for I could
not imagine the place without her. A
flood of tender memories rushed in on
me when I came near, and I almost
persuaded myself that the story I have
told of her misfortunes was a dream.
But when I arrived at the padlocked
gate, and saw .the cold reality before
me, I cried. A house with the door
nailed up, the windows broken, and the
roof in places fallen in ; the wall, that
used to be so white, blackened and
disfigured all over with ugly, greenish
rain streaks. There was no one to
meet me; no voice to greet me; the
familiar, smiling faces, the music of the
laugh I loved to hear, the warm pressure
of friendly hands, kindness, hospitality
and love, — all gone, all gone! I looked
on the familiar objects all round with
feelings of poignant sadness ; and gazed
and gazed on the loved scenes asso-
ciated with life's halcyon days, till a
mist of tears blinded me.

The devotion — or worship, as we
say in our Old English speech — to the
Blessed Virgin which the Catholic
Church teaches to her children, may be
best defined in these words: it is the
love and veneration which was paid
to her by her Divine Sou and His
disciples, and such as we should have
borne to her if we had been on earth
with them ; and it is also the love and
veneration we shall bear to her next
after her Divine Son, when through
grace we see Him in His kingdom.

— Cardinal Manning.

Starting on the Right Road.

PERHAPS the best wish that can
be formed for the hundreds of
Catholic young men who have just
finished their collegiate course, is that
each may start out on the right
road to the fuller life that awaits
him. Few thoughtful Christians will
question the fact that there is some
particular calling for which each of
these college graduates is especially
destined; some profession or business
for which his inclinations, talents, and
tastes render him particularly suited ;
some place or position in the world
which, in the designs of Providence, he
should fill. In other words, or in Cath-
olic terms, each of these young men
has a vocation; and the discovery of
what that vocation is, with the adop-
tion thereof when found, constitutes a
most momentous duty.

And this is why: for every diflftculty
in the way of salvation that will meet
and annoy the man who has chosen
the calling in life for which Providence
has destined him, there will be a hun-
dred greater difficulties in the path of
him who has selected any other calling
than his own. Apart even from eternal
interests, and taking into consideration
only honorable worldl3' success, it is
manifest that the young man's most
important work is to make a wise
choice of a profession. "No man," says
a worldly philosopher, "ever made an
ill figure who understood his own
talents, nor a good one who mistook
them." " Be what nature intended you
for," says another, "and you will be
a success; be anything else, and you
will be ten thousand times worse than
nothing."

It is precisely because so many are
something else than what they were
intended for that thousands of lives
are miserable failures. It is because so
many, with capacity merely to govern

THE AVE MARIA.

»i

a yacht, seize the helm of a ship, or
vice versa, that their Hfe's voyage is
a trial and its issue a problem. "If
you choose," says Sydney Smith, "to
represent the various parts of life by
holes in a table, of different shapes — some
circular, some triangular, some square,
and some oblong; and the persons
acting these parts, by bits of wood of
similar shapes, we shall generally find
that the triangular person has got into
the square hole, the oblong into the
triangular, while the square person has
squeezed himself into the round hole."

Now, all this is not less applicable to
eternal than it is to temporal success.
Here is the theological truth of the
matter. As Divine Providence has given
men different qualities of mind and
body, He has also established different
states of life, different professions suited
to these various dispositions. More-
over, He has from all eternity prepared
graces suited to each state and to
each man, in order to conduct him to
salvation; so that all states are not
adapted to every man, nor every state
to all men. Nor has God decreed that
individual men shall receive the fulness
of special and extraordinary graces in
any state whatsoever, but only in that
state to which He has called them.
Consequently, if a youth does not
choose his proper state or calling, he
will not receive these particular graces,
but only those which may, but prob-
ably will not, secure his salvation.
"Every one," says St. Paul, "hath his
proper gift from God ; one after this
manner, and another after that," —
meaning that every man has a grace
for one vocation and not for another.
St. Gregory of Nazianzen recognizes the
same truth when he says that "the
choice of a state is the only foundation
on which we can raise the edifice of a
good or a bad life."

In the orchestra of life, the Divine
I/Cader has given out the proper parts ;
and the reason there is bo much grating

discord instead of full, sweet melody, is
that the players have mixed the music :
the bass violinist is playing tenor, and
the first cometist is playing bass.
Dragging out a miserable existence in
our large cities, there are hundreds of
half- starved lawyers, doctors and
preachers whom God never designed to
be anything else than happy, intelligent
farmers or country storekeepers; and
there are just as many unhappy young
men on the farm or behind the counter
who should be in their places, them-
selves and the world being better for
the change. There are brakemen on
our railways whose intelligence would
grace the senate chamber, and occasion-
ally nonentities in Congress without
natural capacities to make second-rate
brakemen. They are discontented and
ill at ease. Why ? Because they are
playing life's music off somebody else's
sheet, and the result will ever be discord,
not harmony.

It will be understood, then, that on a
young man's choosing his proper calling
depends, in a very great measure, not
only his eternal but even his temporal
prosperity and happiness. Let him
select any other state than that for
which Providence intends him, and he
takes ninety -nine chances of failure
against one of success. Now comes
the question, How are young men to
determine what that particular state
is? The briefest answer is: Let them
pray. Let them ask God to make
known to them the business in life
which it is His will that they should
pursue.

Can anything be more natural than
that such a prayer should be heard ?
God desires them to save their souls. He
knows what state they should embrace.
He knows, too, that if they embrace any
other than that one, they expose their
salvation to terrible risks. They ask
Him earnestly and fervently to make
known His will: then why should He
not hear them? Has He not told us,

sa

THE AVE MARIA.

"Seek, and you shall find"? Can it
be possible, then, that in an affair
of such moment we should seek and
not find ? No, no ! God's promises are
fulfilled : they can not be broken. Hence
if young men really desire to know the
state in life which it behooves them
to enter, let them ask their Heavenly
Father to tell it to them. Asking
with the well -determined intention of
following His holy will, they will
infallibly secure the granting of their
prayer. In a word, if they do their
part in this momentous matter, God
will certainly do the rest, even if He
has directly to inspire themselves or
their spiritual directors.

God's Thane.

FEW Englishmen had more to look
to in the world, or gave it up more
completely, than Wulstan, "Thane's
Son of Itchington," Bishop of Worcester.
With all the world before him, he
became a monk, living a plain life,
beloved of the common people whose
friend he was, going among them
constantly, hearing their confessions
and listening to their troubles and
grievances. Unostentatious and simple
though he was, his fame went abroad
in the land, and King Harold once went
thirty miles to confess to him.

When named Bishop of Worcester, he
declared sorrowfully that he would
rather lose his head than be made a
bishop. But he served the Church as
well in his exalted station as he had
in his lowly one. Even the Normans
respected him; and the conquering
William, when expostulated with by
Wulstan, restored to the Church some
lands he had seized.

With Lanfranc, the story goes, he had
a famous passage at arms. The two
were at swords' points over the vile
slave - trade then carried on by the mer-
chants of Bristol among the peasants

of Ireland; and Wulstan declared in
no measured tones that it was a sin
and disgrace, and should not be. Lan-
franc called him before the Synod
and demanded that he resign his See.
But the Bishop, though not desiring
dignities, had no mind to be deprived
of them unjustly. He stoutly refused
to deliver up his staff and ring ; and
when Lanfranc insisted, the old man
replied :

"My staff is here: release it and I
shall give it up,"— as he spoke driving
it into the stone of the tomb of St.
Edward the Confessor.

And there it stayed. The Bishop of
Rochester, Lanfranc, and even the King
himself, tried in vain to remove it;
which feat Wulstan accomplished with
ease. At which all wondered, and
Lanfranc exclaimed: "This is truly
God's Thane!"

A Queen's Admonition.

One of the characteristics of present-
day life in France is the utter disregard,
shown by many in both cities and rural
districts, of the Lord's day. It was not
always thus. Queen Marie Leczinska,
the sainted wife of Louis XV., was
informed one Sunday that laborers were
at work on one of the royal theatres.
The contractor was sent for; and, on
being reprimanded for violating the
Lord's Day, replied that he had engaged
to have the building finished at a fixed
date, and in doing so had reckoned
all the Sundays as working -days; he
could never finish it in time by working
only on weekdays, and consequently
he had either to continue the Sunday
labor or else lose the large amount of
money he had deposited as a forfeit.
The Queen gave him the amount
mentioned, saying: "Well, take your
time, and hereafter be careful to accept
no contracts that can not be fulfilled
without violating the law of God."

THE AVE MARIA.

53

Notes and Remarks.

Readers of The Ave Maria are
already aware of the fact that since
the promulgation of the Czar's edict
granting religious liberty to his sub-
jects, great numbers of strayed sheep,
especially in Russian Poland, have
returned to the Fold of Peter. It
would seem that a movement toward
the Church has begun in the Empire,—
a movement which may eventually put
an end to the great Eastern Schism.
As many as 26,000 persons in Siedlce
and Lublin have already renounced
their allegiance to the Russian Church.
Commenting on this consoling fact, the
Lamp (Anglican), a strong advocate
of Corporate Reunion, says: "The
Pope as the successor of St. Peter,
and the Lord's Vicar, does not belong
to the Latins alone,— nay, he belongs
to the whole company of the baptized,
whether they be Anglicans or Greeks
or Calvinists or Lutherans. Let us
return, as did the men of Israel from
following the standard of Absalom,
and claim our rights in the universal
Shepherd; and by doing so regain the
goodly inheritance of 'the One Fold
and the One Shepherd.' .. .The Father
of Christendom will treat us as hand-
somely as the father in the parable
treated the prodigal son." Yes; all
that is needed is the dispositions of
the prodigal.

It is not often, at least in this country,
that a Catholic educational institution
meets with such substantial gratitude
as was shown to their Aiwa Mater by
the "old boys" of St. Viateur's College,
Bourbonnais, 111., at the recent com-
mencement. On that occasion the
comer-stone of what is to be an impos-
ing new hall was blessed by Archbishop
Quigley, and the alumni of St. Viateur's
contributed twenty -five thousand dol-
lars to the building fund. Not a very

notable gift, this, if compared with the
hundreds of thousands, the millions
even, contributed to secular or sectarian
universities in this country; but a
munificent one, we doubt not, from the
St. Viateur viewpoint, as it would be
from the viewpoint of most others of
our Catholic colleges. The contribution
is distinctly creditable to both college
and alumni; and the occasion of its
presentation was also fitly chosen, for
the recent commencement rounded out
the twenty-fifth year of the presidency
of the learned and revered Father
Marsile, C. S. V.

The festivities at Fulda in honor of
St. Boniface were of a character to
rejoice the hearts of all German Cath-
olics, thousands of whom took part in
them, and to make a deep impression
on visitors from distant countries. We
have not heard that the United States
was represented on the occasion; but,
as was especially fitting, the bishops of
England sent an address, which was
presented in person by the Archbishop of
Westminster, one of the most honored
participants in the celebration. There
were religious services and sermons,
processions, tableaux vivants, concerts,
oratories, etc., for a whole week, with
bell -ringing and the firing of salutes
sine fine. Not for centuries, perhaps
never before, has the picturesque old
city of Fulda witnessed such solemnities
and rejoicings.

Of course no English writer, referring
to the centenary of St. Boniface, could
fail to remind us that he was a native
of England, where he is known as
Winfrid. A writer in the London
Tablet adds: "The Church in England
and the Church in Germany may well
meet together at his tomb, and join
hands in thanksgiving and congratula-
tion on the festival of his martyrdom " : ,

In the midst of these historic celebrations, the
eyes and the hearts of both English and German
Catholics will turn with grateful loyalty to the

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THE AVE MARIA.

Chair of Peter, and to tho great Pontiff Pius X.,
who is equally the successor of him who sent
St. Augustine to England and of the Gregories
who sent St. Boniface to Germany. It is surely
a striking object lesson of the stability and
continuity of the work of the Church, that he
who wears the pallium of St. Augustine and he
who wears the pallium of St. Boniface shomld
to-day stand side by side, and send their united
homage of faith and obedience to the successor
of St. Gregory I. and St. Gregory III., more than
eleven centuries after the death of the saint
who was Germany's apostle and England's
missionary. These are ties of spiritual kinship
across the sea more deep and enduring than any
which mere worldly interests can weave between
the nations.

• am

Every man of affairs who has studied the
subject at all, knows that if men who commit
crime were promptly arrested and convicted,
there would be no mob for the purpose of
lynching. A mob, after it has been organized,
loses all conscience and can not be controlled;
but it is the delay of justice that leads to its
organization. Nothing but a radical improve-
ment in our administration of criminal law will
prevent the growth, in the United States, of the
number of lynchings that bring the blush of
•hame to every lover of his country.

The foregoing citation, from a recent
discourse of Secretary Taft, is so
directly in line with what has time
and again been insisted upon in these
columns that our readers \rill discover
less of novelty in this utterance of the
judicial Secretary of War than will
most others to whose notice it may
come. Mr. Taft's facilities for forming
a thoroughly sound judgment upon the
question have been exceptional; and
his denunciation of the present adminis-
tration of our criminal law is, we trust,
a harbinger of better things speedily
to come. The prompt conviction of a
notorious defaulter in Wisconsin, noted
by us a week or two ago, stands out
as conspicuously as a black crow
among white pigeons.

Catholic conduct of a much younger
monarch, Alfonso, the boy -king of
Spain. In London as well as Paris, the
Spanish sovereign showed, both by his
devotion in church and his attitude
toward the hierarchy, that the religious
lessons instilled by his royal mother,
Maria Christina, have been well learned.
In Paris, particularly, such action, in
this period of triumphant French infi-
delity and Masonry, was commendably
chivalrous. As the Standard and Times
remarks : "It requires no small amount
of moral fortitude to stand up against
banded infidelity, insolent in its tem-
porary triumph over God's Church and
in possession of the whole powers of
the State, and rebuke it by an open
profession of faith in and reverence for
that which is the object of its rabid
persecution. This Alfonso did, most
openly." And for this, manly men of all
religions and no religion will deem him
worthy of genuine respect, apart from
all question of his kingly station.

As a companion picture to Edward
VII., attending in Paris the services of
the Anglican Church, we have much
pleasure in noting the consistently

Of wholesome spirit, besides being
eminently practical, was the address of
President Roosevelt to the graduates
of Harvard College. We quote one
passage containing advice which,
because of its general need, can not
be too often repeated :

Together with devotion to what is right must
go practical efficiency in striving for what is
right. This is a rough, workaday, practical
world ; and if in it we are to do the work best
worth doing, we must approach that work in
a spirit remote from that of the mere visionary,
and above all remote from that of the visionary
whose aspirations after good find expression only
in the shape of scolding and complaining.

It shall not help us if we avoid the Scylla of
baseness ol motive, only to be wrecked on the
Charybdis of wrongheadedness, of feebleness and
inefficiency. There can be nothing worse for the
community than to have the men who profesa
lofty ideals show themselves so foolish, so
narrow, so impracticable, as to cut themselves
off from communion with the men who are
actually able to do the work of governing, the
work of business, the work of the professions.

It i« a sad and evil thing if the men with i

THE AVE MARIA.

56

a moral sense group themselves as impractical
zealots, while the men of action gradually grow
to discard and laugh at all moral sense as an
evidence of impractical weakness. . . .

The men who go out from Harvard into the
great world of American life bear a heavy burden
of responsibility. The only way they can show
their gratitude to their Alma Mater is by doing
their full duty to the nation as a whole; and
they can do this full duty only if they combine
the high resolve to work for what is best and
most ennobling, with the no less resolute purpose
to do their work in such fashion that when the
end of their days comes they shall feel that they
have actually achieved results and not merely
talked of achieving them.

It is greatly to the credit of our
President that he can express thoughts
like these in a way to make them seem
novel and original, — much more to his
credit that his life is an exemplification
of his ethical utterances. The opinions
shared by all good citizens are convic-
tions with Mr. Roosevelt ; and when he
appeals for a loftier standard of con-
duct, it is with special effect on account
of his endeavor to actuate the principles
to which he professes attachment.

Our Canadian contemporary, the
Casket, of Antigonish, N. S., which is
always dead set against Uncle Sam,
makes this observation:

It is four years since the insurrection in the
Philippines was declared "practically ended" ; but
there has never been any cessation of fighting,
and only two weeks ago as many as forty-three
insurgents were killed in an engagement with
General Carter's troops. When this kind of thing
was going on in Cuba, Uncle Sam said that it
proved Spain's inability to govern the island. It
would be just retribution if Japan should now
seize the Philippines under the pretext that the
Americans have shown themselves as incompetent
aa the Spaniards.

Of course there is no telling what
Japan may attempt and attain in the
future, but just at present the Japanese
people have their hands full. An}- one
who supposes that Russia is at the end
of her resources has no right conception
of them. It will perhaps surprise — it
certainly will not gratify — our Cana-
dian contemporary to be told that John

Bull has quite as good reason to fear
Japan's policy of expansion as Uncle
Sam. Mr. F. A. McKenzie, the author
(an Englishman) of "From Tokio to
Tiflis," has this forecast of the future
action of Japan in international affairs :

Japan is setting out on a policy of imperial
expansion. That policy includes, first, the virtual
annexation of Korea, despite Japan's and our
own treaty obligations to maintain the inde-
pendence of that country. It includes, further,
the domination of China, not by direct force of
arras, but by the sheer power of personality of
a more strenuous nation, and by a policy of
actively protecting China from Western aggres-
sion. A systematic campaign will be promoted
for the extension of Japanese commerce, especially
in the shipping trade, for which the genius of
her people peculiarly fits her.

Temporarily, no doubt, we will benefit. Japan
will, for the time, treat us well in some ways ; for
it is to her present interest to do so. But in
the end the rise of commercial Japan must injure
our trade in the Far East. The victories of
the yellow man against the white have already
struck at the roots of white domination in many
parts of Asia. The growth of population of
the fecund, united, and reorganized Mongolian
peoples (modified by a partial Malaysian strain
of the Japanese) must in the end threaten our
Far Eastern territories.

The map of the world underwent
many changes during the nineteenth
century ; it may be changed still more
during the present one. It is altogether
within the bounds of possibility that
England, like Spain, may yet lose all her
colonial possessions. The United States
can afford to abandon the policy of
expansion any day.

It is with deep regret that we chron-
icle the death, after a long and painful
illness, of the Rt. Rev. Bishop Bellord,
whose contributions to this magazine
and other writings have endeared
him to a host of readers. His life as
a parish priest, army chaplain, and
bishop, presents an example of admira-
ble zeal and devotedness ; even his last
years of suffering and enforced inaction
were a bright exemplification of the
high Christian and sacerdotal virtue

56

THE AVE MARIA.

for which he was always distingriished.
He was an edification to all who came
into contact with him, so perfect was
his resignation to die or to live on and
suffer, so great his eagerness to expend
all the strength that remained to him,
or that might be acquired, in furthering
the cause of religion. As in the case
of the saints, he could accomplish only
the smallest part of what he planned.
Nothing could be more characteristic
of Bishop Bellord — it speaks volumes
in his praise — than one well-known
incident of his life as an army chaplain.
At the battle of Tel-el-Kebir he was
seriously wounded, but, disregarding
his sufferings, he had himself carried
round in an ambulance that he might
still give his ministrations to the
dying. Needless to state that such a
man inspired veneration and affection
in all who knew him.

In view of President Roosevelt's
recent action in relaxing the stringency
of the Chinese exclusion law, or of the
law's practical enforcement, it would
seem that Bret Harte's oldtime char-
acterization of the "heathen Chinee,"
as being peculiar "for ways that are
dark and tricks that are vain," needs
modifying. Just at present the com-
mercial world, outside of this country,
is applauding the Celestial guilds of
merchants for ways that are sharp
and moves that succeed. Says our
President :

Under the laws of the United States, and in
accordance with the spirit of the treaties nego-
tiated between the United States and China, all
Chinese of the coolie or laboring class— that is,
all Chinese laborers, skilled or unskilled — are
absolutely prohibited from coining to the United
States. But the puqjose of the government of
the United States is to show the widest and
heartiest courtesy toward all merchants, teach-
ers, students, and travellers who may come to
the United States, as well as toward all Chinese
officials or representatives in any capacity of
the Chinese government. All individuals of these
classes are allowed to come and go of their
own free will and accord, and are to be given

all the rights, privileges, immunities, and exemp-
tions accorded the citizens and subjects of the
most favored nations.

It is entirely natural that English
and Canadian papers should qualify
this outcome of the Chinese threat to
boycott American manufactures as a
"Yankee climbing down"; just as
similar action on the part of England
would be referred to in our press as
a Chinese twisting of the British lion's
tail. Pleasantries apart, the President's
course is right ; and, if it was not
decided upon until threatened retalia-
tion robbed it of all air of gracious
spontaneity, at least 'tis better late
than never. The wonder to us is that
those of our statesmen who came into
personal relations with that shrewd
diplomat and observant philosopher,
Wu Ting-fang, did not long ago foresee
the Hne of conduct which the powerful
guilds of Chinese traders would be
exasperated into adopting. In the
meantime wisdom is justified of her
children in the Celestial Empire.

Many a fervent prayer will be offered
for the repose of the soul of the
venerable Mgr. Nugent. The "Father
Mathew of England" and the "Apos-
tle of Liverpool," his name has been
as famiHar to Catholics in Australia,
India, South Africa, Canada, and these
United States, as if his priestly virtues
had been manifested and his charitable
activities exerted exclusively in each of
these different countries, instead of being
confined to a land far away from them
all. The founder of a popular Catholic
newspaper; the builder of a model
Boys' Refuge ; the indefatigable uplifter
of the criminal class ; and the Christian
philanthropist with sympathies as wide
as his divine Model's, Father Nugent,
dying at the age of eighty -four, leaves
behind him a heritage of spotless fame
and a memory that for many a year
will be held in grateful benediction.
May he rest in peace!

At Close of Day.

BY HOPE WILLIS.

A LITTLE man, in garments gray,

Goes through the land at close of day,
And in each trembling, wrinkled hand
He holds a bag of glistening sand.

From whence he comes, or near or far,
The children always wondering are;
He travels at a rapid pace,
And no one ever sees his face.

But come he dots and scatters sand;
One moment only does he stand.
Quick through the lamp-lit room it flies;
They feel it In their blinking eyes.

And hardly have they rubbed them twice,
Before mamma says: "In a trice
Be off now, children, up the stairs;
Now wash your hands and say your prayers.'

"O little man, so queer and gray!

Why do you come?" the children say.
"How very queer the sand must be.

That we can feel but never see!"

The Little Hungarians.

BT KRS. MARY E. MANNIX.

X. — The Journey at Night.

'M^^"^ ^ "^"^ o'clock the previous
'"tj^^^ night, everything being in
wj!ymi^ readiness, Louis and Rose sat
awaiting the arrival of Steffan. They
started at every sound outside, fearful
that they might be discovered at the
last moment. At length they heard
the roll of light wagon wheels, and a
moment later the gate opened and some
one walked rapidly up the pathway.
Louis opened the door: it was Steffan.
"All ready?" he inquired in a low
voice, glancing apprehensively at the

Mullens' cottage, where all was in
darkness.

"Yes, sir," replied Louis. "We have
been ready some time."

" Got everything in the gunny -sack ? "

"Everything."

"The violin, mandoHn and guitar
included?"

"Yes, sir. It is pretty heavy. Rose
has a basket too."

"Is that heavy?"

"Not very."

" We don't want anything more
than we can carry, you know. Letter
written?"

"Yes, sir. It is there on the table."

"Read it to me."

Louis read the letter.

"You'd better add a postscript, so
that if any news comes from your
brother they might know where to
send it— to Philadelphia, you know."

Louis added the postscript at the
man's dictation.

"Come, now," said Steffan, "where's
the gunny -sack?"

"Here it is," replied Louis.

Steffan lifted it.

"Not so awfully heavy," he said,—
"not so heavy as I thought it would
be. Come along, kids ! "

Shouldering the tightly packed bundle,
he led the way out. Louis took his
sister's hand ; in silence, and, now that
they were starting, with hearts more
heavy than expectant, they closed the
door of the house behind them.

There was only one seat in the wagon,
but Louis noticed that there seemed
to be several articles in the bottom of
the vehicle.

"You have a good deal of baggage,"
he remarked, as Steffan dropped the
gunny-sack with the rest.

"Oh, no!" replied Steffan. "Just a

38

THE AVE MARIA.

few little things. Jump up now. We'll
all ride together on the seat. The little
one can sit in the middle, so she'll keep
warm."

" Where are we going to stay
to-night?" asked Louis, after they had
left the street, and the man had turned
the horse toward the Commons that
stretched out before them.

"Hey?" answered Steffan. "Oh, yes!
we'll get there pretty soon. You see,
we've got to be careful, so as not to
be traced ; and I thought it might be
dangerous to stop anywhere near the
depot. So I just came this way. I was
walking near here yesterday, and I
saw a place. Oh, it will be all right!"

The moon was shining brightly ; they
passed several teams returning to the
city ; and after they had proceeded some
distance in silence, Steffan remarked :

"Look here! I believe there's some
danger in this way of travelling. You
might just accidentally happen to meet
some one you know. What do you say
if the two of you lie down in the bottom
of the rig? There's a couple of old
mattresses there, and some comforters.
Just lie down and cuddle up together
till we get a little farther out."

"I'm afraid it will be hard to wake
Rose if we do that," said Louis. "She
will be sure to go to sleep as soon as
she lies down. And we can't be far
from the place where we are going to
stay all night, I suppose."

"Not very far," answered Steffan,
uneasily. "But I'd rather you'd do as
I tell you. It may keep off a lot of
trouble."

Louis said no more. He dicf not want
to be discovered and captured at the
very beginning of the journey.

Steffan stopped the wagon, and
together they half lifted, half dragged
Rose from the seat. She was very sleepy
and tired, and grateful for the warmth
and ease of the mattress and coverlets,
after her cramped and crowded position
in the wagon. She stretched out her

wearied limbs and fell asleep in a
moment. Steffan folded a comforter
and placed it under her head, and then
Louis lay down beside her. In a iew
moments he had joined his sister in
the land of slumber.

Steffan lit his pipe, and, climbing into
the wagon once more, whipped up the
horse, which was a very good traveller.
He drove on and on, through the silence
of the night, meeting only an occasional
milkman; for this was not a much
frequented road, as a new one had
recently been completed. The moon
went down ; through the cavernous
blackness of the midnight sky, a few
stars peeped cheerily here and there;
but as the dawn approached, they
also withdrew themselves.

The horse now began to show signs
of fatigue; and as the pink clouds of
early morning appeared above the
mountains, which now seemed very
near, Steffan turned his horse into a
thicket of sycamores, and, jumping to
the ground, hitched the wagon.

The sudden stoppage wakened Louis.
He sat up and looked about him,
forgetting how he had come to this
wild and unfamiliar place.

"Halloo!" said Steffan, cheerfully.
"Had a good sleep?"

The boy's consciousness fully returned
to him at the sound of the man's voice.

"Did I sleep all night?" he asked,
glancing at Rose, and at the same
time taking in all the details of the
very dirty mattress on which he had
been lying. "What's the matter?" he
continued. "How did we happen to
drive all night?"

Steffan beckoned to him. Louis got
down and approached nearer. Stefian
took him by the arm and led him into
the thicket.

"There's no use in the kiddie's
hearing," he said. "Let her sleep as
long as she will. But I'll tell you a
straight story, and feel the better for
it. So will you. You see, I'm a little

THE AVS MARIA.

89

do\^^l on my luck. I heard bad news
yesterday, and I didn't want to let
you know, for fear you'd back out;
and I didn't want you to lose the good
chance that's waiting for you after we
get — where we're going."

"What has happened?" inquired the
boy sympathetically, while he gathered
his coat up about his throat. He was
shivering with cold.

" Well, I got word that the hall
where my troupe was performing got
burned down, and they lost all their
properties. Besides that, I let the
insurance run out a few days ago,
and did not renew it. So you see it's
a total loss for me."

"Did you own the building?" asked
the boy.

"Oh, yes, I owned it, of course! So
that leaves me mighty tight, I tell
you. But I'm a courageous man, and
I've telegraphed the troupe to keep
together till we get there, and to
engage another hall. I had to let them
draw whatever balance I had at my
banker's, or else they'd scatter. Some
other manager would get hold of them,
and that would be a terrible thing,
you know. So I borrowed this here
little rig from a friend of mine in
town, and thought we'd just travel
along in it till we came to Philadelphia.
I can send it back by train all right,
when I'm done with it."

"I don't mind travelling this way at
all," said Louis. " I rather like it, don't
you? This is the first time I have
ever been in the country. Don't the
mountains seem near?"

" Yes. They're fifty miles nearer than
they were last night."

"Fifty miles!" repeated the boy.
"Have we gone so far?"

"Yes. I drove all night. And I feel
a little tired. But we'll have a cup of
coffee pretty soon, and then — we'll see.
By the .way, you've got a trifle of
monej', haven't you?"

"Yes," answered Louii. "I had ten

dollars, and yesterday a man came who
owed papa five, and gave it to me;
and there were two old mandolins —
hardly any good, — and a harmonica,
that I sold ; besides a trombone that
people left with papa, instead of money,
for lessons. I got seven dollars for all
those."

"Then you've got about twenty -two
dollars," said Steffan. "You're quite
rich. Better give it to me to keep for
you. It will be safer."

Louis produced a pocketbook from
his bosom.

"Here it is, Mr. Steffan," he said.
"I am glad to let you have it — to use
it. You can pay me back at any
time — when you can spare it."

"Thank you, — thank you!" said
Steffan, with one of his peculiar grins.
" If I'd known this yesterday, we might
have been able to travel by rail. Still,
I don't know but what it's better the
w^ay it is. We may be able to earn a
little as we go along, you see. We'll
have to pass through a good many
mining villages, and we can ^ve some
entertainments. That will help."

"It was fortunate that your friend
lent you the horse and wagon, wasn't
it?" remarked Louis.

"Yes," said Steffan. "He's a right
good fellow. Do you know him ? His
name is Murphy, — an Irishman."

"Does he keep a livery stable?"

"Yes. And I believe he is a great
friend of the priest."

"I know him," said Louis. "Father
Garyo always hires teams from him
when he has to go to the country. He
has a brother who keeps a grocery."

"Oh, has he?" asked Steffan. "I
don't know bim."

But he did. This is what had really
taken place. Steffan had gone about
making various inquiries, at a great
loss to know how he could get the
children out of town and beyond reach
before they should be discovered. He
very soon learned of the charity of

60

THE AVE MARIA.

Father Garyo, and began to think that
if he trumped up some story he might
be able to get a Httle money from him,
on the score of being a compatriot. He
called on the good priest, who listened
to him compassionately, though he did
not like his appearance. Steffan told
him his wife was ill, and himself out
of work, though he had been promised
a good position in one of the factories
the following Monday.

" If you could lend me a little money,
Father, I would be sure to repay it,"
he said; "perhaps not all at once, but
I could do it in instalments."

"My dear man, I have no money to
lend," replied the priest. "But I will
send one of our Society men to visit
your place; and, if all turns out well,
you shall be placed on our indigent list
and given some assistance."

"When will he come?" said Steflfan,
fearful of being found out.

"Not before this evening," answered
Father Garyo.

"And meanwhile my poor wife is
starving," answered Steffan, with well-
assumed bitterness.

He played his part so adroitly — he
bad been an actor — that the kind-
hearted priest was deeply touched.

" I'll tell you," he said. "I will write
an order on my friend Mr. Murphy,
and you can get groceries to the amount
of five dollars. This is not regular, and
if you are deceiving me I shall have to
foot the bill; but if not, the Society
will pay for the groceries."

"Thank you. Father!" said Steffan,
pocketing the order which Father
Garyo wrote on the spot. Then, having
given a fictitious address to the priest,
he departed.

The order ran as follows:

Dear Mr. Murphy:— Give this man
what he needs to the extent of five
dollars. J. B. Garyo.

When he reached the grocery, Mr.
Murphy at once complied with his

demands. He purchased tea, coffee,
sugar, bacon, crackers, cheese, and
several loaves of bread. While the
grocer was putting up the packages,
Steffan glanced about him. On the
opposite corner stood a livery stable,
bearing the name of Murphy on the
signboard.

"Two Murphys in this neighbor-
hood?" he remarked.

"Yes. We are brothers."

"And both friends of the priest, no
doubt," said Steffan, through whose
crafty, resourceful brain a brilliant
thought had just flashed.

"Oh, yes, — great friends!" responded
Mr. Murphy. "We're always ready to
oblige Father Garyo, both of us."

"I don't suppose he takes many
drives. He doesn't look like a man
who is fond of diverting himself"

"Precious little diversion has Father
Garyo!" said the grocer. "But he has
many a sick-call here and there through
the mountains, and my brother over
yonder always supplies him. He knows
a good horse, too, when he sees it, —
does Father Garyo. By the way, where
is that order?" asked Mr. Murphy,
as he handed the weighty package to
Steffan, who insisted on carrying it,
though the grocer offered to deliver it.

"I didn't see it," replied Steffan, who
had snatched it from the counter while
the grocer's back was turned, and put
it into his pocket. He meant to kill
two birds with that stone.

Together they searched the counter,
but it could not be found.

"Well, it doesn't much matter," said
Murphy. "But I always like to keep
those things for vouchers."

"Oh, you'll probably find it!" said
Steffan, shouldering his bundle.

He knew better than to risk observa-
tion by crossing the street directly in
front of the grocery. He went round
the block, and took an opposite direc-
tion until he came again to the livery
stable, but at the rear, where several

THE AVE MARIA.

61

horses were corralled and two light
wagons were standing. Then he
marched bravely in, leaving his burthen
outside the door.

"Is this Mr. Murphy?" he inquired,
handing Father Garyo's order to a
prosperous - looking man in his shirt
sleeves.

"Yes, this is Mr. Murphy," was the
reply. "What does Father want?"

"A light rig and a good horse,"
answered Steffan.

"For himself?"

"No: for me."

" And who are you ? "

"I'm a man that used to know
Father's brother in Hungary when I
was a kid. I've been out here a good
many years now, and my wife is sick
over at Poutran. We've got a little
property over there in Poutran and
I'm taking a lawyer to see about it."

"All right! When do you want to
go, my friend ? "

"I'll go right away," replied Steifan,
although puzzled as to what he should
do with the rig between that time and
nine in the evening.

"I'm kind of sorry you want the
wagon just now," said Murphy. "I've
only one that's fit to go over to
Poutran — such a bad road, — and I'd
almost promised to let a man have
that for a couple of hours this after-
noon. Here he comes now!"

" Verj' well," said Steffan, feeling that
he must take his chances. "I'd just as
soon wait till night. There's a good
moon now, and I have some business
in town."

"Will seven o'clock suit you?"

"Yes, or eight."

"Come around at eight, then," said
Murphy. " I shan't be here myself, but
I'll leave orders."

"All right!" said Steffan.

"Don't overwork the horse, sir; and
return the rig day after to-morrow, as
early as possible. Maybe j-our lawyer
won't care to travel by night, though."

"Oh, yes he will! He's one of my
own people."

"Well, go ahead! I suppose it's
Bentisch?"

"Yes, that's the man."

" He'd travel three days for five dollars
at the end of them," said Mr. Murphy.

Steffan made no reply. He had never
heard of Bentisch before, and was not
qualified to judge.

He picked up the bundle he had left
outside, carried it to a second-hand shop
near the Square, where he exchanged
part of its contents for two dirty
mattresses and comforters, and some
kitchen utensils. Leaving it with the
proprietor, he spent the rest of the
time in a barroom ; though he drank
very sparingly, as his funds were low.
At the appointed hour he called for
the wagon, drove to the second-hand
dealers, secured his goods, and then
took up the two children. The rest we
already know.

( To be contiaued. )

The Legend of Giant Finn.

BY AUBBRTINE WOODWARD MOOBB.

Long ago, in the early ages of Chris-
tianity, the blessed Saint Lawrence of
Saxony went on a mission to Lund,
Sweden, and preached the word of God
up and down the land. Every hill
and every valley on which the sun of
heaven shone offered him a pulpit, for
there had not yet been built a church
in the whole country.

In the heart of the everlasting hills,
near Lund, so the legend runs, Hved a
giant called Finn. The work of Saint
Lawrence was eagerly watched by
Finn, whose pagan heart swelled with
wrath at beholding it.

"Your Master Christ must surely be
worthy of a holy temple of His own,"
said grim Finn, scomftilly, one day
to Saint Lawrence. "Come, now, and

63

THE AVE MARIA.

make a bargain with me. I will build
for j'ou a fitting church, if when it
is done you will tell me my name;
or, failing to do so, will secure as
playthings for my little ones those
bright torches, the sun and the moon,
which flame aloft in the plains of
heaven."

"Thou foolish pagan!" boldly replied
Saint Lawrence. "I have no power
over the sun and the moon. The good
God Himself placed them in the skies
above, to shed light on the wise and
the unwise, the good and the evil.

"You are right," said the giant. "It
would be pretty dark here, I fancy,
without them. Well, then, we will say
no more about the sun and the moon.
Instead you may give me those glowing
balls, your eyes. They would make fine
playthings for my children."

"God's truth can be preached as well
by the blind as by those who are
blessed with sight," rejoined Saint
Lawrence, fervently. "Build me the
church-. It is worthy of any sacrifice."

The giant was quite confident the
saint could not discover his name, and
that the bright playthings would soon
be in the possession of the baby giants.
Saint Lawrence was equally sure he
had no means of learning the giant's
name, and he prayerfully prepared for
his willing sacrifice.

Finn lost no time in crushing to pieces
a mountain in order to gain stones for
the sacred edifice. Then he bade the
w^alls rise, and exulted in the thought
that his little son and daughter would
be playing with the saint's eyes before
the moon was full.

A vast building, with rows of mighty
columns, was soon firmly placed on
strong foundations. Already Finn sat
on the dome, about to give the finishing
touch to his work, when Saint Law-
rence appeared in sight, to take his
last look at the setting sun, and offer
a prayer that courage and resignation
might be his.

As the saint knelt absorbed in his
devotions, there suddenly fell on his
ears the melodious tones of a beautiful
voice, coming he knew not whence, and
singing these words :

"Sleep, little Soelvy,— sleep, my son!
Thy father's work is almost done;
Thy father, Finn, will soon be home :
I see him now on yonder dome.

"Sleep, little Gerda, daughter dear!
Thy father, Finn, will soon be here;
He'll bring the balls he promised thee:
Those pretty playthings soon thou'lt see."

Joyfully Saint Lawrence ran to the
cathedral, exclaiming :

" Finn ! Finn, come down ! One stone
alone is wanting to complete your
work, and the good God has mercifully
preserved for me my eyes."

"By my name Finn," cried the giant,
in a foaming rage, "that one stone shall
not so easily be laid ! Thy church shall
remain forever unfinished. As surely
as I am Finn, I will crush it to atoms ! "

Leaping down, he seized with each
arm a pillar rooted in the crypt of
the church, and shook them until
the walls tottered, when suddenly his
strength forsook him and he was
turned to stone.

And there he stands to this day,
embracing those mighty pillars, a
constant reminder of the miracle that
was wrought in behalf of a saint of
the Lord. So, at least, the legend

declares.

■ » I —

St. Bullion's Day.

In Scotland the Fourth of July is
celebrated as St. Martin of Bullion's
Day, and the weather at that date
was supposed to forecast the harvest.
An old Scotch proverb runs: — "If deer
rise dry and lie down dry on Bullion's
Day, Gose harvest there will be." Gose
meant the latter end of the summer;
therefore, it meant that harvest would
be early. Rain on that day was Said
to presage rain for twenty days.

/

THE AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

6a

— Longmans & Co. have issued in book form
Canon Sheehan's new Irish story, "Glenanaar,"
which has been running as a serial in the Dolphin
magazine.

— Admirers of Palestrina (Giovanni Pierluigi da)
will be happy to learn that a committee has been
formed in Rome, under the presidency of Prince
Barberini, for the purpose of erecting a monument
to the great composer at Palestrina, his native
place.

— "St. Brigid, Virgin," by Cardinal Moran, is
an eminently readable short life of "the Mary
of Ireland," published by the Australian Catholic
Truth Society. From the same association we
have another penny booklet, "Little Ernie's
Birthday Gift," by Benj. Hoare.

— From M. H. Gill & Son, Dublin, comes a
booklet, "Allel: A Pentecostal Sequence," a
selection from "Wreaths of Song through a
Course of Divinity," by the Rev. Dr. O'Mahony,
of All Hallows College. Many of the verses are
of exceptional merit, and all are devotional and
uplifting.

— Says a correspondent of the London Catholic
Times ; " I most solemnly protest against the
common expression 'said Mass.' The Mass is a
sacrifice, ... is celebrated, and can not be said."
Does not this savor of ultra- purism ? "Say"
in the expression quoted, has the sanction of
reputable usage all over the English-speaking
Catholic world ; and, whether or not it was once
of questionable propriety, it is now assuredly
correct. Use is the law of language ; and when
practically all Catholics use "saying Mass" as
the equivalent of "celebrating Mass," the
expression means just that, the protests of dis-
senting purists to the contrary notwithstanding.

— The reader who picks up "Sturmsee: Man
and Man" with the idea that it is a volume of
light fiction belonging to the class conventionally
known as "summer reading," is destined very
speedily to revise his opinion. There is a story,
and a more or less interesting one, running
through the six hundred and eighty pages ; but
the narrative is scarcely more than a convenient
string on which to hang (and, occasionally, draw
and quarter as well) all the problems that ever
befuddled the brains of a dabbler in sociology.
To readers interested in such problems, the book
will be somewhat attractive, though the fairly

k well-equipped reasoner will be far from accepting
the author's views as authoritative. From a
•tylistic viewpoint, it is to be regretted that
the anonymous author in question should deem

other page, that the time of the story is some
twelve or fourteen years ago. "Sturmsee" is in
the nature of a sequel to "Calmire," published, as
is the latter book, by the Macmillan Company.

— We regret much to chronicle the death of the
Rev. Father Deniflc, O. P., archivist of the Vatican,
one of the most eminent of European Catholic
scholars. His great work on Luther, published
last year, was a highly important service to the
Church, as well as a notable contribution to
history. We hope that some of Father Denifle's
fellow -religious will render his works accessible
to English readers. S. I. P.

— Clients of St. Catherine of Ricci in particular
and Catholic readers in general will welcome the
announcement (by Messrs. Burns & Gates) of an
adequate life of this renowned daughter of St.
Dominic. The very title of the volume excites
interest — "St. Catherine of Ricci, her Life, Jier
Letters, her Community." The author's name,
too (F. M. Capes), is an assurance that the book
■will be far removed from the commonplace. An
introductory treatise on the mystical life by the
late Father Bertrand Wilberforce, 0. P., enhances
the value of this Life of the famous saint of
Tuscany.

— ^'The Sacrifice of the Mass," by the Very Rev.
Alex. McDonald, D. D., is "an historical and
doctrinal inquiry into the natureof the Eucharistic
Sacrifice." Within the compass of six score pages.
Dr. McDonald gives a succinct, scholarly, and
adequate demonstration of the fact that the
traditional Catholic conception of Holy Mass as
being identically the same Sacrifice primarily
ofiFered at the Last Supper and on the Cross—
a conception attested to by a cloud of witnesses
throughout the centuries — is the very truth. As
in the author's previous works, "The Symbol
of the Apostles" and "The Symbol in Sermons,"
there is in this little volume abundant evidence
of many-sided erudition, trenchant logic, luminous
exposition, and that suggestiveness of reserved
power which stamps the work of the well-
equipped scholar. The book is brought out in
neat and attractive form by the Christian Press
Association Publishing Company, New York.

— The action of the Pennsylvania railway com-
pany in excluding dime -novel literature of every
description from the trains and stations of its
system has met with general approbation. This
action, it is understood, was taken in accordance
with the expressed determination of the higher
officials of the Pennsylvania company to eliminate,
as far as they may be able to do so, what they
regard as one of the principal breeders of crime

64-

TH E AVE MARIA

in this country. The railways have themselves
been numbered among the most frequent victims
of crimes suggested by cheap detective stories
and blood-curdling novels ; and the officials have
come to realize that descriptions of the wrecking
and robbing of trains are an incentive to criminally
disposed persons to perpetrate such outrages.
It has been pointed out that the crusade should
not be restricted to dime novels. Reputable news-
papers and magazines often contain articles not
less likely to breed crime than the worst of dime
novels. Only a short time ago a train on the
Illinois Central railroad was held up near Chicago
in strict conformity with plans suggested in an
article published in one of our most widely
circulated magazines. The bandit in this instance
had evidently taken the writer at his word and
given a practical demonstration of the fact that
the magazinist knew exactly what he was talking
about. The day is coming when the safety of
life and property will demand that popular litera-
ture of all sorts shall be scrutinized by competent
censors before being put in circulation. There
is food for reflection on the part of legislators
in the statement recently made by the superin-
tendent of the Iowa state reformatory, that
"penny dreadful" Hterature was one of the chief
incentives to the crimes which have filled that
institution.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
appear at the head, older ones being dropped oat
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will be imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad.
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"The Sacrifice of the Mass." Very Rev. Alex.

McDonald, D. D. 60 cts., net.
"The Knowableness of God." Rev. Matthew

Schumacher, C. S. C. $1 ; paper, 50 cts.
"The Blessed Virgin in the Nineteenth Century;

Apparitions, Revelations, Graces." Bernard

St. John. $1.75, net.
"The Imitation of Christ." Sir Francis R. Cruise.

30 cts.
"The House of God and Other Addresses and

Studies." Very Rev. Thomas J. Shahan, D. D.

$1.50, net.
"The Lodestar." Sidney R. Kennedy. $1.50.
"The Redemptorists at Annapolis." $2.

"Nut- Brown Joan." Marion Ames Taggart.

$1.50.
"Beyond Chance of Change." Sara Andrew

Shafer. $1.50.
"The Gospel According to St. Mark." Madame

Cecilia. $1.25.
"The Devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus."

Rev. H. Noldin, S. J. $125.
" The Life and Letters of Eliza Allen Starr." Rev.

James J. McGovern. $5.
"Holy Confidence." Father Rogacci, S. J . 60 cts.,

net.
"Vigils with Jesus." Rev. John Whelan. 40 cts.

"The Catechist in the Infant School and in the

Nursery." Rev. L. Nolle, O. S. B. 60 cts., net.
"The Dark Side of the Beef Trust." Herman

Hirschauer. 75 cts.
" The Chronicle of Jocelyn." 90 cts., net.
"The Luck of Linden Chase." S. M. Lyne. 35 cts.
"The Light of Faith." Frank McGloin. $1, net.
"Juvenile Round Table." 2d Series. $1.
"The Love of Books" (Philobiblon) . Richard De

Bury. 40 cts., net.
" Reflections from the Mirror of a Mystic." John

Riisbrock. 75 cts., net.
" Apologetica : Elementary Apologetics for Pulpit

and Pew." Rev. P. A. Halpin. 85 cts.

Obituary.

Remeaber tbem that are in bands. — Heb.. xili, 3.

Rt. Rev. Edmund Knight, Bishop of Plavias;
Rt. Rev. James Bellord, Bishop of Milevis; Rev.
Patrick Donovan, diocese of Burlington; and
Rev. Peter Hamel, S. J.

Sister M. Anastasia, of the Sisters of the
Incarnate Word; and Sister M. Florentine,
Sisters of St. Mary.

Mr. B. R. Prince, of Altaville, Cal.; Mr. William
Peard, Boston, Mass. ; Mrs. M. A. Donnelly, St.
Louis, Mo. ; Mrs. Mary Hartigan and Mrs. E. F.
Walsh, Chicago, 111. ; Mrs. John Roth, Cincinnati,
Ohio; Mr. Henry Lithmann, Haymond, Ohio; Mrs.
John Byrnes, Brooklyn, N. Y. ; Mr. W. F. Brady,
Baltimore, Md. ; Mrs. Margaret Ring, and Mr.
Patrick Moynihan, Cork, Ireland ; Mr. Henry
Stenger, Brookville, Ohio; Mr. Herman Bacher,
Indianapolis, Ind.; Mrs. Bridget Drinan and Miss
Ellen Drinan, Wellington, New South Wales ;
Mrs. Isabella Liter, Valley Junction, Iowa ; Mrs.
Grace Smith, Jamaica Plain, Mass.; Mr. Thomas
Hearn, Newport, Ky. ; Mrs. W. C. Loeffer, Mrs.
Margaret Bradley, Mrs. James Larkins, and Mr.
F. P. Larkins, Pittsburg, Pa.; Mr. Joseph Doemelt,
Cleveland, Ohio; and Mr. F.J. Brandt, Erie, Pa.

Requiescant in pace !

HENCEFORTH ALL OENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLE66ED. ST. LUNE, t., 4S.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, JULY 15, 1905.

NO. 3.

[Published every Saturday. Copyrieht: Rev. D. E. Hudson, C.S.C.]

Bendita Sea Tu Pureza.

BY RODERICK GILl..

QH, blessed be thy purity-
Through all eternity be praise,—
That God Himself ordained to gaze

In joy on thy benignity!

To thee, celestial chatelaine,
Maria, holy Maid, 1 bring
To-day in humble offering
My heart and soul, my life of stain,—
Oh, let me not beseech in vain !

The Yellowstone Wonderland.

BY ELLA LOKAINE DOBSBY.

IS the most wonderful spot
in the world. Geographically
speaking, it lies in the north-
western part of Wyoming,
with a two -mile strip of
Montana to the north and
an equal strip of Idaho to
the west. It measures 54x62 miles,
and is bounded and traversed by the
Absaroka, Shoshone, Wind River, and
Teton mountains; while the Gallatin
and Snow ranges rear their proud
peaks to northward.

But, speaking by the light of memory,
it is the workshop of God, where Time,
with the wave for his chisel and the
wind for his mallet, has carved shapes
that are primeval, and where the glory
of the sunset and the splendor of the

dav^m are spread on miles of rock and
running water.

Even in the government reports its
inspiration breaks through the cold
language of officialism, and one or
two of the expressions used are almost
adequate. "The heart of the Rocky
Mountains," one says; but the Vision
of St. John is the only thing I could
think of from the time I entered at
Cinnabar until that day on which
I came reluctantly forth from the
enchanted region; for its trails run
through a succession of marvels that
make poets dumb, sculptors hopeless,
and painters despairingly aware that
no color exists that can reproduce it.

Strangely enough, no legends people
its valleys or crown its peaks or dwell
in its magic fountains. Its mighty
bastions are mute ; its thunderous
rivers tell no tale ; and even the Indians,
in whose traditions lives the early
history of the Northwest, maintain an
absolute reticence about the strange
region whose beauties are as over-
whelming as its terrors.

The one well-established fact is that
Obsidian Cliff was the Place of Per-
petual Truce. All personal feuds and
tribal wars were suspended in its glitter-
ing shadow; for it was the armory in
which axe, spear and arrowhead were
fashioned ; and Death halted across the
stream while the warriors patiently
chipped the obstinate substance into
arms for hunt and foray. There, too,
they wrought the signal -miirors with
which they forestalled our flash -code

66

TME AVE MARIA.

by centuries; and then they hurried
down the trails like shadows, and the
gates of silence closed after them.

The pious missionary who wrote of
"Les Pierres Jaunes," and the wander-
ing trapper whose account of "Hell"
provoked Homeric laughter on the
frontier, found few believers, until Gen.
Washbume's account, written in 1870,
presented the region to the general
public ; and the reality proved so much
wilder than the priest's discovery or
the trapper's tale that the country
woke suddenly to the fact that it had
a possession unequalled in the world ;
and it was reserved by Congress in
1872, the President adding the forest
reserve by proclamation in 1891.

To reach the Yellowstone, you leave
the Northern Pacific at Livingston;
then, as the train swings down to
Cinnabar, Emigrant Peak challenges
like a vedette on the outpost ; and from
the moment you turn your back on the
Devil's Slide — a wonderful outcrop that
has no business, geologically speaking,
to be there ^- the road rises steadily.
It is bounded by the Firehole River on
the one hand, and rocks so lofty on
the other that the eagles nest on their
peaks; and at the Mammoth Hot
Springs, where the first halt is made,
the formation begins.

Piled up in tiers are the basins,
unrivalled in the world since the de-
struction b3'- earthquake, in 1886, of
the terraces of Rotomahama in New
Zealand. The boiling water streams
over their walls, some of which are as
white as frozen snow, some as brown
as old ivory; and the smoking lakes
are of a blue known only in the heart
of an Indian sapphire.

The Liberty Cap is the monument
Time has reared at the Park's great
portal, and scientists declare that its
hieroglyphs tell of thousands of years
of growth. But the figure that speaks
most loudly to the layman is a cone
that has grown to a mound, and then

to a dome, above its fountain, which
can now show but the tossing plume
of its column. Seen in the dim twilight,
it looks like a great grey elephant
on whose back a tiny silver monkey
dances. It has a little tune of its own,
as far removed from the roar of the
great geysers as is the note of the lark
from the voice of the tempest.

The journey is made by coach; and
the coaches, which start early in the
morning, have each from four to six
mules or horses. The drivers are of
incomparable skill, and drive with their
brains quite as much as their hands
and feet; and this is very necessary,
because the roads lead over such heights
and span such depths that there was
frequently no space to spare for a fly-
bite or a playfully flung hoof. It is
diflerent now, and the splendid trails
have widened into more splendid roads.
But the morning I went through the
Silver Gate for the first time, it was on
a wooden shelf built bracket -wise on
the cliff", and so withoitt warning into
the Land of the Hoodoos.

A vast rampart of rock cut the sky
line far above us, as if the angels who
fell had tried to make a stand at this
pass; and in the bowl of the valley,
heaped in a confusion hard to imagine
unless seen, lay the Hoodoos — shapes
of stone monstrous in their grotesque
ugliness, and looking like the fallen
idols of a cult more base than any of
which we know.

It was a relief to turn into the
pleasant road, from whose windings
we could see in all its impressiveness
the Sentinel of the North Boundary-
Electric Peak. With the exception of
the Fortress and Dead Indian Peaks
(which are over twelve thousand
feet), this is the highest mountain in
the Park, and its summit is strangely
colored, like metal that has been brazed
in the furnace. It is not difficult to
think of it as continually wrapped in
fire from heaven; for strange stories

THE AVE MARJA.

67

are told by the government survej-ors
of instruments wrecked, men knocked
down, etc., etc., by the force of the
current that seems to play incessantly
about it.

There are six geyser basins : Norris on
the Madison River, and North, Central,
Lower, Middle and Upper on the Fire-
hole; the minor basins near Shoshone
and Heart Lakes scarcely being counted.
Norris Basin holds the Black Growler,
although Shrieking Demon is the name
suggested by the sounds that rend the
air. It is on the slope of the hill,
and but little imagination is needed to
fancy something supernatural trapped
there and struggling with untamable
and inexhaustible vigor to free itself;
screeching like a wild cat, fighting,
growling, with a fury that fills you
with incredulous surprise when you
realize that it has never stopped for a
moment since men have known it. The
movement of the struggle is plainly
felt through the crust near it; indeed,
the Devil's Ear is the only other point
where such motion is more apparent.

This last is said by artists to be
a singularly accurate outline of the
human ear. The placid water that fills
it is clearer than an Eastern crystal,
but its heat is so fierce that a plunge
in it would mean instant death. The
formation is very thin at this point, and
travellers are not allowed to approach.
But, as we were with the official
inspector, I stood at the very edge and
felt the regular beat of the gigantic
pulse that swayed us like the throb
of an engine.

In the Park there are seventy' geysers
(including the largest in the world),
besides 3000 vents of mud volcanoes,
fumaroles and hot springs. But the
isolated beauty of the Lone Star and
the solitar3' loveliness of Electric Foun-
tain held us captive even on the way
to the Upper Geyser Basin, which was
our main objective. Rumor had met
u« on the way with the news that the

Giant had been rumbling for days ; and
our team, catching the spirit of our
eager curiosity, dashed along till the
wagon danced on one wheel at their
heels. As we whirled past the Castle,
its ramparts were still streaming with
the boiling flood of its discharge ; and
the Giantess sent a last wild shower
of spray flirting over the rocks, exactly
as though she were waving her hand-
kerchief to us as she withdrew to
the lower earthworks, where she and
the Giant carry on their hydraulic
engineering. The monster was in an
agony of ebullition, shuddering and
moaning, and sending out clouds of
steam ; but the waters fell back after
each convulsion, and so our mules
scrambled gallantly over the steaming
rocks to reach Old Faithful.

We were scarcely in place, when, with
a faint report like the crack of an
air-gun or the blowing of a whale,
the geyser spouted. The scene was
exceedingly beautiful, — the lofty firs
against the sky, the blue unlike any
other in the world, the vivid green of
the herbage, the dazzling whiteness of
the formation, the noble column of
water climbing airily higher and higher
until its jet reached 121 feet and
its white plumes streamed yards to
leeward, the clouds of smoke pouring
away in fantastic shapes, and the wide
basin filled with the sparkling commo-
tion of the falling waters.

One hour and five minutes apart are
the discharges; and this great clock
has told off the changing seasons, has
marked the passage of the wheeling
stars, and made it day and night from
sun to sun and moon to moon, until it
seems as though the Clepsydra of God
might be a better name than even
the one given by the rough and ready
affection of the frontiersman, to whom
fidelity to duty is the highest of virtues.

As we made camp, the Giant still
bellowed and heaved ; and we could
scarcely leave it for the very excellent

68

THE AVE MARIA

meal served in one of the tent villages,
for the erection of which a special
permit is granted each season. As soon
as possible we hurried back to the
theatre of action, stopping only long
enough by the dancing waters of the
Firehole to see the trout by tens and
dozens leaping high, and playing at
something that looked amazingly like
fish football.

As a full moon floated over the pines,
and the day retreated slowly with red
pennons flying, the whole basin pre-
sented a scene of activity that beggars
description. It seemed as if not only the
greater number of the seventy eruptive
geysers must be gathered here, but a
large proportion of the hot springs as
well. In some of the troubled waters
strange gaseous flames burn below the
surface, from fissures whose depth no
man can guess without a plummet.
From others the waters arise in jets
so instantaneous and slender that only
spray dashes on your garments as you
turn to see what is the white thing
touching your face with a soft warm
finger, or hissing in your ear. The
Lioness and cubs snarl and tumble at
your feet; you turn to see them, and
they have run to cover in their rocks, —
not a spoonful of water left in the
hollow where they played. You bend
to be sure, and with a leap they roll
and froth almost in your face. In the
Turk's Turban something more than
Moorish enchantment has set strange
jewels flashing.

We were trailing in Indian file from
point to point, scarcely conscious of
our bodies, mechanically following the
commandant (as an unwary step might
plunge us into a pothole, of which there
are short successions just the size to
admit a leg and scald the bone clean
before it could be withdrawn), when
a boom from the river -bank warned
us the great geyser, that perches like
a mortar on the shore, was playing.
We broke into a run that brought us

up in time to see an arch of water
spanning the stream, its "keystone"
200 feet above the water level, and its
smoke floating as much higher again ;
while the stars seemed to drift like
balls of gold and silver in its creamy
sea, and the moon turned it all into
an unreality.

A crashing shock from the Grotto
told us the wild waters there were out,
and we hurried to watch the fight;
passing the Giant, still in the most
violent throes, the boiling tide pouring
to the very lips of the crater and then
rushing back, choking the uprising
torrent with a force that seemed strong
enough to burst the rocks, and kept
the ground in a tremor.

Beyond stretched the amphitheatre,
bounded by the motionless and serrated
outline of the pines, where the depth
of the sky is so great that it seems to
draw away to a cone rather than an
arch wherever the eye rests, and the
stars burn with a fire and a lustre
unknown to other places. From every
direction the steam arose in slow-
moving clouds or furious jets, according
to its source; and as it floated up
it assumed all sorts of shapes, some
terrible, some merely fantastic, some
exquisitely lovely, — an army moving
in phalanxes and battalions, until, as
they merged into the silver atmosphere,
they looked like our idea of the sheeted
dead springing from the shadow of the
grave and disappearing into the exult-
ant light of the resurrection morning.

The motion of the geysers was so
furious that I wondered if the waters
under the earth, as well as the great
seas, have their high tides at the full
moon ; and I asked the guardian of the
Upper Basin. He said he did not know
about that, but it had been noted
and reported that at the time of the
eruption of Pelee the whole geyser
system was in a more violently eruptive
condition than had ever been known
since Krakatoa.

THE AVE MARIA.

69

Sleep seemed a sad waste of time in
such surroundings; but we were under
military discipline, and our section of
the tent village slowlj- and reluctantly
settled down, until the snapping and
crackling of the wood fires in the small
sheet -iron stoves within, and the
" whoof " of the black bears outside as
they hunted for jam pots and fruit tins
near the kitchen, were the only sounds
to be heard.

We slept like campaigners, fully
dressed, and with one eye only ; for the
Troop-farrier, with the kindly courtesy
of his Irish blood, had volunteered to
watch the Giant all night, and let us
know^ when he spouted. And visions
of this column of water, 200 feet high
and five feet in diameter, Splaying
superbly for its full hour and a half in
the mid-watch of the night, strung me
to such a pitch of expectation that
when a violent explosion shook the
ground, and a roar that prevented
questions filled the air, I simply started
for the Giant.

The camp fires were grey embers, the
air sparkled with frost, the moon was
like the shield of Einar; but all sense
of direction was lost in that roar, and
the big Trooper's voice reporting to
his commanding officer further arrested
my flight.

"No, sir, he'll not spout this night!
The roar, sir ? I don't know. It's from
the Lower Basin. No, sir, it isn't the
Excelsior. That spouts only once in
eight years, and it's gone but four since
it played. Good-night, sir! The ladies
are kindly welcome, and I'm sorry
they'll be disappointed."

And so were we ; but the sleep of the
Yellowstone fell on us until a voice said
"Bath!" And then under the tent-flap
was thrust a large granite -ware vessel
filled with boiling water dipped from a
neighborly geyser near the door; and
again the fire in the tent hallway
snapped its fingers saucily at the great
peaks, from whose perpetual snows the

wind of morning came clean and cold.

By short cuts through primeval forests,
where the trees in windrows tell of the
storms that drive their war-chariots
through the gorges, we came to a
curious swamp which adjoins " Hell's
Halfacre," and which should surely be
called the White Death. Its mid surface
for nearly a mile boils with the appear-
ance and sound of fat in a frying pan ;
while at its edges, where the trees have
thrust down to the water, the forma-
tion has done them to death ; as root
and fibre absorb the silica-laden mois-
ture it chokes the life at its source,
and, unlike other trees, they die at the
root. The tree turns grey, white, then
falls, and finally powders to another
layer of the deposit.

" The Biscuits " look as if they might
have come from the bake - shop of the
Stone men ; they are spread out with
singular regularity, and form a starting
point for a succession of the pools that
can be talked about but never described.
If you could melt emeralds and sap-
phires and sunshine together and then
inlay on pearl, the color would be
represented; but the depth, the play
of light, the setting, would be still
to imagine, and this without any
standard; for the Yellowstone can be
compared only to itself.

Morning Glory Pool, Emerald Pool,
Sapphire Pool, the lake whose Tumer-
esque banks and marvellously colored
waters can be seen only when a
strong wind blows the boiling steam-
clouds and fumes away from the gazer.
Electric Pool where a lambent flame a
yard long flares from a fissure far below
the surface and lights depths that can
only be imagined, — or is it a kobold
casting a javelin of fire? Another in
which a hidden power throws out
globules so exactly like superb jewels
in color and shape that it is only
when they vanish at the surface you
know they are air or gas bubbles.
These are a few of the beauties of the

70

THE AVE MARIA.

trail, and they are the lovely reverse
of the Mud Geyser.

This strange and repulsive volcano
is dying of strangulation ; some enem\^
underground has it by the throat, and
the noise of the struggle can he heard
for several miles before you swing
around the curve of the road and face
the tragedy. After crawling up the
cone, you see far, far down in the grey
crater, the vent through which the
battle goes on. There is a half- human
note in the deep choking sobs that fill
the air with their agony ; the grey tide
rushes fiercely out, breaks on the sides
of the funnel, and recoils as fiercely.
It does not seem exaggerated, as you
watch it, to say it is a tide of anguish
breaking on a shore of despair; and
about the ghastly hole the trees rustle
stiffly in the mud-shrouds with which
the monster has clad them in former
eruptions ; and you gladly lift your face
to the sky, thankful that the day shines
resplendent above it, even as God's
glorj' shines above the pit.

As you mount to Yellowstone Lake,
the character of the cotxntry radically
changes. And as we crossed the
Continental Divide, our attention was
directed to what was a most poetical
illustration of a wonderful fact — the
division of the waters. It was like a
tale out of the Marchen, or one of
Hans Andersen's lovely stories.

In the runway of the roadside was
a tiny pool — I had almost said puddle,
but it was crystalline. In its centre
floated a small yellow water lily, and
to east and west trickled two little
threads of shining water, which gather
as they go until one runs east into the
Missouri, and so at long last to the
Atlantic; and the other runs west and,
by devious watery lanes, finds Its way
to the Pacific.

The Lake of the Yellowstone is
of singular beauty. It is onlj^ 20x10
miles; but its shores are so indented,
its outlixiea so rugged, that the actual

shore measurement covers 100 miles.
Geologists say its ancient beeches show
it was once much larger, much deeper,
and sent its waters into the Pacific
instead of, as now, into the Atlantic.
It is nearly 8000 feet above sea
level (a half mile higher than Mt.
Washington, some one said), and its
color is like that of Sapphire Pool. The
steamer put out in the face of a wind
so fresh; that the captain would let
only four of us stay on deck. The
gale harped and shrilled so boisterously
among the stanchions and stays that
we had to talk in one -hand signs,
holding on with the other as the little
craft curtsied to the rolling waters. As
the panorama unfolded we were glad
we were out -voiced, for words would
have been an impertinence.

To the right laj^ a funeral bier miles
long, and on it a Nubian monarch of
majestic proportions and perfect out-
line; to the left, the Absarokas, with
their far-flung mantles of snow; and
in between, a complex of gorge and
cliff. But as we curved away from the
centre of the lake, between two gi'eat
shoulders of the range, there broke on
us a vision of the Tetons — far, faint,
ethereal, towering in outlines I thought
only the wind could build of summer
clouds, and so like an outlying ba.stion
of the City of God it would scarcelj^
have surprised me to see a winged
figure on the rampart doing warden's
duty. A second turn cut it all too soon
from our enchanted gaze, and then each
saw in the faces of the others the
amazed question as to its reality.

It is at this point of the Park that
the Yellowstone River flings itself in two
wild leaps from its high level to the
canon, where for twenty miles it tears
its way along the steep lava walls
1200 to 1500 feet high. The first fall
is 110 feet; and as the river narrows
to 100 feet the roar and foam-smother
are impressive; but they sink into
nothingness when compared with the

THE AVE MARIA.

71

second fall, where the water leaps 310
feet sheer. We thought to see it b}-
moonHght, but the gorge is so deep
that the primeval trees on its edge are
dwarfed to the size of underbrush ; and
the moon, though many hours high,
could scarcely peep into the canon.
At one point the tree-outline, by some
trick of light and shade, showed up
against the night like an enormous
buffalo, and where his ej-es should be
there shone two pale rays of light;
so he did duty gallantly as a demon-
bison challenging the intrusive mortals,
who crouched on a shelf of rock where
the thunderous diapason of the falls
made the air reel.

Animal life is carefully guarded in
the Park, and no man may shoot except
in danger of death. So as we climbed
back to everyday life we were not
surprised to see by the light of our
lanterns the trail of a mother-elk which
had brought her fawn that way, just
to admire the scenery' apparently', for
the hoof marks passed and repassed
us with supreme indiflference to our
presence.

Fishing is permitted for sport, not
slaughter ; so the men who come
with rod and reel may angle, play,
and land their fish, and then eat the
catch; for the creel goes to the hotel,
or camp.

In the lake there is a curious thing
that needs to be seen before it can be
believed. There is a small rock just
large enough to hold the fisherman and
a pool of water. He casts his line in
the lake, which is icy, hooks his fish,
and, without turning, drops it into the
pool, where in a trice it is boiled ; for
the water is of the same fierce heat as
that in the lakes and pools of the
basins.

Our first glimpse of the caiion was
in the afternoon, and we readily believed
the tale told us of Moran : that here
at the entrance he always dismounts,
kneels, and, stretching his arms to its

miles of color, feasts his eyes on that
which is at once his joy and his despair;
for, while his brush alone can suggest
its colors, even his canvases are but
suggestions. Had we been told it is
the palette on which the sunrises and
sunsets are mixed, or Nature's strong
box in which golden opportunities,
youth, happiness and hope are kept, we
would have believed that too; for its
loveliness is incredible.

It is very difficult to describe without
seeming to exaggerate; for the color
is laid on the walls of the canon by
the mile — curves, coulees and slopes
shading from green to lake, from lake
to dazzling white, from white to amber,
and from this to a rose as perfect
as the heart of a shell. We made
our way to a point overhanging the
gorgeous depths. Towers, minarets,
obelisks, domes bristled below us ; below^
us also an eagle - mother hovered
motionless above her nest, built on
the extreme point of an inaccessible
crag; and she paid no more attention
to the tiny figures that craned over
to look at her eaglets than if they
were foam bells on the rushing torrent
a thousand feet below. The river is
of the vivid lovelj' green peculiar to
Niagara; but it is torn into foam by
the under-rip of the rocks, and the
waves seem to be trj'ing to flow up
stream. I say waves, but they are
really rapids and cascades. Just below
our rose -balcony, where a wreath of
foam seemed to float stationary, the
commandant said it was a waterfall
seventy-five feet high.

The note of color extends to the
flora, and the blossoms of the different
species are of abnormal size. Above
timber-line the Arctic flowers bloom;
and in the runnels of the hot springs
is a strange growth of many vivid
colors, jewel -like and leafless. The
grasses are varied, none odder than the
fox-grass, which looks like a pompon
of spun glass palely iridescent as it lips

72

THE AVE MARIA.

the boiling water, and is fatal to any
browsing creature that should nip it.

A curious feature in the gorgeous
coloring of the Park is the scarcity
of red, real hunting -coat red. There
are no red rays in the pools or in
the rainbows of the boiling fountains;
blue, yellow, green of a loveliness
undreamed of, but never a flash of red
in the craters or vaporous columns of
these tumultuous waters. (Rainbow
Falls is the leap the Firehole makes
long after it has cooled, and its waters
have again netted the sun and the
air into their current.) But when it is
found it is sumptuous, as in the geyser
flower (that scarlet prototype of the
glacier flower), the jagged rent in the
side of the Grand Canon that drips
like a mortal wound, and the flower
known as the "painter's brush."

You never lose the sound of rushing
water in this land of the five rivers— the
Snake, Madison, Firehole, Gibbon, and
Yellowstone. And you can have all
sorts of temperature. On some of the
plateaus the snow never rests, for the
ground is too hot to retain it; but
the growing time does not begin till
May, and in September the snow
begins to block the gorges. There are
frosts in midsummer (we were in a
light snow at Natural Bridge on the
3d of July) ; and at times the thermom-
eter rises to 90°. As we started on the
home trail we were in the sun ; and the
Wind with a shout led his battalions
against the enchanted Nubian, and
furious squalls of snow burst on his
turbaned head, and storms of hail drove
on his upturned face ; but, unchanged
and changeless, he lay in austere
majesty, for the years and the storms
may not touch his repose till the rocks
melt aw^ay and the heavens roll up like
a scroll.

The Petrified Forest is really what its
name implies ; but the trees are jasper
and agate, and Mary's Lake is only
one of the jewels found in its extent. It

shares with the Hoodoos and Obsidian
Chff the distinction of being named in
the Government Reports as one of
"the three most remarkable objects in
the Park."

The Cliff" looks like an outcrop of the
beautiful, shining white-ash coal of the
Lehigh Valley, and glistens like black
diamonds; and we were told that the
hardest tools of the roadmakers were
turned by this volcanic glass, until
they made rude ones of its fragments,
and chipped their way through as
patiently as the Indians chipped their
arrows.

But to me Sulphur Mountain is one
of the strangest. Its primrose mound
is surmounted by a tree that looks as
if it came out of Dante's wood of the
suicides, and is lightened by sparkling
patches of vivid yellow crystals — a sort
of mineral buttercup. By its side is
a geyser that has gone quite mad,
and leaps and dances in its white
strait -jacket, looking like a Norway
salmon trj'ing to make a rush in a
large bath-tub.

The Apollonaris and soda-water
springs deserve their names as perfectly
as if a college of chemists had analyzed
and labelled them. The Minute Man is
an odd little geyser that does his duty
like his namesake, and the Paint Pots
are where the underground workers
model flowers. They are large circular
pools filled with a viscous fluid of the
appearance and consistency of white
and blue oil-paint, boiling hot, and
never still. A bubble rises, thrusting
the fluid a foot or so in the air and
then escapes; the top of the cylinder
collapses slowly, and its walls stand
around it like a great calla lily. Some-
times it is a blue lotus flower that
rises, blooms, and vanishes ; sometimes
flowers of unknown patterns (perhaps
the ones Proserpine watered with her
tears in the grim Plutonian world);
but alwaj's they form and fade, and
form and fade again, only to be thrust

THE AVE MARIA.

73

once more into bloom by the restless
power beneath.

The danger of the Park is being lost
in its wilderness. It can not be too
strongly impressed on the traveller that
under no circumstances must he depart
ever so slightly from his trail or his
guide. And should he do so, the first
thing to be done is to stop walking,
grub a clear space and start a small,
small blaze of smoky fuel. Fire is the
living dread of the commandant,
foresters, guides and guards; and a
column of smoke as thick as one's
finger brings troopers galloping.

It is well to be found quickly for
many reasons, as a night in the remote
forests has its disadvantages. Pumas
(mountain lions) have been seen as late
as 1899 ; black and brown bears are
abundant, and there are now and again
grizzlies. Elk, moose, deer, antelope and
mountain sheep have always roamed
at will; and now the buflFaloes are at
range again. They are undoubtedly
the ugliest animals in the world, except
the wart hog ; but there is an untamed
savagery about them that suits the
land of their refuge.

A colony of beavers is carefully
cherished, and we caught a vanishing
glimpse of this strange builder at his
work; for the smack of his trowel
warned us, and we crept up cautiously.
A tree newly felled lay across the way ;
it was all of twelve inches in diameter
and cut as neatly as if an expert axe-
man had done it.

There are said to be no snakes in the
Park; but just after we had been
snubbed by a grizzly bear (who found
us in the way when he wished to cross
the road, and made our horses walk
on their ears when they winded him),
we saw a snake doing figure-of-eight
in our path. But we looked upon it
as a filler -in of scenery rather than a
disturber of harmony.

The tragedies of the Park are happily
few, and accidents rare. An odd one

came about through a runaway. The
horses plunged from the road into
the river, the current seized them and
hurled them smoothly down a 100-foot
water - slide, to flounder safely out,
while the driver still clutched the reins.
I understand he does not care for
water - tobogganing.

Relic hunting is taboo; even the
geyser eggs (little oval stones cast up
by the boiling fountains) are held in
their watery nest by a heavy penalty.
But the penalties are all heavy, espe-
cially that incurred by throwing soap
into a geyser mouth; for it brings on
premature eruption and disturbs the
system for days. A legend is told of
one vandal who wrote his name in
the green coating of a spring and was
obliged to scrub it out with his nose,
besides paying the fine; and I hope
the tale is true.

Happily, such instances are rare, as
few can resist the effect of a geyser. The
roar of the coming expulsion ; the rush
into the light from God knows what
wild laboratory of the earth's secret
places; the rain of crystal drops; the
pale, lovely rainbows that span the
flying spray; the clouds of steam that
rise four and five hundred feet to their
rivals in the sky ; the silent, awestruck
groups (for the giggler is rare in the
Yellowstone, and the jester's cap and
bells are struck from him by its majestic
beauty) ; the firs standing attention,
like sentinels; the strange sounds of
the boiling underworld of waters, with
the far-away thunder of the surface
rivers, — all of which brings us back to
the statement:

It is the most wonderful spot in the
world.

He who wishes to become wealthy
in a year risks getting hanged in six
months. — Persian Proverb.

The best of men are apt to be those
most convinced of being chief among
sinners.

74

THE AVE MARIA.

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SADLIER.

XXVII.— Eben Knox Recalls the
Past.

/^ FTER the interruption which had
j-^ momentarily turned Eben Knox
J from his purpose, he continued his
narrative, stem and relentless as those
Furies of old charged with executing the
vengeance of the offended deities. Miss
Tabitha still trembled and cowered
before him, in the growing darkness
which closed round the two unheeded.

"Go back, Tabitha Brown," resumed
the manager, "for a period of thirty
years. You had meekly bowed your
head when the great papa and mamma
at the Manor and the lesser papa and
mamma at the Cottage had declared
that you were not worthy to many a
Bretherton of the Manor. You hadn't
the strength or the womanhood to
laugh at their conventions and shatter
their pasteboard puppets of wealth
and position. If Leonora had been
in your place — but -no matter. With
your slavish respect for the great and
your abject fear, you turned your
back upon your lover. He was only a
boj' ; perhaps if he had been a man, he
would have acted a man's part and
have married you in spite of them all.
Some say that he took the affair to
heart and that it helijed him on the
w^ay to perdition."

Miss Tabitha covered her eyes with
a thin, quaking hand. Her weakness,
her very submission, seemed "now, in the
waste of years, to have been criminal.

"Whatever he was before," continued
Eben, pitilessly, "all Millbrook knew
what he became afterward,— a rock of
offence and a stumbling-block. Card-
playing, winebibbing, wild doings of
all sorts in which young gentlemen of
that station indulge with impunity,
horrified the neighborhood. You took

his part, so far as you dared, and raised
a weak protest against the general
denunciation. In your eyes a Brether-
ton of the Manor, and that Bretherton
in particular, could do no wrong. The
father stormed and threatened. He
was, indeed, furiously indignant at his
son's conduct, especially as he and the
mother were bent on a match for him
with a wealthy Boston heiress. He
defied them, laughed at the notion of
marrying the woman they had chosen ;
and, it appears, through all his evil
courses still loved you, after his fashion,
alternately denouncing your weakness
and his parents' tyranny."

Perhaps this portion of his narrative
was illuminative to Miss Tabitha, who
had never quite realized that a Breth-
erton could have so set his heart and
his wild boy's will on a girl beneath
him. But the manager, whether by
intuition or by information, was fully
posted upon all the varied byplay of
emotions in that drama of the past.

"He made futile attempts to see you
from time to time," Eben went on. "I
myself saw him hanging about Rose
Cottage in the dusk of the evening.
Once, while still at college, he broke
away and came to Millbrook solely
for a sight of your face. I knew that ;
for I heard my father tell how the lad
had been locked up and threatened
with dire penalties, and sent back under
proper guard to be dragooned into
submission. Well, he was effectually
prevented from doing what would have
been the best act of his life. You
were very precise and proper, and you
returned his letters, — some of them, at
any rate. I suspect you kept a few."

Tabitha's cheek flushed in the dark-
ness. She had kept her valentine and —
yes, two letters, still hidden away
upstairs ; and had read them from time
to time in the years since the writer
had mouldered into dust.

"It was long after the college days
and the love letters that I used to see

THE AVE MARIA.

75

him hanging about the Cottage. You
might have saved him yet, Tabitha, —
saved him from what you know, and
from becoming — worst of all, to my
mind — the smug-faced rascal of later
years. But that is anticipating."

Eben Knox turned a basilisk glance
full upon his listener, who shivered and
drew her shawl feebly about her, as
if she had been suddenly stricken with
a chill.

" You were at Rose Cottage," he
said, "standing upon the porch out
there. I remember how you looked.
Your hair was in ringlets, — you always
wore them, though the people about
said that they were out of fashion,
and that you were getting too old
for that style of hairdressing. I knew
why you kept them: because my lord
scapegrace had so admired them."

Even in her terror and dismay. Miss
Tabitha flushed faintly to know that
her poor little attempt at clinging to
the past had been thus divined, and at
the ungenerous comment passed upon
her actions.

"A lad of fifteen years came running
to you upon the porch, in the greatest
trepidation, with the news that Reverdy
Bretherton and his cousin, Evrard
Lennon, were at high words in the
mill -house. They often played cards
there when the proprietor, my father,
chanced to be absent. I do not think
the dispute was all about cards :
perhaps you came into it in some way.
So I thought, at least, as I crouched
under the window and listened to
fragments of the talk. For I was
the lad of fifteen who carried you the
tidings. I knew you had great influ-
ence with Reverdy Bretherton. I was
honest then, and I wanted to prevent
mischief I told you that there was
danger. You waited and wavered,
afraid that the young gentleman might
resent your interference, afraid that
the gossips might talk.

" At la.st I moved you, and you came.

It was too late, however: matters
had gone beyond your interference.
The two had come forth from the
mill-house, struggling and raging. You
saw, Tabitha Brown, and I saw,
Reverdy Bretherton raise his hand,
upon which glittered a hare seal ring.
It was close by the alder bushes;
the waning moon was rising, the
landscape was wild and drearj'. A
blow descended, and Evrard Lennon
fell backward into the mill-pond, just
where the shadow of the alder bushes
falls darkest. There was a cut upon
his forehead, made by the ring, — a
ghastly mark, from which the blood
trickled over the white face. We saw
it, you and I, in the moonlight. It
was a horrid sight. It haunts me still
at times in the darkness, as does also
the splash of that body falling into
the water."

Eben Knox seemed terrified at the
picture conjured up by his imagina-
tion, grown morbid in the miasmatic
atmosphere, moral and physical, of the
mill-house. He wiped the cold perspi-
ration from his forehead with a hand
which trembled, and he steadied his
voice by an effort, as he went on :

"You know what followed. He, the
dealer of that blow, sobered by what
had occurred, stood horror-stricken
and terrified, with chattering teeth and
eyes staring down into the stream.
You and I rushed to the water's edge,
and we spent the next hour examining
the banks and seeking for traces of
Lennon. There were none. Reverdy,
rousing himself, joined in the search.
Evrard Lennon must have sunk like
a stone."

Tabitha, in the extremity of her fear
and anguish at that terrible recollec-
tion, groaned aloud. The manager,
unheeding, continued :

"When we found that every effort
was futile, Reverdy began to cry out
that he was a ruined man, and that
he had forever disgraced the name of

76

THE AVE MARIA.

Bretherton; and, like the hound he
was, he turned on you, charging his
downfall to j^our account."

"Yes," assented Tabitha: "he was
distracted. He didn't know what he
said. But it was then I vowed to save
him at any cost, and to save the honor
of the Brethertons."

" Precisely ! " cried Eben Knox. " And,
as a first step to that end, you tampered
with my honor. You and he, between
you, offered me a price for my silence.
I accepted it, and I ceased to be an
honest man, especially in the light of
what came after. My sin was ever
before me — "

"But," interposed Tabitha, "where
was the great sin in keeping silence?
It was an accident. If he had come
up, we would have saved him."

She shuddered as she spoke; and
Eben Knox gave her a strange glance,
while he resumed :

"There was a ghastly find soon after
in the brook. A drowned man had
become entangled in the rushes. No
wonder our search was fruitless: that
man was Evrard Lennon. The jury
would have brought in a verdict of
accidental death, save for the cut upon
the forehead. An innocent man was
apprehended,— a nameless vagrant, who
for weeks remained in peril of his life.
I myself endured a good deal just then.
I was not yet callous or hardened. I
would have spoken out the truth, but
you — 3'ou, Tabitha Brown, — again bade
me to be silent."

He bent forward as he spoke, stretch-
ing toward the old woman an accusing
hand. A cry escaped Tabitha's parched
lips; her staring eyes looked upward
as toward an unseen witness.

"I meant to tell — I always meant to
tell — if the man had been condemned
to death!"

The mill -manager looked at her
contemptuously.

"That is a matter between you and
your God,", he said,— "if there be a

God. I have doubted it since I saw
the prosperity of Reverdy Bretherton."

While he thus echoed, after his own
blasphemous fashion, the cry of the
just man of old, who was "staggered
by the prosperity of the wicked,"
Tabitha murmured, brokenly:

"Oh, he didn't mean to kill his cousin !
Nothing, as he told me, was further
from his thoughts. And if it was my
fault — as he said— that he had gone
wrong, I was bound to save him."

" Well, you did save him, for the time
being. No evidence was given at the
trial. Some few circumstantial bits of
testimony pointed to the- tramp. The
jurors considered it inadequate for a
death sentence, but he got a term of
twenty years ; it being alleged by some
one, who must have had a garbled
knowledge of the real facts, that the
deceased had engaged him in a quarrel.
The wretch stoutly maintained that
he had never seen Evrard Lennon in
his life, and that he had not been any-
where near the mill-pond for days
before and after the murder. The jurors
were onl3' too glad to dispose of the
case without sentencing any one to
death. The tramp was deprived of his
freedom for twenty years. You and
I, Tabitha Brown, consented to the
iniquity."

Tabitha's trembling lips seemed form-
ing some words of protest or denial ;
but no sound issued forth, and the voice
of the relentless manager once more
broke upon the gloom.

"That man," he went on, "came out
of jail ten years ago, feeble and broken
in health, unable to find work, shunned
and accursed by everyone, pointed at as
the murderer. Such is the fate to which
you and I have condemned him."

Miss Tabitha's eyes were distended
in horror.

"I didn't know!" she murmured,—
"I didn't know!"

"You didn't know and you didn't
care!" pursued the manager. "Your

THE AVE MARIA.

77

idol, the Bretherton scapegrace, got
such a lesson that night by the mill-
pond that he turned over a new leaf.
He forsook his evil courses, and he even
turned away from his romance at Rose
Cottage. I think he regarded you with
horror after you had consented to evil
for his sake. Perhaps what he had liked
best in you before was your whiteness
of life. Few of us are so bad that we
don't like that in a woman."

A few hot, scalding tears forced
themselves down Tabitha's withered
cheeks ; for this was a bitter reflection.
Eben Knox had an almost diabolical
ingenuity in divining people's motives
and in reaching just conclusions.

"In any case," the manager added,
"Reverdy was wondrously subservient
to papa. He married the heiress, and,
by some more rascality of which I
chance to know, he inherited a con-
siderable sum of money and a fine
piece of property owned by the other
sca4)<"grace drowned in the mill-race.
It wouldn't have sounded very well in
a court of law that he was the heir
of the man he had — "

Miss Tabitha put up her hand as if
a blow had been descending.

"He did not intend to kill him,
Eben Knox!" she cried.

"No, I grant you that; but a jury
might have thought otherwise. In any
event, he got the money and he got the
land and he got the house! Who has
got them now? Your later idol, Jim
Bretherton. To that very house, stained
with its owner's blood, he will bring
Leonora, if he marries her."

"No, no, she must not go there! She
must live, — somewhere else!" said Miss
Tabitha, wildly.

"She certainly shall aot go there!"
returned Eben Knox, sternly. "I have
knowledge which will prevent that, at
least. As to her living elsewhere, that
is precisely what has brought me here
this evening."

He rose, as he thus spoke, and paced

the room, stopping at last in front of
Miss Tabitha to resume:

"I have come to offer you a sugges-
tion. Your Reverdy Bretherton became
a prosperous, influential man; he even
came here to patronize you with little
sentimental reminiscences. The world
smiled upon him; he stood high in the
opinion of his fellowmen. Meanwhile
the innocent suffered for the guilty. By
a sort of vicarious justice, this act of
the drama shall now be repeated, and
once more an innocent person must
suffer for the guilty — or at least for
the inheritors of guilt."

Miss Tabitha peered eagerly at the
manager, though she was scarce able
to see his face; and she listened with
strained attention to each word that
dropped from his lips.

" Your Jim Bretherton will have to
expiate the sins of his kinsman, and it
is time that the judgment should fall.
He has had wealth, prosperity, every
gift that fortune can bestow — and
more: he has had love. I saw him on
the night of the tableaux. I saw him
afterward on the lawn, when the moon
was high in the heavens. He has had
happiness enough for one man. It is
just that he pay the penalty,— pay it
to the last farthing."

Eben Knox drew his breath hard,
and something of the ferocity of a wild
beast came into his face at these recol-
lections. He moistened his dry lips with
his tongue, as if he were preparing
literally to taste the sweet morsel of
revenge over which he gloated.

Miss Tabitha, who was growing
more and more weary of all these
heroics, and had stood about as much
in the way of strain as her enfeebled
constitution permitted, remarked, with
some petulance :

"Say what you mean!"

"I will," answered the manager, with
a sardonic laugh. "And, to come to a
plain statement of facts, I am sorry
that Miss Leonora must be included in

78

THE AVE MARIA.

the sacrifice. She alone can save the
situation 1)3' discarding her fine lover
and marrying me."

" I told 3'ou once before she will never
marry you."

"Not willingly, it may be," said Eben
Knox, eyeing the spinster through the
gloom, with concentrated malignity
that she had dared to put this opinion
into words; "nor will she be forced
into it, as \'OU might have been, by
craven fear. Sacrifice would be more
in her line, — sacrifice for the good of
others. But it will not matter, if once
she consents to marry me. She will
be a model wife to whatever man she
marries; for she's got what you and
I haven't got — religion."

Miss Tabitha felt this to be a most
unjust aspersion upon herself. She had
faithfully attended church, and she
really was in her own way religious.
She felt called upon, therefore, to
protest, but Eben Knox waved her
remonstrance aside.

"Pshaw!" he retorted. "Your relig-
ion is as feeble and knock-kneed as
your character. It can't stand a blast.
Your goodness is all milk and water.
If I had gone in for goodness, it would
have been of another kind. I'd have
stopped at nothing, — gone the whole
length. Well, I wasn't trained up to it,
and it's too late now."

He seemed to address himself less to
Miss Tabitha than to some unseen
witness; and he added:

"Bretherton I suppose is good, and I
hate him the more for it. Except upon
the night of the tableaux, I never hated
the insolent puppy so much as when he
flung his religion full in the face of the
committee and the electors. At least
there was no snivelling hypocrisy in
that. But I could have torn him to
pieces where he stood , for I knew what
Leonora would think. Oh, I heard her
telling him there in the garden that
she was proud of him! That oflicious

fool, Lord Aylward, had written her
a letter describing the scene, forsooth!
I had plotted for his humiliation that
night, and she told him she was proud
of him. He laughed at the notion, and
answered that no man, no gentleman,
could have done otherwise."

Eben Knox was now talking chiefly
to himself, for Miss Tabitha no longer
listened. She sank upon her knees
and, covering her face, prayed aloud a
strange, incoherent praj-er. Eben Knox,
catching a word or two, broke in upon
her mutterings.

"It is all very well to pray, Tabitha
Brown, — perhaps it would have been
better if you had prayed sooner. But
just now 3'ou had better get up and
let me hear your decision."

Tabitha rose slowly ; saying, as if the
fact had struck her for the first time:

" We are in the dark here, Eben
Knpx. I will light the lamp."

She did so with trembling fingers;
and the radiance thus obtained show^
the old woman's pallid, quivering face,
and the countenance of the man, stem,
dark, forbidding, as that of some
ancient Covenanter.

"My proposal is before you," he
said. "Hear it again, if you will. Let
your niece send Bretherton about his
business — the quicker the better, — and
pledge herself to marry me at any
given time, say in three months."

"And you?" Miss Tabitha inquired.

"I, for my part, will pledge myself
to bury the secret forever in that grave
where Reverdy Bretherton buried the
documents."

"Documents? What documents?"
queried Miss Tabitha.

"Oh, I forgot that you knew nothing
about the documents ! But I do, and I
shall bestow them as a wedding present
upon your young Mr. Bretherton, if
Leonora persists in marrying him.
They will make a sensation, I promise
you, in the Bretherton household."

(To b< MatiBaeJ.)

THE AVE MARIA.

79

The Morning Star.

BY THOMAS B. REILLT.

A SOLITAIRE, you haunt the pilgrim sea
In ancient channels of the morning light,
Where late on shallow edges of the night
You held far thought for all the world and me.
And if the eye, watch-wearied, can not see,
The heart foreknows you there, beyond aM sight —
A silver world within the silver white
Of daybreak; an immortal memory!

My spirit, too, delays upon a brim
Of radiant seas unpathed and quite unknown, —
And yet I count them for the perfect way;
For there shall I, drawn onward unto Him,
A waning spark unseen within His own,
World-fainting, pass not into night but day.

An Episode of the Present Struggle in
France.

BT aSOKOLNA PELL CURTIt.

Heart of Jesua, may I forget my right hand, may
I forget myself, if ever I forget Thy benefits and my
promiKs; if I *ea»e to love Thee and place in Thee my
confidence and my consolation ! — Last worda of the
Vow of Louis XVI.

I.

THERE will be no school to-day,
petit. You had better run home."

The child threw a startled glance at
the tall gendarme who stood in front
of the lofty iron gates, through which
he had been accustomed daily to pass.
Other children that day had tried to
run past the uniformed guard, but
ten-year-old Felix stood still. The son
of a soldier knew how to respect
soldierly authority.

"What is the matter, Monsieur?" he
asked. "Yesterday I said my lessons to
Soeur Marguerite; she said nothing to
me about a holiday to-day."

The tall soldier laughed.

" It will be many holidays now for
the nuns, mon brave I As to your.self,
you will soon be going to the govern-
ment schools, and learning to be a
good citizen of our belle France."

The boy drew himself up proudly.

"lam a good citizen now!" he said.
" Mere Angelique and Soeur Marguerite,
they teach us to love our country, to
respect its laws. What more will you
have, Monsieur? As to your govern-
ment school," added the boy, "I know
nothing of it."

Other children had come up and were
listening with wide-opened eyes. Vague
rumors of trouble at the convent were
already rife.

The gendarme shrugged his shoulders.

" I am not here to answer questions,"
he said ; " but to do as the government
tells me, and that is to eject the nuns
and send them about their business.
Now run home, all of you ! "

He half drew his sword as he spoke,
looking very fierce. With one accord
the children fled.

"A good move, Gaston," said a voice
on the other side of the iron gates.
"If the nuns don't give way soon and
unlock the doors, we will have you up,
with that look and voice, to frighten
them.

"Helas!" said Gaston, removing his
helmet and mopping his head. "It
has been tough work, those children!"

Meanwhile Felix had run down the
road that bordered the convent grounds,
his brave little heart in a tumult of
bewildered pain and anger. His beloved
Sisters going away, and meanwhile
guarded and threatened by those rude
joldiers !

t "Oh," thought the child, "if only
inon pdre was at home, it would be
^11 right!"

♦ The other children had gone on ahead,
. but Felix stood still. He glanced up at
the high brick wall, above which ap-
peared the chimneys and red tiled roofs
, of the convent building. No one was in
sight, and suddenly an idea came to him.
•. A large tree grew close to the brick wall,
and seemed to invite ascent. Quickly
the boy began to climb. In five minutes
he was on top of the wall, looking with

80

THE AVE MARIA.

clear, eager brown eyes into the garden
that spread out before him.

Yes, there was a sentry marching
along in front of the convent door.
"Would he turn around by the side of
the house, or keep in front, where, of
course, he could see him (Felix), if he
left the shelter of the overarching tree ?
The child paused to consider. Even if he
cleared the lawn that lay between him
and the house, could he get in the heavy
oak door, which he rightly guessed
was barred and bolted on the inside?
It would take some time to make the
portress understand it was a friend,
not a foe; and meanwhile the sentr3'
would be back, and he would be caught.

Felix knit his delicate brows ; then,
childlike, he suddenly clapped his small
hands. His brown eyes had wandered
to a small window near the ground, —
one of - many lighting the cellar, and
one from which the glass was missing.
The windows were so low and narrow,
and were set in so deep an embrasure,
that only a very small and determined
boy could squeeze his way through.
But Felix remembered that two days
ago he and Henri had accomplished
that verj' feat. Once inside, they had
climbed up a ladder that led from the
cellar, and had lifted a trapdoor in the
kitchen, thereby startling old ScEur
Odette almost out of her wits. Mere
Angelique had chided the boys gently,
and had given orders that a glazier be
sent for to replace the glass. That was
two days ago, and the hole was still
visible; evidently rumors of trouble,
or other things, "had kept the glazier
away.

A whistle sounded in the distance, and
the sentry wheeled around, and in a
moment turned the corner of the house.

At last the coast was clear! Quick
as a flash, the child swung from a
stout branch that jutted over the
convent wall, and dropped down on
the grass below. He was up in a
second, and flying across the garden.

his short legs stretched to their limit.
Ah, thanks to the Sacred Heart, he
reached the window safely! Squeezing
his way through, his jacket caught on
a nail, and for a moment the excited
child thought it was the sentry pulling
him back. There was no time for skilful
unfastening. Fehx gave a tug: there
was a sound of rending cloth, and he
was free.

Making his way across the cellar
to the ladder, he began to ascend,
and presently was cautiously lifting
the trapdoor, which, fortunately, was
unfastened. No one was in the kitchen,
and no sound disturbed the silence;
the child closed the trapdoor and
bolted it.

"They have forgotten," said Felix;
"but the gendarme might come this
way."

Wise, though not beyond his years,
was the brave little fellow, who now
began climbing the stairs, worn hollow
by generations of youthful feet. Once
in the broad upper hall, he did not
hesitate. He rightly guessed that most
of the nuns were in the chapel, but he
would look first in his own particular
class-room.

The eager brown hands turned the
knob of the glass door, and he entered.
A young nun, with her back to him,
was putting away some books. Even
in that hour of agony and uncertainty
the trained discipline of years was
not relaxed.

" ScEur Marguerite ! " exclaimed Felix.

The nun turned, her pure, proud face
melting into love and tenderness.

"Felix,— my little Felix! How came
-you here?"

But the boy had burst into tears, and,
throwing his arms around her neck,
could only sob:

" Soeur Marguerite, tell me— tell me!"

"Yes," she said soothingly, "I will
tell you all, Felix. Do not cry, my child.
God and the Blessed Mother have not
abandoned us."

THE AVE MARIA.

81

The calio voice and maimef quieted
Felix. Gradually he heafd the whole
story, — telling at the same time how
he had gained entrance to the convent.

As the young nun talked on, explain-
ing in simple language what it all
meant, there came into the boy's face
an expression that the Sister noticed.
In half an hour he seemed to have
grown five years older.

"Ma Soeur," he said, "won pere will
be home to-morrow. I am sure he can
make you free,"

The young nun shook her head.

"No, my child," she replied, "your
father can do nothing. The wisest, the
best, the holiest men in France are
powerless to check this evil. There is
no doubt we must go."

"Where to?" asked Felix.

For a moment the nun's calmness
seemed on the point of breaking down.

"I do not know," she answered.
"That is what we are considering now,
before we let the soldiers in. God will
show us the way."

In the child's mind had come a sudden
thought, bom of his love and hope.

"I must go, ma Sceur," he said. "I
can do nothing here. Perhaps I can
help you outside."

Soeur Marguerite smiled as she looked
down at the eager, sparkling little
face; then anxiety for him superseded
other thoughts.

"Can you get back to the road
safely, Felix?" she asked.

"Trust me, Sceur Marguerite!" he
answered. "Those tall gendarmes are
stupid fellows. They will not catch
Felix."

One regretful glance the boy gave
around the cheerful, sunshiny room ere
he left. There was the desk that he
had shared with Henri ; the little space
in one corner where they had both
carved their names; the statue of the
Madonna, surrounded by pots of bloom-
ing flowers, between the two tall south
windows; the cnicifijc on the wall

over Sceur Marguerite's desk,— all the
loved and familiar objects that he was
never to see again. No wonder the lad's
heart was near to breaking.

Soeur Marguerite accompanied him
to the trapdoor, and then, through the
lattice of an upper window, saw him
get safely across the garden and swing
himself up in the tree. She turned from
the window with a sigh of relief; then,
closing the door of the deserted class-
room, made her way to the chapel.

Meanwhile Felix was running down
the road that led away from the
convent and the town.

"I am glad I did not have to pass
the gate again," he thought.

On and on sped the eager, flying little
feet. The idea that had come to him
while Soeur Marguerite talked had
taken definite shape in his mind. As
his father was away, he would go and
see his parrain, the old Due de la F.

"He is rich and powerful," thought
the boy: "he can help the nuns."

( Conclusion next week. )

A Dramatic Baptism in Japan.*

I.

PETER lOSHlYASU is the eldest son
of an oldtime Samurai,— a Samurai
of a strain that stamps him as a con-
temporary of leyasu rather than a
Japanese of the twentieth century.
Although Peter had for a good many
months been studying Christian doc-
trine, saying his prayers diligently
every day, and attending Mass every
Sunday, he had not yet dared openly
to be baptized a Catholic or reject
every external mark of ancestor-
worship. He trembled at the thought
of his father, whose savage humor he
understood, and whom he knew to be
quite capable of drawing his old sabres
from the scabbards in which they had

* Adapted from tlie French of Rev. M. Boehrer,
in Lcs Missions Catboliques.

82

THE AVE MARIA.

rested for more than thirty-nine years.

Well, on June 30 I had gone to
Nagasaki. Shortly after arriving that
evening at the bishop's house, I received
this telegram: "Little daughter of
loshiyasu baptized and dead. He vv'ants
Catholic funeral."

I foresaw at once the consequences of
this open profession of Christianity. It
was a declaration of war between Peter
and his father. Nagasaki forthwith
lost its charms for me ; I took the first
train, and that same night was back
at Fokuoka.

Severe, indeed, had been the struggle
sustained during the day by loshiyasu
against all his relatives. His resolution,
however, had been unshaken ; since
before dying his child had received
baptism, and he refused for her burial
every Buddhist ceremony.

"She died a Catholic," he said to all
who argued with him, "and she will
have a Catholic funeral."

His persistence, in fine, was such that
a part of the family took his side in
the matter.

"Since the 'folly' of the child's
baptism is an accomplished fact," they
argued, "there is nothing to be done
save shut our ej-^es to the funeral, and
then take measures to break ofi" all
relations between loshiyasu and the
missionary."

The old Samurai, however, had in-
veighed so fiercely against any species
of Christian burial that my catechist
and I began to ask ourselves whether
the ceremony was not likely to be'
disturbed by some outbreak or dis-
orderh^ interruption.

At the appointed hour I went to the
house to read the usual prayers over
the corpse, preliminary to its being
carried to the church. I found there not
only Peter but his father and brothers,
apparently mounting guard around
the huml)le little coffin. Invested with
surplice and stole, I at once intoned the
Sit nomea Domini Benedictum and the

Laudate pueri. The electrical glares
from the hostile eyes around me seemed
to light up the pages of my ritual
all through the psalmody. I w^ondered
whether the raising of the coffin would
not be the signal for the outburst of
their rage.

At the close of the psalm I announced
that we would carry the body to the
church, and that as we passed along
the city streets all the Christians would
recite the beads aloud. Lightning-like
glances were interchanged as if for
consultation, when suddenly, on the
pretext of an important communica-
tion to be made, one of Peter's relatives
skilfully drew the old Samurai into
another apartment. When he returned,
the funeral procession was already
under way.

Brusquely deprived of their chief, and
seeing, besides, a large number of their
pagan friends following the coffin,
Peter's brothers little by little lost their
bellicose appearance and mechanically
joined the ranks. They even entered the
church and accompanied the remains
to the cemetery.

The next day, on the occasion of the
dinner that usually follows a funeral,
all Peter's relatives were assembled in
his house. He fully expected a most
violent assault. My catechist was
invited to the repast; and, as he hesi-
tated about accepting, I advised him
to go.

"Your presence," I said, "can only
be useful. And be sure to return as
soon as possible, and let me know
the outcome of the affair."

I waited several hours for the cate-
chist's return; but, as he had not
arrived at midnight, I went to bed.

About four o'clock the next morning
I was awakened by a vigorous knock-
ing at my door. Getting up, I opened
it and found myself face to face with
Peter, his wife, and their little boy.

"Father, give us baptism!" Peter
said, omitting the usual interminable

THE AVE MARIA.

83

greetings. " Yes, this very morning,
baptize us."

"Come in," I replied, "and tell me
the meaning of all this emotion."

Seating themselves, the3' recounted
the events of the previous evening. The
family repast had taken place in perfect
peace, but the calm was merely the
prelude of a violent tempest. The sake
was drunk with the greatest prudence
and merely as a form.

At the end of the meal, Peter's
brothers themselves removed the dishes ;
and when the mats were cleared, in
the midst of a general silence the old
Samurai solemnly adjured his son to
renounce the religion of Jesus Christ.

"Despite the profound respect I en-
tertain for you," answered Peter, "it
is impossible to grant your request.
As a matter of fact, neither I nor my
wife nor my son can yet be called a
Christian; but I intend at the proper
time to ask the Catholic missionary
to baptize us."

At these words the old man, dashing
away a tear of rage, exclaimed :

"You are dishonoring your ancestors !
I will kill you!"

And, throwing himself upon his son,
he rained blows upon him. The Samurai
had not anticipated such firmness on
Peter's part, else he would certainly
have brought his sabres with him. As
it was, he called for a knife from the
kitchen. Fortunatel3' for Peter, nobody
obeyed the order quick enough to suit
the old man, so that, beside himself
with fury, he rushed to the kitchen to
get one for himself.

Just then the catechist picked up
Peter, and, hurrying him to the street,
whispered :

"Quick, hide at a neighbor's!"

In the meantime Peter's brothers
were not idle. One of them seized his
sister-in-law, threw her down and
kicked her, and another hunted about
for the boy to kill him also. While the
kitchen was being upset in search of

a suitable weapon, the catechist was
fortunate enough to wrest the poor
woman from her aggressor. He caught
her up in his arms and carried her,
more dead than alive, not out to the
street — for the front door was now
guarded by one of the brothers, — but
into the niwa (little garden) at the rear
of the house. Once there, he managed
to raise her to the top of the fence
separating Peter's property from his
neighbor's, and without further cere-
mony dropped her on the other side.

Returning to the house to save the
boy, he could not find him. He himself,
however, was set upon by the furious
pagans, who threw him down, kicked
him and buffeted him without mercy.
At last he contrived to escape from
their maltreatment; and, jumping over
the fence, found security in the house
of Peter's neighbor where that valiant
catechumen and his wife had already
taken refuge. •

It remained now only to discover the
boy who had disappeared. Luckily for
himself, the little fellow had found the
repast somewhat long. Accordingly,
before its close he had left the table
and betaken himself tranquilly to the
bath-house. Here he was found by a
friend, and conducted by a roundabout
way to his parents, who then hastened
to the missionary.

"I may as well be prepared for
anything, even to be killed,— I and my
wife and child; and we don't want to
die without having received the sancti-
fying grace of baptism," said Peter.

"So be it!" I rejoined, more moved
than I cared to let appear. " The blows
you received last night will supply the
lack of your catechism examination."

I accordingly proceeded at once to
explain the ceremonies of baptism, as
also the examination of conscience, and
did my best to excite contrition in
their bosoms.

"Let your fervor," said I, "replace
the festal robc« which you have not

84

THE AVE MARIA.

been able to secure for your baptismal
day."

The ceremony took place at ten
o'clock, and was followed by Holy
Mass, celebrated for the pagan parents
of these valiant neophytes.

11.
Once baptized, Peter returned to his
residence, his soul perfectly tranquil.
The joy he was experiencing rendered
him almost indifferent with regard to
the family council that had been in
session since early morning, and had
sent out seekers after the criminal.
Learning that he was at his home,
the council sent one of his brothers to
order his appearance before them.

"Last night," replied Peter to this
demand, "I told my father and all of
you that I was not yet a Christian:
it was the truth. But this morning at
daybreak I went to the missionary
and asked for baptism. He acceded to
my request, so I am baptized. As there
is nothing else for me to impart to
the assembled family, you may commu-
nicate this information in my stead.
For that matter, in my quality of eldest
son, I command you to do so."

The distracted brother hastened to
break the "sad" news to the family.
There followed a long discussion. Some
insisted on Peter's immediate appear-
ance before them; others advocated
torturing him until he apostatized.
The father bade them be silent, and
declared that, since his son, after the
remonstrances and the rough usage of
the preceding night, had gone at dawn
of day to seek baptism, it was clear
that nothing could change him. Like
the Christians of the olden days, he
would let himself be killed rather than
abjure his new faith. Consequently,
there was nothing else to do than to
deny him and expel him from the family.

This sentence was unanimously ap-
proved, and it was resolved to proceed
to its immediate execution. Here,

however, an unexpected legal difficulty
presented itself. Peter had become head
of the family and possessed its seal ;
for his father had declared himself
in Kyo,— that is, "retired." Now, to
take from Peter the seal with the title
and right of chief of the house, a
public judgment of the tribunals would
be necessary. It accordingly became
essential to accuse Peter of either a
crime or of some incriminating vice.
The old Samurai began to see that the
Japan of to-day is no longer that of
the time of leysau. The son whom he
had chosen to succeed Peter recoiled
from legal proceedings -which would
dishonor the whole family., and bound
himself to arrange the matter other-
wise. He dressed himself in Samurai
costume, and, presenting himself before
his eldest brother, said :

"The assembled family, on learning
that you have been baptized, have
declared that you have forfeited your
title and rights as chief of the house,
and have named me in your place. I
can not, however, consent to this sub-
stitution. I will still always consider
you my elder brother. I quite under-
stand that, if you are a Christian, it is
because of your long -lasting relations
with the Catholic missionary. He has
finished by bewitching you. The real
criminal is he, not you. Hence I am
just going to cut off his head. He
will receive the kind of punishment he
deserves. As for you, once free from
the ties that bind you to the mission,
you will take up your old style of life,
and the family will be satisfied. When I
have killed, the foreign priest, I will cut
open my stomach before the door of
his church, and the honor of our name
will be saved."

Proud of this programme, he started
to put it forthwith into execution.
Peter, however, restrained him.

"So you think," said he, "that you
will punish the Father by cutting off
his bead? Disabuse yourself. You can

THE AYE MARIA.

85

not possibly procure him a greater joy,
a higher honor, or a more brilliant
reward. You will make him a martyr.
The Church of the entire world will
glorify him. He will go straight to
paradise, near the Lord of heaven and
earth, to enjoy eternal felicity. As for
me, I more than anybody else shall
honor him, because it will l>e on my
account that his blood will be spilled ;
and I shall consider it the most sacred
of duties to devote myself, body and
soul, to the missionary who succeeds
him. In becoming a Christian, under-
stand me, I have not abdicated my
duties as Samurai. Take 3'our sabres
back with you, and tell the family that
at noon next Monday I will go to
my father's house. I will then show
you what I will do to settle your
difficulties."

The brother, not very anxious at heart
to procure for me the joys, honors,
and rewards of the other world, retired
and delivered Peter's message. The
family, whom an interminable session
had somewhat fatigued, welcomed the
adjournment, and dispersed.

Left alone, the old father began to
muse over the words of his eldest son.

"In becoming a Christian," he said
to himself, "he has not abdicated the
duties of Samurai ; and he will come
at noon the day after to-morrow to
tell us, and show us, what he will do.
In the mouth of a Samurai, these words
can mean only one thing. He will
come to commit karakiri (cut open
his stomach) before me and the whole
family. Then, according to our old
traditions, all the damages and evils
will fall upon us, and he will be a hero."

The longer the old man thought
about it, the less he liked the prospect.
Finally, at midnight he went to Peter's
house, awakened his son and said :

"It is useless for the family to come
together again on the day you have
fixed. Since \'ou make such a point of
it, I permit you to be a Christian. 1

exact only one thing— that you respect
your ancestors."

The next day, Sunday, Peter came to
tell me that the tragedy was over,
and that henceforth he could practise
in peace the religion which he had
so valiantly embraced. Sunday's was
a Mass of thanksgiving. For four
days we had been living in the age
of leysau.

As epilogue, let me add that I hope
before very long to announce the con-
version of Peter's father and brothers.
Peter himself has become an apostle.
Not content with endeavoring to win
to Jesus Christ all his relatives, he is
full of ardor to bring to me numerous
auditors recruited among the ranks
of the old Samurai. He is continually
pressing and urging nie to build a
lecture hall. If my funds were as abun-
dant as his zeal is fervent, such an edifice
would have been constructed long ago.

Thought Pebbles.

A clever man always draws some
profit from the evil that is said of him.

— A. Fournier.
A fool is only tiresome, a pedant is
insupportable. — Napoleon.

Politeness is a coin destined to enrich
those who give it away.

— Persian Proverb.

To complain of envy is to believe
oneself worthy of exciting it. — Sedaine.

Childhood is a preface which is often
worth more than the book. — Bertall.

The more habits a man has, the less
independence does he possess.— Sw/ft.

Science is the lock of which study is
the key. — Abou - Taib.

We like to give in the sun and receive
in the shade.—/. Petit-Sean.

Idleness walks so slowly that poverty
has no trouble in catching up with it.

— Franklin.

86

THE AYE MAFaA.

Notes and Remarks.

Among the bits of practical wisdom
listened to of late by college graduates,
this statement by a New York lawyer,
John B. Dill, at Oberlin, Ohio, merits
reproduction: "Many men of educa-
tion, of power financial and political,
seem to develop a two-faced conscience :
one for business use, and another for
individual life." The statement is, un-
fortunately, too true. Transparent as is
the fallacy that what is condemnable
in an individual is excusable or justifi-
able in a committee, a corporation, or a
party, many men in public life never-
theless accept it ^s a principle of action.
The purchase of a vote, for instance, is
of course criminal in both the buyer and
the seller ; but the respectable members
of the Republican or Democratic cam-
paign committee, who have furnished
the purchase - money for the express
purpose of bribing the voter, will for-
sooth disclaim any personal responsi-
bility for the crime. On the face of it,
such a contention — that of their immu-
nity from personal guilt in the matter-
is clearly absurd ; yet our public life is
full of men whose individual consciences
have become so blunted in committee
work, that they will gravely uphold
such action as legitimate, completely
justified by what they lightly style "the
rules of the game." The prevalence of
such pernicious ideas about political
morality is one of the worst evils
threatening the undermining of popular
government.

nor 'the General Education Board to
whom the latest magnificent contribu-
tion was tendered has manifested any
scruples about accepting the money;
and the smaller American colleges, or
some of them, will accordingly reap
notable benefit from Mr. Rockefeller's
munificence. It is to the college as
distinguished from the great university
that his donation is made, and abun-
dant reasons suggest themselves as fully
justifying the wisdom of such a step.
The announcement that "if the fund
proves as useful as is now anticipated,
Mr. Rockefeller will undoubtedly make
large additions to it in future years,"
will be welcome news to the directors
of many a struggling college whose
development and utility are checked
and hampered by the notable disparity
between revenue and necessary expen-
diture. So far as we have seen, the
Standard Oil millionaire has not
attached to his benefaction conditions
which, as in the case of Mr. Carnegie's
latest gift, will debar denominational
colleges from participation therein. In
this he has been wise as well as broad.
Fifty years hence the denominational
college — of any Christian society —
may be regarded as all too rare an
institution in a land rampant with
religious indiflferentism.

Mr. John D. Rockefeller's reply to the
tirade of abuse to which he has of
late been subjected on the score of his
"tainted money" has taken the form
of a million dollar gift to the endow-
ment fund of Yale University, and of a
ten million dollar gift "to promote a
comprehensive system of higher educa-
tion in the United States." Neither Yale

Of timely interest at a period when
an unprecedented flow of immigration
into this country is awakening, among
many, serious doubts as to the wis-
dom of the laws that facilitate such
inroads, is a paper contributed to
the Champlain Educator by the Rev.
Father Lynch, S. T. B. "The Italian
in America" is an appreciative, and
withal a discriminating, study of one
class of immigrants of whom some pessi-
mistic Americans profess to entertain
very pronounced misgivings. Premising
that the largest percentage of Italians
who come hither are drawn from
Southern Italy, the writer emphasizes

THE AVE MARJA.

87

the point that there is almost as great
a contrast between the Italian of the
North and him of the South, especially
the Sicilian, as there is between the
native red man and the American who
is sprung from several generations of
settlers whose blood has been drawn
from many races by intermarriage.
Without ignoring or extenuating the
faults of these immigrants. Father
Lynch makes for them the claim that
" sobriety is theirs ; long-suffering, perse-
verance, honesty, simplicity, and, above
all, morality, is theirs." An interesting
paper throughout, it contains much
to allay the exaggerated alarm that
perturbs many of our publicists, and
not a little to justify its author's con-
cluding prediction: "That the Italian
is a rich contribution to our national
growth time will prove; and to the
land of the olive and the vine the
United States will in future owe very
much of her destined superiority in the
fields where brawn and brain and,
above all, moral strength are required."

r

Of all the tales ever invented for the
delectation of anti-Catholics, the snake
story, originating with a man named
Wignall and published in the Western
Mail, an English paper, takes the
palm for preposterousness. Wignall,
it seems, was for some time an em-
ployee of the French monks settled
at Cardigan. As the storj' goes, the
priests once took him into a room
where a number of snakes were kept,
and while strange incantations were
being chanted one of the reptiles crawled
to his neck. We are not informed as
to the size of the snake, or the efforts
made to repel its advances; however,
that is of no con.sequence. The "chief
priest" killed the reptile before any
harm had been done, and gave the
body to Wignall, telling him to keep
it always, and assuring him that the
possession would bring luck.

It is only fair to state that the

Western Mail has made an apology for
publishing this story, which it charac-
terizes as "the product of a youthful
imagination in every particular," —
youthful and lively, though not well
trained. We suspect that Wignall is a
wag, and that his object was to test
the gullibility of his readers. The editor
of Catholic Book Notes is of the
same opinion. "Probably Wignall was
anxious to ascertain whether there
was any absurdity too gross for
Protestants to swallow; and he seems
to have shown — what most of us could
have told him — that their credulity
knows no bounds where Catholics are
concerned." The credulity of a great
many Protestants would have been a
more correct phrase. Not a few of
them must have smiled over the snake
story, and wondered at the folly of the
editor who first gave it publicity.

Especially interesting among the
reports read at the closing session of
the Eucharistic Congress in Rome was
that of Dr. Boissarie, the well-known
director of the Medical Board at
Lourdes. Dr. Boissarie called attention
to the fact that the history of Our
Lady's Pyrenean shrine is closely
associated with great manifestations
of devotion to the Holy Eucharist.
For the past seventeen years the solemn
procession of the Blessed Sacrament
has been a prominent feature of the
larger pilgrimages to the Grotto; and,
as our readers know, it has been
precisely during the procession that
many of the most astounding of the
Lourdes miracles have been wrought.

Not so man}' years ago it was a
general belief, at least among non-
Catholics, that education would free
the country from crime ; and upholders
of the little red school-house confidently
looked forward to a new Utopia where
the greatest perfection would reign.
It was this chimerical notion which led

88

THE AYE MARIA.

to the banishment of religion from
the public schools. Its necessity was
denied. Experience has abundantly
proved meantime that education as a
factor in suppressing crime, and in
uplifting criminals or those criminally
inclined, has been a dismal failure. It
has been found, moreover, that educa-
.tion, by contributing to the adroitness
of the evil-doer and helping him to
carry out his intentions, has actually
served as a stimulus to crimes from
which our country, half a century
ago, was comparatively free. Not only
has the number of hardened criminals
increased, but college graduates are
now included among the most ardent
defenders of every public abuse.

It was no surprise, therefore, to learn
that Prof. James, of Harvard, a noted
psychologist, has abandoned the hopes
once so fondly cherished. In a recent
lecture at the University of Chicago
he said: "Fifty years ago schools were
supposed to free us from crimes and
unhappiness. We do not indulge in
those sanguine hopes now. The intellect
is a servant of the passions, and some-
times education only serves to make
men more adroit in carrying out evil
intentions. This is shown to be true on
every hand." We have often remarked
that a change of policy and practice
in regard to popular education is only
a question of time. It is a satisfaction
to feel that when the school question
does come up for settlement, it will be
settled right. Men like Prof. James
have done much to spread the con-
viction that the only kind of education
calculated to purify morals and to
restrain evil passions is that of the
heart and soul.

a warning against what he called "in-
cipient socialism " — the combination of
business and politics, and the tendency
toward over - government : "Although
the dangers which confront us are new,
they require nothing but the old respect
for law, a demand for its rigid execu-
tion, and a recognition of those
doctrines and practices which fix
unalterably the limits of right and
wrong. We do not need to look for
new cures for the old diseases: we
have only to apply the old remedies in
drastic doses." Reformers of all sorts
should take these words to heart. The
neglect of old and tried remedies for
the ills which afflict the body politic
is the greatest folly of the age.

By all odds, the most noteworthy
Fourth-of-Julj^ utterance was by Judge
Parker, recently Democratic candidate
for President. In a letter to the Tam-
many societies, read at their annual
celebration on the Fourth, he said, after

A notable article, by the Rev. Dr.
Briggs, entitled "Reform in the Roman
Catholic Church," appears in the
current North American Review. It is
calculated to enlighten outsiders as to
the true mission of the Church; and
it ought to have the further effect of
utterly destroying prejudices against
the Papacy which are as old as they
are unreasonable. We qu6te a few of
the more striking passages :

Many attempts have been made at reform in
the Roman Catholic Church. From a Protestant
point of view, all these efforts have accomplished
but little: the Roman Catholic Church remains
essentially an unreformed church. But history
makes it evident that the ordinary Protestant
opinion is erroneous.

It is of great importance to understand the
fundamental principle of reform in the words
of the Pope himself— namely, " Restaarare ogni
cosa in Cristo,"— to make Jesus Christ Himself
the centre and mainspring of all reform. This is
exactly what the most enlightened Protestants
desire for their own churches; what more can
they ask for the Church of Rome?

A more thorough study of the sixteenth
century makes it evident to historians that the
division of the Western Church at the Reforma-
tion was not due so much to dogma as is
commonly supposed.

The common doctrine of the present Protestant
theologians would not be recognized by any of
the Reformers. The dogmatic differences with
Rouie either no longer really exist or are in differ-

THE AVE MARIA.

89

ent forms, and concerned with different questions.

There are many Protestant theologians who
think it [the dogma of the Immaculate Concep-
tion] an inevitable consequence of the doctrine
of original sin.

It is of the highest importance that the
reform movement has been renewed with so
much promise under a Pope of such spirituality,
simplicity, and open - mindedness [as Pius X.];
a man who impresses those admitted to his
presence and converse as being possessed of
nnusnal grasp of mind, insight, and real moral
power.

Utterances like these by a Protestant
minister, one of the most learned and
influential in the United States, and a
professor in the leading Protestant
theological seminary of the country,
are significant, — significant of many
things.

The innumerable friends whom the
virtues and devoted ministrations of
the Sisters of Mercy have secured for
them in this country and in lands
beyond the sea will be gratified to learn
that the Maryland branch of the Order
has recently celebrated, with congruous
solemnity and the fullest measure of
success, the Golden Jubilee of its estab-
lishment in the Land of the Calverts,
the first home of religious freedom in
the New World. The celebration took
place at the mother house, Mount
Washington, and was made to synchro-
nize with the commencement exercises
of Mount St. Agnes' College. The
impressive functions were participated
in by Cardinal Gibbons and a large
number of distinguished prelates and
priests. The exercises of the college
girls were of notable excellence ; and
the tributes paid, by lay and clerical
speakers, to the worth and work of
the modest religious community that
has rounded out fifty years in the
whole-hearted service of God and
humanity, were well -merited eulogies,
creditable alike to the men who spoke
them and the Sisters who made the
speaking possible. In adding its con-
gratulations to those which have

reached the Maryland Sisters from all
quarters of the country, The Aye
Maria begs to echo the wish of
Cardinal Gibbons: "I trust God will
enable them to continue their ministra-
tions, and that they will reap the
reward of their labors in many rich

harvests."

> ■ *

Apropos of a newspaper correspond-
ent's plea for gifts of money for mis-
sionary purposes among the heathen,
another correspondent quotes the
following paragraph from a protest
addressed some time ago by the famous
Samoan chieftain, Malletoa Tanu, to
the United States, Germany, and Great
Britain :

The missionaries who graced our country with
their holy or unholy presence introduced the
same religious differences and hatreds against
each other as obtained at the hour in civilized
States. The missionaries live in palatial concrete
houses with all the luxuries their countries can
afford, and charge us for Bibles and prayer-books
which, we understand, are sent as free offerings.

It is needless to inform our readers
that no money which they subscribe
to the Propagation of the Faith reaches
missionaries of the stamp thus lashed
by the indignant Malletoa. Catholic
foreign missionaries don't live in
palatial residences, and don't make "a
good thing financially" out of the sale
of free Bibles.

We note an appeal for papers and
documents to promote the beatifica-
tion of the Rt. Rev. Dr. Hartmann,
Vicar-Apostolic of Patna, India, whose
death, after many years of heroic and
wondrously fruitful missionary labor,
occurred in 1866. The London Tablet
reminds us that he was the founder of
the Catholic Examiner of Bombay, and
the author of a celebrated catechism in
Hindustani, with a vocabulary and
grammar. He also prepared an Urdu
version of the New Testament. Bishop
Hartmann was a member of the
Capuchin Order.

With the Dictionary.

BY NBALB MANN.

Q-R-l-E-V-O-U-S, sir,

You mispronounce most vilely: yes, sir;
Not greev'-yus is the word, 'tis gree'-vus.
But don't you ever say mis-chie'-vous,
Nor speak in accents light and airy
Of things as going quite con-trar'-y.

Another fact— you'd best besiege it—
Im-me'-di-ate is not im-mej'-it;
And surely they take simply no tent
Who say for im'-po-tent, im-po'-tent.
Pronounce so that 'twill rhyme with "chary,"
The often mispronounced "vagary";
And if you'll only think of "sago,"
'Twill help you rightly say vi-ra'-go.

A word you're apt to miss serenely,
As adverb, properly is "cleanly";
But — see you do not get confounded —
As adjective, 'tis "dennly" sounded.
And here, to make an end of this course,
1 finish my dis-course', not dis'course.

A Tuscan Job.

Bt M. W. N. *.

I ^\ AR, far away in lovely Tuscany,
l*J in the town of San Gemignano,
1^ there lived in the thirteenth cen-
^ tury the Count of Mucchio and his
holy wife. Both were devout Catholics
and of an illustrious house. They
dwelt in a fine old castle upon a rock,
and had many dependents, whom they
treated with the greatest consideration,
so that the Lord of the Manor was
called the "Good Count."

Very happy they would have been
had it not been for the fact that no
children had come to bless them, no
son was theirs to carry on their line

Such a grief was this to the Countess
that she prayed day and night that
God would send her a son, and at
last she had a dream in which it was
told her by an angel that her prayers
were to be answered.

"Your pious prayers are heard," said
her heavenly visitant; "for such is the
will of God. You will bear a son, who
will despise and forsake all earthly
goods for God and gather up great
riches for heaven."

Some time after this, in the year 1228,
the Countess gave birth to a little
son, whom she named Bartolo. Never
was there such a bambino. Strong and
lusty, he grew to be a beautiful boy,
and even in his boyhood seemed made
for high things. Lovable and gentle,
he was a great favorite with his play-
mates, who called him the "Angel of
Peace." Quarrels seemed to melt away
and serenity reign at his coming.

As he grew up, the young Italian felt
that he had a vocation for the priest-
hood, yet it grieved him much that he
must disappoint his father. Having
waited long for a son to be the heir
of his name and fortune, the old Count
was in no mood to give him up, and
at first tried to dissuade Bartolo from
taking such a step. He put before him
worldly distractions, and spoke to him
of his own disappointment and of his
need of a son in his old age.

All this sorely grieved the young
man ; but he persevered in his aim, and
finally left home, going to Pisa, where
he became an inmate of the Benedictine
Abbey of St. Vitus. There his chief
pleasure was to nurse the sick, and he
endeared himself to all the monks by
his rare sweetness of nature. Feeling
sure that his vocation was genuine, they
urged him to take the re]%ious habit;

THE AVE MARIA.

91

k

yet, much as he longed to do so, such
seemed not to be God's will. He prayed
for light, and in a vision saw Our
Lord, His body covered with wounds,
who spoke to him, saying:

"Bartolo, your eternal crown will
not be won bj' the monastic life, but
by suffering and wounds which will
afflict your bod\' for twenty years."

This Bartolo did not understand, and
he went to his confessor, who told him
to take the habit of the Third Order
of St. Francis, and set aside the idea
of being a monk. Humbly yielding,
Bartolo remained in the monastery for
ten years as a nurse and servant. But
his probation was then over; for God
said to him, "Thou hast been faithful
in that which is least," and rewarded
him accordingly. The good Bishop of
Volterra was so much impressed with
his piety that he offered him Holy
Orders, inviting him to his own diocese.

Bartolo joyfully accepted, and at
thirty years of age he was made a
priest and sent to the parish of Pichena.
There he remained for ten years, —
faithful, zealous, beloved of his flock
as a good shepherd, charitable to all.
On one occasion he entertained a
poor beggar at his table, and upon his
departure a voice from the clouds said :
"Bartolo, you have been the host of
Jesus Christ."

But to the interlude of peace succeeded
storm. When Bartolo was fifty -two
years old there came upon him a terrible
affliction. He was attacked by leprosy,
the awful scourge of the Middle Ages.
His body was covered with sores, and
his sufferings were intense; and thus
the angel's prophecy was fulfilled, —
that by suffering and wounds he would
win his crown.

It is required that lepers be separated
from all who have not the same dread
disease, and so Bartolo went to a
lepers' hospital near San Gemignano;
and there he remained until his death,
t^ientr vears later, in 1300.

He was appointed director of the
institution, and so wonderful was his
patience in suffering that people flocked
from miles around to see him, calling
him the "Job of Tuscany." A comfort
to all afl^icted ones, he led a life of
prayer and patience until he was called
away from all troubles and pain to
the "Happy Harbor of God's Saints."

The Little Hungarians.

BT MRS. MART B. MANNIX.

XL— By the Way.

" Louis, Louis, where are you ? " called
a childish voice from the wagon ; and
the boy hastened back to his sister,
Steffan closely following him.

"Awake, my pretty one?" asked the
man, with a bungling attempt at
playfulness. "You have been asleep all
night ; and now, after you jump down
and shake yourself together a bit, we
are going to have breakfast."

"Breakfast?" echoed Rose, springing
from the wagon with the assistance
of Louis. "Why, I thought we were
going in the train?"

"So we are, after a while," rejoined
Steffan.

"Oh, what a dirty bed!" said Rose,
making a gesture of disgust as Steffan
pulled the mattress from the wagon.
"Why did you bring that dirty bed
and those dirty quilts?"

" So that you might have a nice
place to rest when you felt tired," he
answered pleasantl3', but with a flash
from his black eyes, which Louis noted
and did not like.

"But we could have brought ours,"
persisted Rose. "Why didn't we bring
our things, Louis? They are clean."

The boy touched his sister's arm in
warning; while Steffan remarked, with
a laugh:

"What a dainty lady she is! What
a little princess! But the pretty child

92

THE AYE MARIA.

will have to get used to things. Soon,
maybe, you'll be glad to lie on the
'dirty bed.' It's better than none."

"Come, Rose! " said Louis, with some

impatience. "Mr. Steffan is waiting."

Steffan was pulling boxes and bundles

from the wagon, and presently he

observed :

"Here, my boy, pile up a lot of those
loose fagots and start a fire. There's a
spring down yonder. Take this kettle
and fill it, and we'll have some coffee
in a few moments."

Louis took the kettle, and, with
Rose holding his hand, went in search
of the spring. When they returned
their faces were dripping. Hastening
to the wagon. Rose began to search
for a towel.
"What are you doing ? " asked Steffan.
"I can't open this sack. I want a
towel," she replied.
"What for?"
"To wipe my face."
" Pshaw ! Wipe it on your petticoat."
"Wait, Rose! Here, — take my hand-
kerchief," said Louis. "It's clean."

"Oh, you're too dainty!" answered
Steffan. "There's no need of washing
your face so early in the morning."

"I couldn't eat my breakfast unless
I did," rejoined Rose.

"What if you were some place where
you didn't have any water?"
"I wouldn't go to such a place."
"Oh, you wouldn't!" said Steffan,
with a laugh which he meant to be
pleasant no doubt, but which it was
not good to hear. "Maybe you'll have
to get used to such things. We all do."
Louis had unfastened the gunny-sack,
and Rose was taking a comb and brush
from a little box.

"I wish I could see in a glass," she
said. "I suppose I'll have to do with-
out it, though."

"I guess you will! Hurry up, lady

princess! Breakfast will soon be ready."

With the sudden changes of mood

habitual to her, Rose came to brea^ "

/

well pleased with the novel method of
serving it. The table was an upturned
box, and, in lieu of plates, they ate from
pieces of brown paper which Louis tore
into squares. After the long night in
the open air they were all hungry. The
coffee was good, the bacon crisp and
sweet; bread and butter disappeared
rapidly.

"It's like a picnic, isn't it?" observed
the little girl. "Can we eat dinner this
way, too?"

"Perhaps many dinners," answered
Steffan. "We are going to travel this
way, you know."

"And not by train?"

"And not by train."

"Mr. Steffan has lost some money,"
said Louis. "His hall in Philadelphia
was burned, and some of his plans are
changed."

"Oh, I am sorry!" cried Rose. "But
it will be lovely to ride in the wagon."

"I'm glad you like it," said Steffan.
"Just now I feel pretty tired, and I
think I'll lie down a bit and try to
have a sleep. Have you got a watch,
young man?"

"Yes," replied Louis.

"Well, then, if you'll clear things up,
I'll just lie down, and ask you to call
me at twelve. That will give me a good
five hours' sleep. It's only seven now."

"All right!" said Louis.

Steffan fed the horse, gave him a
drink, and, taking him from the shafts,
led him over to the grove, where he
fastened him to a tree by a long rope
tied to the halter, thus giving him room
to walk about a little. Then he pushed
the wagon into the grove, and, climbing
in, was soon lost to view.

"Louis," whispered Rose, "he is
sleeping on that dirty bed, too."

" He has nowhere else to sleep, Rose,"
answered her brother.

"Hasn't he? And do we have to
sleep there after him?"

"I suppose so — for the present at

a?t."

THE AYE MARIA.

93

"Ugh!" exclaimed Rose. "I don't
like that part of it."

"Neither do I," repUed Louis. "But
we'll have to get used to things. And
you mustn't complain, Rose. Every time
you see something you don't like, or
that is disagreeable, just think whether
it isn't better than being separated from
your big brother."

"Anything is better than that!"
exclaimed the child, throwing her arms
about him. "And I think this is going
to be great fun, — riding in a wagon
and camping out. It's a lovely place,
and the mountains are fine."

"We are going to cross them, — at
least the lower ones," answered Louis.
"Philadelphia is on the other side."

The morning wore away quite pleas-
antly. Louis called Steffan at twelve,
and after they had prepared and eaten
dinner the journey was continued.

They travelled all that day, and when
night came the children were again told
to lie down in the wagon and go to
sleep. On the morning of the third
day they awoke on the edge of a mining
town, amid the hubbub of men coming
and going to and fro. Steffan put up
the horse in the stable of the small,
unsightly -looking inn, and all three
breakfasted together at a long, dirty
table, guiltless of tablecloth or napkins,
with a general appearance of slovenli-
ness which caused Rose to turn up her
little nose in disgust.

After the meal was finished, Steffan
went out and did not return for about
two hours. When he came he seemed
in excellent spirits.

" We are good for a three days' stay
here, at least," he said, shouldering
the gunny -sack and leading the way
upstairs to the room which the landlord
had given them. "Perhaps we'll have
a week's business. There's an excursion
coming here to-morrow, — something
about an anniversary."

The room was rather large, but verj-
disorderly. There were two lieds— mere

cots, — a box on which stood a tin
ewer and basin, with a few hooks in the
wall in lieu of a closet. Two broken
chairs completed the furniture.

"Here we are!" said Steffan. "Now
unpack, and we will see about the
costumes for to-night."

"I don't see anj' place to put them
when they are unpacked," said Rose,
with fine contempt.

" Perhaps there will be something in
your room," rejoined Louis.

"There's no other room," said Steffan,
bluntly. "The sooner you folks get
used to close quarters the better. Pm
afraid you're too squeamish."

"But Rose can not sleep here," said
Louis, decidedly. "We may as well
understand at once, Mr. Steffan, that
Rose must have a room to herself."

"Well, in the future that may be —
when we get the troupe together,— at
least she can have a room with some
of the other women. I'll tell you what
we can do, kids. I'll have them put
up a couple of quilts right here for a
curtain, and put in another cot."

"All right!" rejoined Louis; and
everything was serene again.

The proprietor appeared at this
moment. He was quite good-natured,
and sent up a pair of old curtains, a
cot, a clean mattress, and comforter.

They uppacked the bag, took out
its contents, and Steffan, from some
mysterious receptacle, produced what
he called a Magyar costume. He then
told the children to fetch their music
and they would make out a programme
for the evening. He also brought forth
a French harp, on which he performed
some clever feats; and joined in the
songs of the children with a pretty
good baritone, which promised to make
the performance quite attractive.

"There are a lot of our countrymen
here," said Steffan. "We're likely to do
very well the first night; and better
the next, because those who go will
tell others."

94

THE AYE MAFaA.

Steffan went downstairs; and the
two children, left to themselves, stood
looking out of the window. At length
Louis proposed that they go out and
walk about the town.

They had hardly reached the street
when they saw a great crowd gathered
in the stable -yard of the little hotel.
Two men were quarrelling; they were
without hats, and the blood was
pouring from a wound in the forehead
of one of them. Louis at once saw
that the injured man was Steffan.

"What can be the matter. Rose?"
he said anxiously. "Some one has
been fighting with Mr. Steffan."

Suddenly the man himself rushed
through the crowd, stood on an empty
box on the edge of it, and cried out :

" For the sake of ray helpless children,
let me alone, — let me go! I have been
working very hard to pay that debt.
You gentlemen are fair-minded, I'm
sure. Come, Louis ; come Rose, — stand
by your father."

Dazed and astounded, the children
obeyed. Their refined and attractive
appearance at once excited sympathy.
A murmur ran through the crowd,
while a sullen, dogged - looking man
pushed his way toward them.

"Are them kids yours?" he inquired,
shaking his fist at SteflFan. "Where's
your wife?"

"Dead years ago," replied SteflFan.
"I've had these children in an asylum
for ever so long, and that's one reason
why I haven't been able to pay you,
Briggs. And now, just when I'm getting
on my feet, you come and try to throw
me down for a debt that wasn't mine
at all, but my brother's! "

"I don't believe you've got any
brother," retorted Briggs. "You and
Anton SteflFan are one and the same
man. I'm sure of it. But I'm no brute,
though I may not be your fine gentle-
man. Ifyou give me some security right
here and now, as I've asked you, I
won't have you arrested."

"Gentlemen," appealed SteflFan, "I'm
a poor man. I've got nothing but the
clothes I have on. Two years ago this
man made me put my name on a note
for my brother. He's dead. Why should
I pay his debts?"

"That ain't the way of it at all,"
said Briggs. "This feller — "

"Stop! stop!" shouted SteflFan, to
whom a bright idea had just occurred.
"I have a wagon and a good horse.
Take them, I give them to you ; they are
worth more than the sum I owe you."

"That's fair enough," said Briggs.
"Where are they?"

"Over there in the yard," rejoined
SteflFan. " Children, go back to the house
at once, — both of you. I'll come over
in a few moments."

Slowly and sadly Louis and Rose
retraced their steps to the inn. The
beginning of their musical career was
certainly not auspicious. SteflFan went
over to the stable-yard with Briggs,
who soon drove oflF with Murph3''s
horse and wagon. SteflFan was glad to
get rid of it, as he hoped his theft
would not thus be so easily traced.

(To be contiuued.)

Minute Writing.

The Declaration of Independence has
been written, with the aid of glasses,
on a scrap of paper no larger than a
quarter of a dollar. Yet this is nothing
to a feat for which Cicero vouches.
He said that he had seen the entire
Iliad — a poem as long as the New
Testament — written on skin so that it
could be rolled up within the compass
of a nutshell.

Red-Letter Days.

Our familiar phrase "a red-letter
day," a day of good fortune, refers to
the old custom of printing the saints'
days in red ink.

THE AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

95

I

w

— The index and supplementary pages for Vol.
LX. of The Ave Maria, just concluded, are now
ready. They will be sent, free, to such of our
subscribers as make application therefor.

— A French translation of Cardinal Newman's
"Development of Christian Doctrine," by Henri
Bremond, has just been brought out in Paris.
The publishers rightly think the work admirably
adapted to the needs of the present day.

— Another list of the best hundred books, one
not hitherto published, is announced as appearing
in the July issue of the Pall Mall Magazine. It
was drawn up by the late Lord Acton, and should
accordingly prove quite as interesting as the list
made by Sir John Lubbock.

— Harper's Weekly is authority for the statement
that the following remarks on Tennyson were
recently handed in on an examination paper by
a schoolboy in an English literature class : " Lord
Alfred Tennyson was a celebrated poet, and he
wrote a lot of beautiful pomes with long hair.
His greatest pome is called 'The Idle King.' He
was made a lord, but he was a good man and
wrote many oads."

— To the current issue of Records of the
American Catholic Historical Society, of Phila-
delphia, Dr. James J. Walsh, contributes an
interesting study of Edmund Bailey O'Callaghan
(1797-1880), physician, historian, and anti-
quarian. Dr. O'Callaghan was a voluminous
writer upon historical subjects; and his "History
of New Netherland" and "Documentary History
of New York" are works important enough to
entitle him to a much larger share of fame than
has been dealt out to his memory.

— A grateful issue of the Australian Catholic
Truth Society is "St.Columkille," by his Eminence
Cardinal Moran. In this booklet of forty pages,
the Cardinal-Archbishop of Sydney gives a fasci-
nating sketch of this particular Columba, among
Irish saints of that name, who received the
popular designation "Columba of the Churches"
(Columkille), from his being constantly found in
church, "nestling beside the altar, like a dove
by its nest." A penny booklet that should sell
by the thousand.

— "A Page of the Supernatural at the Vatican
Council" is the (translated) title of an intensely
interesting little book by Fran9ois Pon, published
by Rctaux, Paris. The sub- title, "Mother St.

gnes and Mgr. Dupanloup," gives a suggestion
of its contents. The letters written to the great
Bishop by this humble nun, whose mental culture
was very imperfect, and whose horizon was
bounded by the walls of an obscure convent at

Narbonne, are marvellous in their scope and
forcefulness, and quite inexplicable save by the
hypothesis of preternatural knowledge.

— The French Academy, which interests itself in
French literature wherever produced, has just
honored a Canadian author, Mr.Thomas Chapais,
by "crowning" his fine book "Jean Talon," and
awarding him one of the prizes ofiered for the best
historical works of the year.

—A third edition of Abb^ Fouard's "St. John
and the End of the Apostolic Age" is announced
by M. Lecoffre, Paris. The vast erudition of the
author, known to most English readers through
his admirable Life of Christ, etc., is especially
evidenced in this intimate study of the life, the
work, and the times of the Beloved Apostle.

— We gave a word of notice, a few weeks ago,
to that excellent booklet, by the Rev. H. H.
Wyman, C. S. P., "Certainty in Religion," pub-
lished by the Columbus Press, New York. The
reception of the same little work, in cloth bind-
ing, affords us an opportunity of reiterating
both our approval of its scope and method, and
our advice to our readers to add the book to
their collection of apologetic volumes.

— "The Lord's Ambassador," by M. E. Francis
(Mrs. Francis Blundell),and " Winnie's Vocation,"
by Frances Noble, published by the Catholic
Truth Society, London, are two collections ot
interesting and edifying tales, ranging through
the gamut of pathos and humor. They have, it
is true, the atmosphere of England and Ireland ;
but the pulse- beat throbbing under them all is
that of humanity, hence the general interest of
these stories. The authors' names, it need not be
said, are a guarantee of literary excellence.

— A story for young folk that won enthusiastic
praise from readers of The Ave Maria, where it
appeared as a serial, is "The Transplanting of
Tessie," by Mary T. Waggaman. Humor and
pathos, adventure and the ethical element, home-
life and the influence of a lovable child, are the
elements of this excellent tale. The best proof of
the author's power is found in the fact that
when the story was concluded, the young folk
all wanted to know more about Tessie, and rather
resented being cut off from furtlier acquaintance
with that little lady's career. Benzigcr Brothers.

— If one grants that the fundamentals of good
fiction are plot, construction, characterization
and description, it becomes difficult to classify
" Mrs. Darrell," by Foxcroft Davis. (The Mac-
millan Co.) It is a sordid kind of a book, with
no interest, — though some may mistake the
curiosity it awakens for interest. The heroine.

96

THE AVE MARIA.

or rather the "leading lady," is a weak sort of
character, the men are not convincing, the setting
is artificial. Altogether it is a cheap book — \vc
mean in atmosphere, for it sells at the usual
price of $1.50.

—From a review of Mr. Bryan Clinch's recent
work, "California and Its Missions," appearing
in the New York Evening Post, the following
paragraph is quoted by the Messenger:

Deeds of violence and wrong to the weaker races unfort-
umtclyhave marked the history of European colonization
almost everywhere during the years since Columbus began
his first colony. If those committed by the early Spanish
conquerors, who for more than a century were the only
representatives of Europe in colonization enterprise, have
been more widely published than others, the chief reason is
because they were more vigorously condemned by their own
countrymen, without regard for national prejudices. In the
sixteenth century the moral sense of the Spanish people
revolted more keenly at cruelty and oppression of the
Indians than did that of England or Holland in the seven-
teenth and eighteenth, when their colonizations began. The
destruction of the natives of San Domingo and Cuba is
familiar to all; while the like extermination of the Tas-
manians, the Bosjesmen and Hottentots of South Africa
and even those of the old New England tribes, are hardly
spoken of. It is mainly so because the Spanish historians
held justice above national vanity, and denounced the
misdeeds in strong language, while those of England or
Holland kept silence on the atrocities of their countrymen.
Neither England nor Holland has produced a Las Casas.

The point is an important one and well taken.
It is a distinct service to give the widest possible
circulation to such statements as the foregoing.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
appear at the head, older ones being dropped oat
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rale, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may he sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will he imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a fall supply of works issued abroad.
Pablisbcrs' prices generally include postage.

" The Transplanting of Tessie." Marj' T. Wagga-

man. 60 cts.
"The Sacrifice of the Mass." Very Rev. Alex.

McDonald, D. D. 60 cts., net.
"The Knowableness of God." Rev. Matthew

Schumacher, C. S. C. 50 cts.
"The Blessed Virgin in the Nineteenth Century;

Apparitions, Revelations, Graces." Bernard

St. John. $1.75, net.
"The Imitation of Christ." Sir Francis R. Cruise.

30 cts.
"The Redemptorists at Annapolis." $2.

"The House of God and Other Addresses and

Studies." Very Rev. Thomas J. Shahan, D. D.

$1.50, net.
"The Lodestar." Sidney R. Kennedy. $1.50.
"Nut- Brown Joan." Marion Ames Taggart.

$1.50.
"Beyond Chance of Change." Sara Andrew

Shafer. $1.50.
"The Gospel According to St. Mark." Madame

Cecilia. $1.25.
"The Devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus."

Rev. H. Noldin, S. J. $1 25.
" The Life and Letters of Eliza Allen Starr." Rev.

James J. McGovern. $5.
" Holy Confidence." Father Rogacci, S. J. 60 cts.,

net.
"Vigils with Jesus." Rev. John Whelan. 40 cts.

"The Catechist in the Infant School and in the

Nursery." Rev. L. Nolle, 0. S. B. 60 cts., net.
"The Dark Side of the Beef Trust." Herman

Hirschauer. 75 cts.
" The Chronicle of Jocelyn." 90 cts., net.
"The Luck of Linden Chase." S. M. Lyne. 35 cts.
"The Light of Faith." Frank McGloiu. $1, net.
"Juvenile Round Table." 2d Series. $1.
"The Love of Books" (Philobiblon) . Richard De

Bury. 40 cts., net.
" Reflections from the Mirror of a Mystic." John

Rijsbrock. 75 cts., net.
" Apologetica : Elementary Apologetics tor Pulpit

and Pew." Rev. P. A. Halpin. 85 cts.
"Religion and Art, and Other Essays." Rev. J. L.

Spalding. $1.
"Studies in Religion and Literature." William

Samuel Lilly. $3.25.

Obituary.

Remember tbem that are in bands. — Heb.. xili, 3-
Rev. Louis Hinssen, of the diocese of Alton ;
Rev. Henry Kiffmeyer, archdiocese of Cincinnati;
Rev. Patrick O'Reilly, diocese of Natchez; and
Rev. Joseph Nierman, C.SS.R.

Mother Catherine, of the Sisters of the Precious
Blood; and Sister M. Augustine, Sisters of St.
Joseph.

Mr. Charles Solcher, of San Antonio, Texas;
Mr. William Scott, Philadelphia; Mrs. Josephine
Hopkins, Los Angeles, Cal. ; Mr. Thomas Mangan,
Pittston, Pa. ; Miss Anna Brennan and Mr.
Owen Fox, Providence, R. I. ; Mr. Jacob Eraling,
Cleveland, Ohio; Mrs. E. St. Louis, Yolo, Cal.;
Mr. J. H. Battin, Canton, Ohio; Mrs. Hannah
Sullivan and Mr. Nicholas Hurst, Fall River, Mass.

Sequiescant in pace '

HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUK£, I., 48,

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, JULY 22, 1905.

NO. i.

(Publisfaed cveiy Saturday, Copyright : Rev. D. E. Hudson, CSC.]

As the River Flows.

A THOUSAND changes come and go

Upon the winding river,
As gleaming darts of light are winged
From daydawn's golden quiver.

And in the silence of the night,
When stars are o'er it gleaming,

The ripples break in smiles of light.
As if of star-rays dreaming.

But day and night, the quiet deeps.
Of dawns and stars unknowing,

Obedient to changeless laws,
On to the sea are flowing.

And thus should life, come weal or woe,

In silent, swift endeavor
Flow on until it rests in God

Forever and forever.

Our Mother.

dom,

BT THE REV. H. G. HUGHS*,

1i;' T ought to be one of the dearest
i wishes of our hearts to see Mary
.1 loved and honored by our race as
she used to be all over Christen-
and as she is now in Catholic
countiies. What a happy thing that
would be for our people! How it would
sweeten and lighten thousands of lives
full of care and worry and trouble! Ah,
but it needs a great change before things
will come to that! A great work will
have to be done. And that work is
ours. We have to do it, — we Catholics,
Not the priests only, but the lay-people

too. The laity can often do more than
the priests; for they are brought more
frequently and more closely than the
priest into contact with non-Catholics.

How, then, is this great work for
our Mother to be done? Are we to
go about preaching devotion to Our
Lady ? Yes and no ! By holy, Catholic
lives, yes ; by words, no, not as a rule.
When people ask us questions about
the Blessed Virgin and what Catholics
believe about her, or when we hear her
honor attacked and our trust in her
ridiculed, then indeed we should speak,
and speak boldly, in her defence; then
we have an opportunity of upholding
her honor. And it may be that, for
some of us, such opportunities will not
be infrequent as we move about in the
midst of our non-Catholic countrymen.

But to be able to stand up efficiently
for our dear Mother, we must be well
instructed. We must know what the
Church teaches about her, and why she
is to be so greatly honored. We must
take care, then, to inform ourselves well
upon these matters; making good use
of the excellent Catholic literature that
is available upon the subject. And, in -
passing, I may say that if we read our
AvB Maria well, we shall lay up a
store of good, solid and useful informa-
tion, which we can use upQjt.a£casion
with effect.

Let me mention a fc,
we ought to know
concerning our Blesset
which we might uscfu
Protestants should they

98

THE AVE MARIA.

tions. It is a favorite argument with
our non- Catholic friends, that, while
there is a great deal about our Blessed
Lord in the Bible, there is very little
about Our Lady. Now, in a certain
sense that is true. It is true that her
name does not appear so often as the
sacred name of Jesus ; and it is true
that we do not find so many events of
her life upon earth recorded as we do of
the earthly life of our Divine Saviour.
But we must remember that the Gospel
is the life of Jesus, not the life of Mary.
Moreover, while what we read of her
is not much, as regards mere quantity,
nevertheless what we are told of her in
Holy Scripture is of the very highest
importance and full of deep significance.
To begin with, there is the remarkable
fact that she is spoken of in the first
book of the Bible and in the last. Open
your Bible at the book of Genesis, and
what do you read there?

Adam and Eve have just committed
their great sin; they have lost for all
mankind the precious gifts of grace
that they should have handed down
to us intact. As a punishment, they
are driven out of the Garden of Eden,
the earth is cursed for their crime, and
they have to labor henceforth for their
bread in the sweat of their brow. But
at the same time a Redeemer is prom-
ised, and God says to their tempter:
"I will put enmities between thee and
the Woman, and thy seed and her seed."
Who is that Woman whom God
Himself will set in everlasting and
complete opposition to the devil ? Who
is that Woman whose "seed" — that is,
whose offspring — is to overcome the
Evil One? Who is that seed, that off-
spring? Is it not the same of whom
God said to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,
"In thy seed shall all the nations
of the earth be blessed"? Is it not
that seed of whom St. Paul writes,
"To Abraham were the promises made,
and to his seed. He saith not: And
to his seeds, as of many; but as of

one : And to thy seed, who is Christ.'" *
Jesus Christ our Lord, then, is the
seed, or offspring, of the Woman ; so
that the Woman, between whom and
the devil God Himself establishes an
enduring hostility, is none other than
our own dear Mother Mary.

We know how that prophecy was
fulfilled and is still fulfilled. So com-
plete is the enmity between her and the
Evil One, that never for one instant
was there truce between them; never
for one instant was she under his
power. She was kept pure, by her
Immaculate Conception, from the stain
of original sin; and, by the immense
grace given her by God, she was pre-
served from ever falling into the least
personal or actual sin.

Thus, then, Mary and her Immaculate
Conception are foretold in the very
first book of the Bible. And we have
a picture also of her in the last book,
the Apocalypse — a book of Revelations
made to the Apostle St. John, to whom
Our Lord had said: "Son, behold thy
Mother ! " He it was who, according to
tradition, took care of our dear Mother
till the day she fell asleep in Jesus
and was taken up to heaven. What
does St. John tell us ? He saw a vision
of the heavenly country. "And," he
says, "there appeared a great wonder
in heaven: a woman clothed with the
sun, and the moon under her feet,
and on her head a crown of twelve

stars And there appeared another

wonder in heaven: and, behold, a great
red dragon. . . . And she [the woman]
brought forth a man child, who was to
rule all nations with an iron rod; and
her son was taken up to God and

to his throne And the dragon was

angry against the woman, and went
to make war with the rest of her
seed, which keep the commandments
of God, and have the testimony of
Jesus Christ." t

* Gal., iii, 16.

t Apoc, xii.

THE AVE MARIA.

99

Now, these passages are rightly inter-
preted as a picture of the Church of
God under persecution; but they are
no less rightly and fittingly applied to
our Blessed Lady. She herself is, in
her glory and virtues, a type of the
Holy Church, Christ's own immaculate
bride. Such m3'stical passages of Holy
Scripture as the one in question are
frequently susceptible of more than
one true interpretation. Moreover, the
parallelism between this passage and
that of Genesis is too close to be treated
as a mere coincidence. In Genesis we
have the Woman afid her Son and the
Serpent. Here again we have the
woman and her child, and the great
dragon who makes war upon the seed
of the woman.

Take, again, the prophecy of Isaias :
"Behold a Virgin shall conceive, and
bear a Son, and his name shall be called
Emmanuel," — God with us. Here the
prophet tells us two things about our
Blessed Lady : first, that she is to
be the Mother of Emmanuel, — of God
with men. This fact, that she is God's
Mother, is the reason of all the honor
which we pay to her ; and, in truth, is
reason enough for all that honor, for
all our love, and for the grandest titles
which we give to her; for no title can
ever come up to that one of " Mother of
God." The other thing told us here ot
Mary is that, though a mother, she is
also a most pure and most holy virgin.

And now let us turn to the Gospels
themselves. Therein, at the very be-
ginning of Christianity, we find the
Mother indissolubly joined to her Son
in the hearts and minds of Christians.
Are we to imagine that it was without
reason that the Holy Ghost inspired
the Evangelists to place those holy
names of Jesus and Mary in juxta-
position in the marked way they do?
"And going into the house," says St.
Matthew of the Wise Men, "they found
the Child with Mary, His Mother." St.
Luke, especially, in his full account of

the first days of Jesus, with details
which he could not well have learned
but from the Blessed Virgin herself, sets
before us in beautiful colors the image
of the Mother with her Child.

The Catholic conviction that the
frequent conjunction of Jesus and Mary
in the Gospel pages has a meaning for
all time, is borne out by the Christian
paintings in the Catacombs, where,
before the ages of persecution had
ceased, we find already represented the
dear figures of the Mother and the Son ;
and as we gaze upon them they strike
us, though they are the products of so
distant an age, with a sense of most
familiar intimacy. We feel that those
early Christians thought as we Cath-
olics do now about Mary and Mary's
Son. Who can read the inspired record
of the Annunciation, wherein Mary
freely accepted her part in the great
work of Redemption ; or of the Visita-
tion, or of the Miracle of Cana worked
at her request, without recognizing
that in the Gospels themselves the
position of Mary, the Mother of Jesus,
is unique; that she is indeed 'blessed
among all women,' full of the plenitude
of divine grace?

No one can truthfully say, then,
that there is nothing in Holy Scripture
to justify Catholic devotion to the
Blessed Virgin Mary. There may not
be many texts; though, when we come
to look into the matter, we find them
perhaps more numerous than we had
supposed. But, if few, they are most
wonderful. They are enough to show^
us to what a height of grandeur Our
Lady is raised, — a creature indeed, one
of ourselves; but the greatest, purest,
holiest of creatures, raised even above
the angels by her sublime dignity as
Mother of God. God indeed, as she
said so humbly, "hath regarded the
lowliness of His handmaid." 'He that is
mighty hath done great things to her.'

While, then, to God alone we give
that supreme worship which is due to

100

THE AVE MARIA.

none beside Him, to Mary we pay our
dues of most affectionate and loving
veneration. For she is not only great,
she is good, she is kind, she is merciful
and gentle; she loves us well. "How
do we know that she loves us?" a
Protestant friend may ask. What a
question! "Does Jesus love us?" we
may ask in reply. He died for us, and
shed His blood to the last drop for our
redemption. Does she love Him? Does
she not, then, love those for whom He
died, whom He bought at that price ?
Yes !— a thousand times, yes ! How can
she help loving and caring for us, who
have been ransomed from her great
enemy, the ancient Serpent, by the price
of that blood which Jesus drew from
her veins ?

These are some of the things we
might say to those who accuse us of
doing wrong in loving and honoring
our Mother. And they are things which
we ourselves can never learn too well
or think of too often. We are at a
disadvantage in living in a Protestant
land. Here w« have nothing to remind
us continually of her in our daily
comings and goings, as we should have
in a Catholic country. We are in danger
of being infected with that forgetful-
ness of our Mother which surrounds
us ; of not remembering the great part
she had in our redemption: how she
believed and obeyed, and said, "Be it
done unto me according to thy word."

We can not help our surroundings,
but we must use our best endeavors
to overcome them. In Catholic lands
children learn to love our Blessed Lady
at their mother's knee; and as they
grow up, there is much about them
to remind them of that holy, beautiful
lesson. If we are to keep alive our
devotion to our Mother we must
cultivate it. We shall never do the
great work of bringing our country
back to the knowledge and love of Mary
unless we ourselves love her truly and
are truly devoted to her. I am not

delivering these words from a pulpit,
so I will not stay to point out the
many means by which we can deepen
and intensify our own devotion to
Mother Mary. None of us can plead
ignorance of them.

I will conclude with the words of
a poet who thus beautifully expresses
the blessedness of possessing, in the
Catholic Church, the devotion which
she teaches us to pay to Mary as an
integral part of the religion founded
upon earth by Mary's Son:

And if our faith had given us nothing more

Than this example of sfll womanhood —

So mild, so merciful, so strong, so good,

So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, pure, —

This were enough to prove it higher and truer

Than all the creeds the world had known before.

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SAOLIEK.

XXVII. — (Continued.)

ISS TABITHA listened, aghast,
"' to Eben Knox. Were there new
revelations which this terrible
manager might make against the honor
of a family so universally esteemed, —
new accusations against the memory
of the man whom, in her feeble but
tenacious fashion, she had loved ? As
in a rush of recollection, she beheld
Jim Bretherton, just returned from
England, riding down Millbrook High
Street in the sunshine of unclouded
prosperity. Had no instinct warned
him to avoid the gate of Rose Cottage,
or to fly from that fatal attraction
which had afterward led him so fre-
quently thither?

She herself had been urged by an un-
erring instinct to keep the two apart;
to shield Leonora from a probably
hopeless attachment; to save Brether-
ton from the magnetism of that unusual
beauty which her niece possessed, and
which was certain to appeal to the

THE AVE MARIA.

101

men of the Bretherton race. They were
lovers of beauty. There was scarcely
a plain woman in the whole gallery
of their ancestors; and Leonora had,
besides, as Miss Tabitha dimly appre-
hended, a far more subtle and seductive
charm than mere personal beauty.

The two had drifted, notwithstand-
ing her precautions, into a love affair
which threatened all concerned with
ruin and disaster. They had taken up
the threads of a boy-and-girl friendship
and had woven a very dainty fabric,
warranted, like Penelope's web, to
withstand the rudest storms.

Miss Tabitha seemed to hear again
young Mr. Bretherton asking concern-
ing the little girl with whom he had
played and quarrelled: " Miss Tabitha,
who was that little girl ? Where is that
little girl?" Better, as it seemed now,
if he had never seen her, never known
her, — if she had been married before
young Mr. Bretherton had come back
to Millbrook.

As Miss Tabitha pondered thus, and
her mind wandered to the past glories
of the Manor family — glories which
had, to a certain degree, reflected upon
herself, through that- secretaryship held
by her father, — her thoughts shaped
themselves into a resolve. Leonora
should be sacrificed, in so far at least
as she had power to consummate the
sacrifice. The girl was strong and
would get over it; or, if she did not,
others had endured the like liereavement
and the world had gone on its own way
undisturbed. If she married Eben Knox,
she would no doubt accommodate
herself to that fate, as scores of women
had done, and he would surround her
with every luxury ; if she did not,
why, she was young and beautiful,
and might yet make a brilliant match
elsewhere. Better even that she should
take refuge in the convent, in which
she already spent so much of her time,
and which in Miss Tabitha's imagina-
tion was the abode of blighted and

lovelorn beings. Her thoroughly Prot-
estant cast of mind could not imagine
that joy of which the poet sings:

The deep, long rapture

The chosen know,
Who forsake for heaven

Vain joys below.

She knew naught of that vision of
peace, security and undivided allegiance,
which seeks "the things that are of
the Lord," and which has allured many
a young soul, even amongst those to
whom it was not given to realize that
ideal. Miss Tabitha had never heard
the convent laughter, nor known that
cheerfulness which is greater almost
than any cheerfulness upon earth.
But even to that prison of her fancy
she would have consigned Leonora,
if only they could all be saved, and
the Bretherton honor and that of its
worthless scion could be spared.

She made, however, one more appeal
to the man before her, though with
little hope of success. The cruel depths
of his nature were, indeed, beyond her,
as were those fierce and angry passions
which lodged there like sea -monsters
in the deep. She knew enough of him
to be aware that he was not likely to
forego a purpose once formed.

"Oh, spare them!" she cried, — "spare
them, Eben Knox! Leave them their
love. Few such flowers grow in this
evil world."

"And take for myself the poisonous
growth of the marshes?" answered
Eben Knox, with a harsh laugh.

"You have said, yourself," Tabitha
continued, "that had Reverdy Brether-
ton prospered in his love affair, these
calamities might not have happened."

"It is rather better for rae that they
did happen," the other replied. "And
what is it to me if Reverdy Bretherton
went to perdition or if his nephew
were to follow suit? Ho! ho! that
would be a morsel for the countr3\side !
Young Mr. Bretherton, the model son
of a model father, gone off" the track,

102

THE AYE MARIA.

crossed in love and driven desperate!
That is somethinjj I should relish."

" Have some pity at least on Leonora.
She docs not love you and she never
will. Her hate and her loathing w^ill
increase with the years, even if she
could be persuaded to marry 3'ou,
until at last it may drive her to
despair."

Eben Knox winced at this plain
talk of the girl's sentiments toward
him, which Tabitha blurted out, and
which he knew to be correct. Both of
them, of course, miscalculated Leonora's
strength,— the pure, serene depths of
her nature, sustained by that religion
which she had practised from her
youth upward, and by those sources
of strength within the Church which
were to them as a sealed book.

"Your talk is utterly useless," said
Eben Knox, harshly. "I will not spare
them. I will at least find sweetness
in revenge."

"The Lord is the God to whom
revenge belongeth."

"If there is a God, Tabitha, you arc
blaspheming Him," said the manager,
sternly,— "you, with a weight of guilt
upon your soul."

"Hear me!" cried the poor lady,
desperately. "I, indeed, kept silent to
save a man whom I loved, the honor
of a family to whom I was devoted.
They had everything to lose, and that
miserable tramp who was arrested had
nothing. In the watches of the night
I have wrestled with myself in prayer,
and it seemed to me that he had naught
to lose, not even an honest name.
A nameless wanderer, suspected every
day of some fresh crime, safe there in
the prison from wickedness and from
temptation, housed and clothed and
fed,— gaining all and losing nothing;
whereas for dear Reverdy, for them
all, exposure meant consummate ruin.
Madam Bretherton would have died
of the shame of it; and the Governor
and his brothers, so honorable, so

blameless, would have been marked
with the stigma."

A malignant sneer curved the mill-
manager's thin lips ; but Miss Tabitha
paid no heed.

"Sometimes, when doubt was strong
upon me, and the burden of the secret
seemed more than I could bear, I have
sought the minister to tell him all. But
I feared. Suppose he should mention it
to another? Suppose his wife should
discover it ? I dared not seek his
advice. And so my years have been
made miserable, and I have felt at times
as if I, too, were a criminal."

"You are!" retorted Eben Knox,
brutally. " And it was mighty lucky
you never told the minister. His wife
has a tongue as long as the mill clapper.
But the law will hold you, and I wiU
charge you wth being an accomplice
after the fact," he added, playing upon
her terrors as he might have played
upon a musical instrument.

It seemed desperately hard that the
poor lady, who was naturally the ver^
soul of conventionality, respectability
and decorum, should have become
involved in these ugly transactions,
chiefly through the misconduct of the
man whom she had had the mis-
fortune to love. It never occurred to
her that she was lending herself to
further wrong- doing in destroying a
happiness which promised so fairly,
and in promoting a marriage between
her niece and this sinister and malig-
nant manager.

"Give me time," she murmured at
last, her face pale and withered, no
longer resembling a pink, but, rather,
a faded and yellow leaf.

She was stricken with the new terror
which Knox's words had suggested, —
that of being charged with actual
complicity in the crime; and terror is
of all things most pitiless. At that
moment she had no thought but of
how Leonora might be made to serve
their purpose.

THE AYE MARIA.

103

"Give me time, Eben Knox, and every-
thing shall be as you will. Only swear
to me by all you hold sacred that
you will keep the secret — and treat
Leonora well."

Again a sneer curved Eben Knox's
lips. He despised the weakness of which
he made use.

"In the sense you mean," he replied,
"I hold nothing sacred. No oath would
have any binding force upon my con-
duct. But if you ask me to swear by
my love for Leonora, that is another
matter,— that is something apart from
all the rest."

The grim savagery of his aspect
was relieved by that single light from
within, — his affection for the girl.

"I love Leonora," he went on; "I
have always loved her, and I will
make her happy. If she marries me,
she may make of me what she will;
and the secret will be safe, buried in
oblivion deep as Reverdy Bretherton's
grave.

He went out after that, and left poor
Miss Tabitha as if quite paralyzed;-
taking with him her assurance that
she should leave no stone unturned to
forward his designs. As he walked
away, his face was irradiated with
malignant triumph, and his cavernous
eyes were aglow with the fierce light
of anticipated vengeance.

XX VIII.— Nemesis.

When Miss Tabitha was left alone,
she fell upon her knees once more, in
an abject terror and a hopeless misery
such as she had never before known.
That past, that terrible past, with all
its horrors, had been brought vividly
to mind ; and she realized too late
the tremendous responsibility she had
incurred in allowing an innocent man
to suffer for the guilty. She did not,
indeed, know all; for Eben Knox had
purposely withheld from her a portion
of the secret, which he might use as a
final lever to move to his purpose her

and Leonora, and, in fact, all concerned.
She knew sufficient, however, to fill
her with a remorse which was largely
mingled with the terror of what was to
come. If Leonora persisted in marry-
ing young Mr. Bretherton, there would
be laid a train of evils which, in
their number and extent, could be
only conjectured by Miss Tabitha's
vivid imagination. Remembering the
manager's hint about incriminating
documents, she felt certain that he was
in possession of evidence which he had
not thought proper to communicate.

Alone there in the darkness, helpless,
old and poor, it was not surprising that
Miss Tabitha was disposed to magnify
the consequences of the threatened
disclosures, and to feel assured that
she herself, the bright and gifted
young heir of the manorial honors,
the Bretherton family who were so
universally loved and respected, and
Leonora, must be the victims of the
relentless manager and his nefarious
plottings. It seemed hard, especially
at the very moment when Leonora's
prospects were at the brightest, and
when undreamed-of good fortune would
have elevated her to a sublimated
plane, even above the heads of super-
cilious Thomeycroft, and have let her
walk in the Elysian meadows of the
Bretherton prestige.

Despite her pessimistic misgivings
with regard to the Governor and his
wife, which arose from ignorance of
the deeper motives of their conduct, she
was assured of one thing — that young
Mr. Bretherton was not only radiantly
happy in the prospect of a union with
Leonora, but as indifferent to all those
brilliant prospects which he was sacri-
ficing for her sake as he was to those
sunflowers over which he and Leonora
had quarrelled in the old childish days.
It was the dark Nemesis. That sin of
which she had scarce been conscious,
had found her out; and Eben Knox,
the sharer of that guilty secret, was

104

THE AVE MARIA.

to be the instrument of justice and
of vengeance.

Added to these reflections was the
revival of those sinister impressions, of
the fear and horror which had seized
her in the gloom of that terrible night,
when she had seen a fellow-being struck
down in the very prime of life by the
hand of one whom, in her own way
and to the extent of her powers, she
had loved. A poignant if unacknowl-
edged bitterness had been added to
those past associations by the fact, so
ruthlessly dragged to light by Eben
Knox, that Reverdy Bretherton from
that time forth had prospered. He, the
prodigal, had married the heiress, and
had, moreover, inherited the substance
of that very cousin whose death he
had caused. Having secured the silence
of Knox, he had settled down to be
a prosperous gentleman of leisure.
The strained and hunted expression
which for a time had marred the
beauty of a comely countenance had
gradually disappeared, leaving in its
stead complacency, self-satisfaction, and
benignity.

In the insolence of his fancied security,
Reverdy Bretherton had ventured, as
the manager angrily remembered, to
patronize '-young Knox," and to take
a benevolent and quasi - sentimental
interest in the mistress of Rose Cottage.
Curiously enough, that sentiment had
been genuine, after a fashion, and had
survived those dark and blood-stained
pages of the man's youth. Perhaps he
had preferred to recall a period when
he was still the open-handed, generous
and light-hearted prodigal, who had
injured no man and had been his own
worst enemy; or perhaps Tabitha,
with her prim and dainty prettiness,
her ringlets and her Puritan shyness,
had really touched in the boyish mind
a deep chord, which continued to
give forth melody.

In any case, it had been his habit,
upon occasional visits to Rose Cottage,

to revert to those happy hours which he
had spent there; and to assure Miss
Tabitha, smilingly, that he still pre-
served that ringlet which he had stolen
long ago. He had carried off that inter-
vening tragedy with a certain high-
hearted insouciance, which had caused
Tabitha to look at him in wonder and
admiration. She had usually responded
to the sentiment by taking out, after
his departure, from its receptacle of
years, the valentine with two hearts
transfixed by a flaming sword, and the
verse :

O sweetheart mine, I'm thine, — all thine!

For thee I pine.
Behold, my heart with flarning dart

Is joined to thine!

She had likewise perused the letters,
few, ill -spelled, and glowing with a
* boy's first fervor, moistening the pages
with her tears.

Yet, meantime, in her secret con-
sciousness she had revolted against
the injustice of it all, and had striven
to separate the sentiment from the
guilty man and to weave it about the
boy, who had been, at least, clean-
handed and who had really loved her.
She had tried to imagine him as
having died before that tragic night
beside the alder bushes, and to believe
that Reverdy Bretherton was merely
the harmless and benignant gentleman
that he seemed.

A curious and a subtle thing is surely
the human heart, with its emotions;
and it seemed the irony of fate and of
circumstance that these complexities of
purpose, of motive and of action should
have been centred in a woman of the
mental and moral calibre of Tabitha
Brown. She appeared so eminently fit
to play the part of a simple and
harmless spinster, training roses about
her porch and cultivating pinks in her
garden. It would have been easy to
picture her absorbed in the trivialities
of village life, inordinately magnifying
the pretensions of the great, elevating

/

THE AVE MARIA.

105

herself by a petty vanity over her
humbler neighbors. And here she had
become involved in a whole network
of tragic details.

Kneeling thus in that familiar room,
which had suddenlj' become an abode
of gloom and terror, Miss Tabitha
began to repeat over, in a mechanical
and quite haphazard way, verses of
Scripture with which from childhood
she had been conversant; and as she
prayed thus, the dim ashes upon the
hearth seemed as a symbol of her deso-
lation of spirit :

"The arrows of the Lord are in
me, the rage whereof drinketh up my
spirit ; and the terrors of the Lord war
against me.

" And now my soul fadeth within
myself, and the days of affliction pos-
sess me.

" He that hath begun may destroy
me; He may let loose His hand and
cut me off.

" I have seen those who work iniquity,
and sow sorrow^s, and reap them, per-
ishing by the blast of God and consumed
by the spirit of His wrath.

"As fire which burneth the wood,
and as a flame burning mountains, so
shalt Thou consume sinners and trouble
them with Thy wrath.

"For my soul is filled with evils,
and my life hath drawn nigh to hell !
O Lord, the sin which I have done lay
not to my charge!"

( To be continued. )

If we love God with a love of appre-
ciation above all persons and things
created, nothing will draw us from
His will. This effective love may be
calm, and with little, if any, sensible
emotion ; but it reigns in the soul, and
governs the life in deed, word, and
thought ; restraining from all that God
condemns, and prompting to all that
God commands or wills.

— Cardinal Manning.

Devotion to Our Lady among the
Carmelites.

^¥^ HEN, on Mount Carmel, the
\Xy Prophet Elias was praying to
God to lift the punishment from His
people — that parching drought which
had scourged Israel for three years and
more,— his servant came to tell him that
in the west a cloud no larger than a
man's foot was rising out of the sea. In
this cloud, the traditions of the Order
of Carmel tell us, Elias saw prefigured
the Virgin who was to bring forth
the divine dew — the promised Messiah.
From this time forth the followers of
Elias, the sons of the prophets, who
lived solitary and celibate lives in the
caves of the mountains of Palestine,
cherished a particular devotion to the
Virgin who was to come.

It is an ancient and pious belief
that the Blessed Virgin, in company
with St. Joseph and the Child Jesus,
visited Mount Carmel. That this is
not unlikely we may infer from the
fourth book of Kings, where the
Sunamite woman, in the time of Eliseus,
wishing to go to Mount Carmel to
consult this son of Elias, her husband
remonstrated, because, he said, "it is not
a festival day nor a new moon"; as
though on such days it was customary
to visit this mountain of prayer.

But, however this may be, it is a
fact, which we may find recounted in
the Roman Breviarj', that many of the
Essenians (as these solitaries were called
in the time of Our Lord, and for whom
He had no reproach), were converted
by the Apostles after the Ascension;
and that in the year 83 they built
on Mount Carmel a chapel dedicated
to the Mother of Christ, — the first in
Christendom.

In time, when they were formed into
a regular religious Order of both men
and women, they began to be called and
to call themselves the Brothers and

106

THE AVE M/.RIA

Sisters of Our Lady of Mount Carmel.
This title was considered by some
outside the Order to be presumptuous —
that "Servants of Our Lady," or the
like, would to their mind have been
more in accordance with humility, —
until a Pope settled the matter in favor
of the religious.

There is a tradition that in the four-
teenth century, St. Peter Thomas, one
of the most distinguished men of his
age, had a vision in which Our Lady
told him that at the time of the
Transfiguration, when, as the Gospel
relates. Our Lord spoke with Moses and
Elias, He promised the latter that his
Order should last till the end of time.

And we all know of the celebrated
vision said to have been accorded in
Kent, England, to St. Simon Stock, a
General of the Order. Our Lady, whom
he was at the moment addressing as
the "Flower of Carmel," appeared to
him, wearing the habit of the Order,
and with its scapular in her hands.
She told him, it is alleged, that any
one who died wearing it should escape
the flames of hell. And at the same
time, it is said, she appeared to Pope
John XXIl'., declaring that those who
had worn it during life and observed
chastity according to their state, she
would deliver from purgatory the Sat-
urday after their death.

The fact that unrepentant sinners
have time and again torn off their
scapulars before the last moment
came, is a striking argument in favor
of the first promise, as are also the
many miracles wrought through the
wearing of them. As to the second,
the Pope, in his famous Sabbatine
Bull, gives the further conditions:
that of saying the Divine Office (the
Little Office of Our Lady in Latin
will suffice) ; or, in case of inability
to do this, abstinence from meat on
Wednesdays and Saturdays.

When, in the sixteenth century, St.
Teresa was reforming the Order— bring-

ing it back to its primitive austerity,
which had been mitigated, by Papal
authority, a century before her birth, —
Our Lord spoke of it to her as the
"Order of My Mother"; just as Our
Lady had called it "my Order" in the
vision to Pope John XXIL St. Teresa
often reminded her nuns that they
were the "daughters of Our Lady"
and wore her habit. She considered
her the Superior of the houses she
founded, and a statue of her is always
placed over the prioress' seat in the
choir. St. Teresa's remarkable devotion
to St. Joseph sprang from her gratitude
for his care and love for Our Lady ;
and we know that it was she, too, who
inaugurated the popular devotion to the
Spouse of Our Lady that is so potent
a factor in the Church's life to-day.

The Carmelite nuns assemble every
Saturday and on the eve of Our Lady's
feasts to chant in choir, with solemn
pause, the Salve Regina ; and this
beautiful salutation is added to the
Mass by the Fathers of the Order, im-
mediately before the last Gospel. Feasts
of the Blessed Virgin of the second
class are kept with the same ceremonies
as feasts of the first class; and the
entire Matins of her Assumption is
chanted. The dedication of Saturday to
her special honor was observed in the
Order almost from the beginning. The
consecration of the month of May as
Our Lady's month also was introduced
into the Church through an Italian
Carmelite nun of the last century.

The famous picture of Our Ladj^ of
Mount Carmel, so frequently copied,
was brought from Jerusalem by St.
Angelus, a Carmelite friar of the thir-
teenth century. It is said to have been
painted by St. Luke, and is venerated
in the monastery of the Caked Friars
at Rome.

The Teresian Friars in Rome have
a miraculous picture, which they call
Our Lady of Victories. When Venerable
Father Dominic of Jesus -Mary was

THE AVE MARIA.

107

sent as Papal Legate to the Emperor
Ferdinand II., he visited the Castle of
Strakonitz, which had been pillaged by
the heretics ; and he discovered there a
small representation of the Nativity,
sacrilegiously mutilated. He fastened
this about his neck, and hastened to
the army of the Duke of Bavaria,
encamped before the city of Prague.
There, mounting a war-horse, the
picture on his breast and a crucifix in
his hand, he led the troops to victory.

The Carmelites, having had the care of
the Holy House of Nazareth, petitioned,
when it was miraculously translated
to Loretto, to continue to be its
custodians. This sweet privilege was
theirs until the extreme unhealthfulness
of the place obliged them to abandon
it. Blessed Baptist Spagnoli, a poet of
whom the city of Mantua is as proud
as of Virgil, wrote its first history ;
and his book gave great impetus to
the devotion to the Holy House. What
is known as the Litany of Loretto
was originally brought from the Orient
by the Carmelites, and introduced by
them into this blessed sanctuary.

The "Salmanticenses," that magnifi-
cent theological work composed by the
Teresian Friars at Salamanca, fear-
lessly asserts that the Carmelites were
the first to proclaim and honor the
Immaculate Conception. And it was
St. Cyril, Patriarch of Alexandria, a
Carmelite monk, who put down the
heresy of Nestorius, which denied the
divine maternity, and who at the
Council of Ephesus proclaimed Mary's
right to the title of Mother of God.

At Lourdes, the Carmelites note with
devout fervor that the last vision to
Bemadette took place on the 16th of
July, the feast of Our Lady of Mount
Carmel. And in the story of another
apparition in France, at La Salette,
they welcome the fact that the little
Melanie afterward became a Carmelite
nun. Near Nice there is a famous
shrine called Our Lady of Laghetto,

in the crypt of the Carmelite church.

St. Teresa called her monasteries the
"dovecotes of the Virgin, our Mother, our
Sovereign and our Patroness." When
a certain benefactor gave a house to be
used as a monastery, she exclaimed :
"What a service he has rendered to
the most Blessed Virgin!" Those who
favored her foundations, she considered
the friends of Mary ; and the Order
of Carmel she designated the Order of
the Blessed Virgin.

The religious of this ancient Order

have the privilege of adding to Our

Lady's Litany the invocation, Regina

decor Cartneli, ora pro noft/'s.'—" Queen

Beauty of Carmel, pray for us!"

Dolores.
■ ♦ ■

Knockmore.*

BY CABAL O'BYR.NE.

I.
'T"WAS a tear-stained face that you turned to me.

Oh, friend of my sad heart's longing.
As if you grieved that my lot should be

'Mid the soulless city's thronging!
But you lifted me up on your kindly breast,

Like a tired child, to be fondly kissed.
And you soothed unto peace my heart's unrest,
As you wrapped me safe in your robe of mist.
n.
You haunt me by day in the stifling street.

You come in the night 'tween my rest and me.
And you float through my dreams — a vision sweet

Of an emerald barque on a sapphire sea.
I dream of gold — 'tis your gold-gorse crown, —

Of stately castles and lofty halls,
And glint of steel through a deep moat brown,—
'Tis the sunlight's gleam on your moss-grown
walls.

lU.

A memory rests on your regal brow,

That the wealth of the world could never buy;
Though the ways of the city may claim me now.

To your gloom and your grandeur my thoughts
will fly.
Bright eyes may grow dim, and hair of jet

May sliow through the years its strands of grey.
But this side the grave 1 shall never forget

Knockmore of the woods and the lake-wooed way.

• Knockmore ("The Big Hill"), outside Enniskilled,
County Fermanagh, Ireland, visited in a rainstorm.

108

THE AVE MARIA.

An Episode of the Present Struggle in
France.

BY GEORGINA PELL CURTIi.
II.

FOR a mile Felix alternately ran and
walked, past peasants and country
carts, until he paused for a moment,
breathless, in sight of a magnificent
chateau that dominated the valley of
the Loire. It was a long walk across
the park, one of the largest in the
west of France; but the boy was
young and strong, and upheld by a
love that would have lent wings to
the most tired feet. At last he was
close to the chateau and its spacious
courtyard, tower and wings; he had
crossed the bridge over the moat, and
was ringing for admission at the great
central door.

Large as the chateau and park were,
they were thoroughly familiar to Felix,
who had spent days, and even weeks,
there with his godfather. Every man
on the place knew and loved the boy,
though it was the first time he had
come there alone. So when the major-
domo threw open the door, he uttered
an exclamation of surprise and welcome,
as if to prove that the stiffest etiquette
could well be unbent for Felix.

The little fellow pulled off his cap as
he entered the grand hall.

"I want to see Monsieur le Due,
Pierre," he said. "Tell him it is a
matter of life and death."

Pierre departed, half amused, half
impressed by the child's choice of words ;
and Felix was left alone in a hall that
was filled with priceless tapestries and
wonderful old furniture and panellings.
Examples of the old masters, heirlooms
in the family for generations, hung
on the walls. Young as Felix was, he
knew that this chateau, designed by
the same architect that built the Castle
of Chenonceaux and the Tuileries, was

one of the most celebrated in France.

Presently Pierre returned.

"Monsieur le Due wishes you to come
to him in his study," he said.

Quickly Felix ascended the grand
stairway. A few seconds later he was
knocking on the door of his godfather's
private study; and in answer to the
expected "Entrez!" he pushed open the
door and advanced into the room.

Before him stood a tall, stately old
man, past sixty. A fine type of the
grand seignior of the old school, a
member of the Institute of France, and
a Legitimist and devoted adherent of
the late Comte de Chambord, the Due
de la F. had all the kindness, simplicity,
and absence of affectation or hauteur
which characterize the finest of the
old French nobles.

He advanced with outstretched hands.

"Felix, my little Felix, you are
welcome ! But what brings you here so
early and alone ? Surely it is the hour
for school and study."

"O mon parrain, les Sceurs!" And
then, seated on his godfather's knee, in
eager, rapid, at times almost incoherent
words, the child told the old Due all
his experiences of the morning ; winding
up by saying that he had come to
him, the Due, as all-powerful to right
this great wrong.

The old noble had been stroking
the child's hair, occasionally helping
him out by a word here, a question
there. Now he put him gently down,
and began pacing up and down the
room, his fine old face showing line*
of pain.

Felix stood still and waited. Monsieur
le Due would surely find a way.

"My child," said his godfather, at
last stopping in his walk, and taking
a chair and drawing Felix to him as
he spoke,— "my child, I am powerless
as to this cruel decree that has swept
over the length and breadth of France.
It is not here only, Felix: it is every-
where. Not even the Pope himself can

THE AYE MARIA.

109

stem the flood. If he can do nothing,
my boy, how can I?"

" O mon parrain, if no one can help
the poor Sisters, what will they do ?
They will not have bread to eat."

And at the thought of his beloved
Soeur Marguerite starving perhaps, the
child's overwrought courage broke
down for the second time that morn-
ing. Only for a moment, however. He
could not help Sceur Marguerite, he
thought, unless he was brave.

"Felix," said the Due, "I did not
know till you came here that this
trouble was at our verj' door. We
can not keep the nuns with us; but
I can help them in other ways, and
will do so at once. As to the rest, my
boy, so many prayers, so many tears,
so manj^ vigils before the Blessed
Sacrament, not only in what is left
of Catholic France, but all over the
world, must some daj' bear fruit."

"Yes, mon parrain!" replied Felix,
who began to feel strangely comforted.

"And now, my little Felix," said the
old man, "you had better run home.
Your mother must long ere this have
heard of the closing of the convent,
and she will be looking for you. For
myself, my boy, I will go to the nuns
this afternoon and do my best to
see them. If the government will
not allow me admission, I will find
other ways of communicating with
them."

Hand in hand, the old Due and the
bo3' passed downstairs to where Pierre,
splendid and erect, waited to open the
door. The Due's eyes were moist as
he watched the beloved little figure
flying across the lawn. The child had
stirred the inmost depths of one of the
noblest hearts in France.

"A fine boy. Monsieur le Due!" said
Pierre, who still held the door open,
his master not having moved from the
spot. Pierre spoke with the privilege
of an old retainer.

"A noble boy indeed, Pierre!"

observed the Due. "Would to God we
had many more such growing up to
meet our country's need ! "

Little thought Felix of the golden
opinions he had won that day. The
most loyal to duty are ever the
simplest, — the last to see their own
glorious light.

Felix had traversed half a mile on
his homeward way when suddenly his
quick ear was arrested by a familiar
sound.

"Soldiers!" said the boy. "And
coming this way from Nantes!" He
listened, and the tread of marching feet
came nearer. "Are they good soldiers
or bad ones?" thought Felix, in whose
mind there had already begun to be a
distinction. "If they are bad soldiers
going to try to drive the Sisters out, I
had better hide."

The child scrambled up a bank near
by, and soon was safely hid behind
a century -old tree, one of many that
bordered the road. Here he could see
without being seen; and presently, far
down the road, he made out a column
of infantry, the uniforms gorgeous in
the midday sun, which also flashed on
the helmets and sabres, until the child's
eyes were dazzled by the glare and
glitter.

Just ahead of the little column
marched a soldierly - looking oflicer,
who was somewhat hidden from view,
as the men drew nearer, by the dust
raised by a passing country cart. Now^
they were almost on a line with the
smooth, grassy bank, at the top of
which the boy stood — eager, inter-
ested,— when suddenly both officer and
men came to an abrupt halt. Down
the bank ran a sturdy little figure in
a torn coat, arms waving, legs flying,
his cap in one hand, and halted not
till he had thrown himself with utter,
childlike abandon on the tall officer.

"Afon pere!"

"Felix!"

110

THE AVE MARIA

And then the father's first question
was the same as the old Due's.

"Why are you not in school, my.
boy?"

" O mon pere, there is no school ! I
was sure when I saw you that you
were coming to help the poor nuns ; and
now that you are here I am so happy ! "

"Speak, Felix," said Captain de Valle.
"What does it all mean? I have heard
nothing about the nuns. I received
a telephone message this morning at
Nantes from my commander, telling me
there was trouble in my native town,
and to come at once with my regiment
to quell it and restore order. What
trouble is there, my boy?"

But Felix had started back, his face
flushed, his eyes shining.

"Mon pere," he said, "the General has
sent for you to drive the nuns out — I
know it ; but, O mon pere, you will not
do it!"

Captain de Valle 's brow grew dark.
He turned to his company of infantry.

"Go up the road, my men," he said,
"and wait for me under that old elm.
We will resume our march in a few
moments."

The men moved forward in regular
order. When they were out of earshot
the Captain turned to his little son.

"Tell me all, Felix," he said.

And Felix told everything, while the
father listened without a word. So
it was for this he had been sent : to
drive forth defenceless women from the
cloister at the point of the sword,— his
sword which he had pledged to the
honor and glory of France! Oh, the
shame of it!

When at last the boy came to the
end of his story, he looked wistfully up
into the dark face opposite him.

"You will not do it, mon pere?"

"Never, my boy, — never!"

"But, O mon p^re," said little Felix,
"your parole d'honneur, you have
given it for la France, la patrie, la
gloire!"

De ValM drew himself up proudly, and
touched his shining sword with his
hand.

"My parole d'bonneur," he said, —
"yes, to defend France, but never to
drive out God from my beloved patrie.
To Him, Felix, belongs our highest
parole d'bonneur. I will render to
Caesar the things that are Cfesar's, to
God the things that are God's."

"0 mon pere," said the child, "I
adore you! "

"And so, Captain de Valle, you
refuse to obey your orders?"

"Monsieur le General, you sent a
hurry call for me to qiiell an insur-
rection. I arrive and find no insurrec-
tion,— only a convent full of defenceless
women, who by every law, civil and
religious, are entitled to remain where
they are, unmolested. I refuse abso-
lutely and finally to be any party to
driving them forth."

The General's lip curled with a sneer.
"We have heard many reports of
you, Captain de Valle. Your want of
loyalty to the government has long
been suspected, and has now become a
certainty. Are you aware that your in-
subordination will land you in prison ? "

"Monsieur," said De Valle, proudly,
"no honest man can question my
loyalty to my country. I would shed
my lifeblood for France on the
battlefield, or in any cause where right
cried aloud to me for succor. But I
will not obey an infidel government
when it goes beyond its right. I will
not be the tool of the Grand Orient,
whose spies I have known for some
time have been watching me."

"You may go, Captain de Valle!"
said the General.

"It means ruin, my Julie!" said De
Valle, quietly; "and for you, I fear,
suffering and privation."

Madame de Valle smiled proudly
through her tears.

THE AVE MARIA.

Ill

"Come what will," she said, "I am
ready. I would rather be the mother
of such a son, the wife of such a man,
than to see you President of France."

In his chateau, the old Due knelt
alone in the magnificent chapel where
countless generations of his name had
praj-ed before him.

"O mon Dicu," he exclaimed, "mani-
fest Thy power and come! A few
more men like De Vall^, a few more
boys like Felix, and this demon of
infidelity would flee as the morning
mist. Then would the power of the
Grand Orient be broken ; then would
our beloved France be saved!"

(The End.)

John Duns Scotus.

BETWEEN the day when Pius IX.
of blessed memory announced to
a rejoicing world that belief in the
Immaculate Conception of the Blessed
Virgin Mary was an article of faith,
and the day when the young Oxford
divine refuted, as some writers say, no
fewer than two hundred articles urged
against that doctrine in the University
of Paris, there lies a long stretch
of nigh six hundred years. In these
centuries of change and turmoil new
kingdoms had risen, new countries had
been discovered, and new creeds had,
in manj' lands, supplanted the faith
of old ; yet the young professor of
divinity inculcated the dogma of the
Immaculate Conception as the Catho-
lics of the Old World and their brethren
of a world undreamed of in the time
of John Duns Scotus believe it to-day.
To-day, too, Irish Catholics, who have
so strenuously claimed John Duns
Scotus as their countryman, may
cherish the hope of seeing his name soon
added to that of the recognized Irish
saints, as it is already added to that
of Ireland's mo.st famous scholars.
Much has been written regarding this

early exponent of a new dogma; and
England, Scotland, and Ireland each
have claimed the honor of giving him
birth. Here and there in likely and
unlikely places we catch glimpses of
the barefoot Franciscan friar. Dean
Milman, a Protestant author, says:
"Scotus was the most acute and pene-
trating spirit of the Middle Ages." In
Greene's History of the English People,
Roger Bacon and Duns Scotus are "the
most profound and original of the
schoolmen " ; and another Protestant
writer calls Scotus "the great philoso-
pher of the Middle Ages."

His birthplace and the place where
he joined the Franciscan Order will be
spoken of later. All writers agree in
saying he entered the Order of Saint
Francis while young, and soon after
proceeded to Oxford, where he became
a Fellow of Merton. That college had
been founded in 1264 by the Bishop of
Rochester, and was the first school in
England where the present collegiate
system was instituted.

At Oxford, Scotus became celebrated
for his scholastic theology as well as
for his knowledge of civil law, logic
and mathematics; and was appointed
to a chair of divinity. The fame of
his talents, learning and virtue drew
crowds of students from all parts.
Webb numbers his scholars at thirty
thousand, — a number beyond credence
till we reflect that the printing press
had not yet arrived, and schools were
comparatively few. When the young
friar gave his divinity lectures, it was
customary for the other professors to
close their schools and accompany their
pupils to the hall where Scotus lectured.

In the year 1304 he was commanded
by the General of his Order to proceed
to Paris. In its University new honors
awaited him. The degree of Doctor of
the Sorbonne was conferred on him ; and
later he was, by royal order, appointed
chief professor of the Universitj'.

The question of the Immaculate Con-

112

THE AVE MARIA.

eeption of Mary was then engaging the
attention of the great schoolmen of the
age; and on this, as on many other
free questions, the Franciscans and
Dominicans took opposite views. Scotus
defended his behef in the Immaculate
Conception so ably that in 1307 the
University instituted the feast of the
eighth of December, and conferred the
tJtle of Subtle Doctor on Scotus. It
decided, too, that none should take the
degree of doctor in its schools who
did not subscribe on that one point to
the teaching of its famous professor.

In 1308 Scotus was transferred from
Paris to Cologne. He entered that
city, so ancient writers tell, like a
royal conqueror. The public authori-
ties, the nobles, and people, met him
outside the walls and escorted him
in triumphal procession to the ancient
University. Here Scotus died of apo-
plexy in the November of that same
year, and he w^as interred in the Fran-
ciscan Convent of the city.

The works of Duns Scotus are numer-
ous; the most important, perhaps, are
his Oxford and Paris Commentaries.
Father Luke Wadding, the great Fran-
ciscan scholar, collected and published
the complete writings of Duns Scotus
at Lyons in 1639.

Learned and earnest writers from
each of the three kingdoms of the British
Isles have written much concerning
Scotus, and disputed much over his
place of birth. The Rev. Alban Butler,
in claiming Scotus for England, some-
what contemptuously remarks that no
Irish or Scotch writer prior to the
sixteenth century asserts that the great
Franciscan doctor was his countryman.
Dempster, however, is as early, or
earlier, in the field on behalf of Scot-
land as the English authorities quoted
by Butler; and the inscription on the
tomb of Scotus in Cologne puts England
out of the contest :

Scotia gave me birth ; England brought me up ;
France taught mc; Cologne received me.

Whatever Scotia means, it does not
mean England ; and surely the men
who lived with Scotus, and who
remained after him in Cologne, knew
of what country he was.

Scotia was the name by which Ire-
land was generally known up to the
thirteenth or fourteenth century; and
up to the sixteenth, Scotia was the
name bestowed on her on the Continent
of Europe. The men who assert that
Duns Scotus was Irish are at one as
to his place of birth. They are chiefly
Franciscans and Irishmen, and their
fame is European. They lived in the
school and colleges wherein Scotus won
his renown; and the records and the
libraries of these colleges were open to
them. In those colleges, "from Dunkirk
to Belgrade," were deposited the liter-
ary wealth of Ireland. Her manuscripts
and the records of her monasteries
and convents were borne away, in the
troubled times of persecution, to the
religious houses of France, of Belgium,
of Italy, and Spain.

If Wadding, Colgan, Ward and Cavel-
lus, with the archives of the Franciscan
houses at their disposal, did not know
where Scotus was born, who did ? All
four were Irish. Wadding was the
author of "The Annals of the Fran-
ciscan Order," and the founder of
several colleges which still flourish.
He was consulted on almost all ques-
tions of importance by the court of
Rome; and might have been, had he
so wished, a cardinal. Colgan was
his contemporary and the author of
"Lives of the Saints of Ireland." He
wrote a treatise on Duns Scotus, a
copy of which is in the Franciscan
Convent in Dublin. Two other copies
are in the British Museum.

Hugh Ward was guardian of the
Irish Convent of Louvain, and justly
noted for his historic and antiquarian
lore. Both he and Colgan were Ulster
men. Cavellus — otherwise known as
MacCaghwell — was born in Down,

THE AVE MARIA.

113

and educated in Salamanca, where he
became a Franciscan. He was held in
high esteem by Pope Paul III., and
selected by that Pontiff in 1626 to fill
the vacant See of Armagh. He died,
however, before he reached Ireland, in
that same year. This eminent man
published a life of Scotus at Antwerp
in 1620, and annotated the more
difficult of the writings of the Subtle
Doctor. Benedict XIV., one of the
most learned Popes, quotes Cavellus as
authority for the views of Duns Scotus.
These four famous men say that
John Scotus was born in Down —
whence the name Duns, — and entered
the Franciscan Monastery of Down-
patrick when very young. This is
corroborated by the Jesuit Stanihurst,
by Arthur of Rouen, Nicholas Vemul
of Louvain, and other foreign writers.
Surely Ireland can present strong claims
for Scotus!

Sensationalism in the Name of Science.

THE ventilation in the daily press
of wild theories on the properties of
radium is rebuked by leading scientific
journals. The Lancet, of London, per-
haps the foremost periodical of its class
(at least in our language), referring
to a remarkable series of experiments
made in the Cavendish laboratory at
Cambridge, observes:

While admittinj; the extreme interest of these
results, the evidence that gelatin culture has
been vitalized by purely physical and inorganic
agencies, that life has been established out of
inanimate materials, is not at the present stage
of the experiment convincing, and further results
will be awaited before the opponents of the
"spontaneous theory" may b; induced to
abandon their position.

"As for radium having anything to
do with the formation of cells," says a
writer in the Atbeaeeum, "all recent
experiments go to show that radium
is more likely to arrest the growth of
living cells than to promote it."

The cautious conservatism of Sir

Isaac Newton, who waited for years
before giving to the world his law of
gravitation, because some of his data
appeared at the time not to be in
accordance with the , new principle,
is contrasted, by the Electrical World
and Engineer, with the haste of certain
of our scientific investigators to pro^
claim their discoveries and to ventilate
the theories based thereon:

It is now near two and a half centuries since
Isaac Newton, in one of the flashes of intuition
that form man's best title to immortality, saw
disclosed to him the key to the mysteries of
space. It was half a lifetime later when, through
years of patient study and waiting, data enough
had come to his hands to clear his conscience in
announcing his discovery. For very truth's sake
he gave to the world no half baked hypothesis,
nor ventured to exploit with specious arguments
a doctrine which did not quite meet all the facts.
We do things differently nowadays. How would
the great discoverer have fared had he occupied

the chair of physics at University, where a

monthly blank is forwarded to heads of depart-
ments to be filled out with reports on the
"researches" they have completed and the
number of lectures they have given before women's
clubs ? Would he have held his peace, or would
he have sent for a reporter of the Daily Saffron
and have filled him full of speculations on the
bounds of space and the origin of life? Would
he have cut up his great hypothesis into stove
lengths, as it were, to furnish his hustling pupils
fuel for frying their theses ? Would wo have had
Prof I. Newton and Thomas Snoobs, B. S., "On
Gravitation in Jupiter," and Prof I. Newton and
Richard Roe, A. B., "On Gravitation in the
Saturnian System," and so on ad nauseam?
And would the president have sacked him for
insinuating that something in the universe had
a more consistent pull than the chief benefactor ?

After pointing out some of the strik-
ing and sensational conclusions jumped
at by investigators and professors who
are popularly supposed to be men of
great weight, the writer concludes with
the remark that "hypothesis needs to
have its wings clipped a bit just now. It
is well to remember Newton's immortal
lesson in scientific self-restraint, and to
make sure of one's foundations, before
building a new heaven and a new earth
from anything so elusive as radium
emanation."

114

THE AVE MARIA.

Act Well Your Part.

Notes and Remarks.

ST. PAUL on one occasion speaks of
the world as a scene in a theatre.
Consider what is meant by this. You
know actors on a stage are on an
equality with one another really, but
for the occasion they assume a differ-
ence of character : some are high, some
are low, some are merry, some are sad.
Well, would it not be a simple absurdity
in any actor to pride himself on his
mock diadem or his edgeless sword
instead of attending to his part ? What
if he did but gaze at himself and his
dress? What, if he secreted, or turned
to his own use, what was valuable in
it ? Is it not his business, and nothing
else, to act his part well? Common-
sense tells us so.

Now, we are all but actors in the
world ; we are one and all equaf, we
shall be judged as equals as soon as
life is over; yet, equal and similar in
ourselves, each has his work, each has
his mission,— not to indulge his pas-
sions, not to make money, not to get a
name in the world, not to save himself
trouble, not to follow his bent, not to
be selfish and self-willed, but to do
what God puts him to do. — Cardinal
Newman's "Discourses to Mixed Con-
gregations."

■ ♦ ■

On the conquest of Jerusalem in 1099,
the Crusaders installed a patriarch
over the Holy Sepulchre and attendant
Augustinians ; and in their liturgical
formulae we find the strange fact that
all feasts of the [Blessed] Virgin were
to be marked b}^ black. Can it pos-
sibly have been from a feeling that
Jerusalem was the scene of the betrayal
and crucifixion of the Divine Son, and
that whatever homage might elsewhere
be paid to the virgin purity of Mary
must here give place to the sadder
memorial of heart-breaking anguish ? —
" Symbolism in Christian Art."

So many and so divergent have been
the reports of the Holy Father's
intentions concerning the course of
political action to be followed hence-
forth by Italian Catholics, that it is
worth while to reproduce that para-
graph, in his recent encyclical to the
Italian bishops, which specifically deals
with the much - agitated question.

"Most grave reasons," says Pius X.,
"dissuade Us, Venerable Brethren, from
departing from the rule laid down
by Our predecessor of sacred memory,
Pius IX., and followed' by another
predecessor of sacred memory, Leo
XIII., during his long pontificate;
according to which rule it is forbidden
to Catholics generally in Italy to partic-
ipate in legislative power. But other
reasons equally grave, affecting in the
highest degree the welfare of society,
which must be safeguarded at any
cost, may require that in particular
cases a dispensation from the rule be
granted; especially when you, Venerable
Brethren, hold it to be strictly necessary
for the good of souls and in the best
interests of your churches, and when
you ask for it. Now, the possibility
of this favorable concession from Us
begets, on the part of all Catholics,
the duty of preparing seriously and
prudently for political life at the time
when they shall be called to it. It is,
then, of importance that the activity
laudably displayed by Catholics in
preparing, by means of a good electoral
organization, for the administrative life
of the communes and the Provincial
Councils, should be extended to suitable
preparation and organization for polit-
ical life, as was seasonably recommended
in the Circular of December 3, 1904,
by the General Presidency of the Opere
Economiche in Italy. At the same time
the elevated principles which regulate
the conscience of every true Catholic

THE AVE MARIA.

115

should be inculcated, and followed in
practice. Every member of the Church
should strive in every circumstance to be
and to appear truly Catholic, accepting
public duties and performing them
with the firm and constant resolve to
promote with all his power the social
and economic welfare of his country,
and especially of the people, in accord-
ance with the maxims of a distinctly
Christian civilization, and to defend at
the same time the supreme interests of
the Church, which are those of religion
and justice."

We may perhaps be permitted to
note that the foregoing declaration of
the Sovereign Pontiff is quite in line
with what was recently said in these
columns relative to pessimism in politics
and the public duties of reputable and
educated citizens.

In a recent preachment on some
religious subject, Mr. Goldwin Smith
had a fling at St. Thomas Aquinas and
the sacred science of which he was so
great a master. The words are not
worth repeating, even for the sake of
refutation; however, we may quote
Professor Huxley's opinion of St.
Thomas: "His marvellous grasp and
subtlety of intellect seem to me to
be almost without a parallel." It is
probable that Huxley had read more
of St. Thomas than Mr. Smith ; any-
way, it is quite safe to assert that
when both of these modem worthies
are forgotten, and their writings cease
to have interest for any but students
of scientific literature, the Angelical
Doctor will still be studied, and he
himself regarded as one of the master
minds of the world.

A correspondent in England calls
our attention to the curious fact that
the "reformation" so closely associated
with the name of John Knox, while
causing an ecclesiastical revolution all
over Scotland, failed entirely to influ-

ence many districts in the mainland
and islands of Inverness-shire, — many
of them far apart and separated from
one another by large tracts of country
in which the people enthusiastically
accepted the messageof the "reformers."
To this day there are many distinct
communities in Inverness - shire who
still adhere loyally and devoutly to
the Catholic Faith. In the mainland
part of the county, there are large and
influential Catholic communities at
Beauly, Strathglass, Laggan, Badenoch
and Lochaber; while in the island of
South Uist and Barra the inhabitants
are almost wholly Catholic.

The coadjutor -bishop of Tokio was
in Paris not long ago, and, naturally
enough, was besieged by interviewers.
One of the editors of the Eclair secured
from the prelate some interesting
information on the Catholic situation
in Japan, and the probable effect
thereon of current events in the Far
East. According to the bishop, what
especially characterizes the religious
propaganda in Japan is the absolute
liberty which it enjoys^ Upon the one
condition of respecting the civil laws,
the missionaries have the privilege
of acting as they please. They gener-
ally travel about the country, hiring
theatres where these exist, or delivering
their instructions in the open air
They are listened to with the greatest
deference, and at the conclusion of their
discourses are respectfully questioned.
This plan, it was stated, succeeds
perfectly.

Asked whether there is a national
religion, and whether the religious ques-
tion is introduced into army affairs,
the bishop replied in the negative. The
army contains, it appears, not only
Catholic soldiers, but subaltern and
even superior officers who profess the
true Faith. At the beginning of the
war Archbishop Osouf proffered the
services of six Catholic chaplains— three

116

THE AVE MARIA.

French and three Japanese priests, —
and they were at once accepted. These
priests, apart from their military
duties, are authorized to evangeHze, as
freely as they choose, the troops, and
the residents of the localities in which
they happen to be. On the whole, the
coadjutor -bishop of Tokio expressed
himself quite undisturbed as regards the
development of spiritual progress in
Japan. He does not at all believe that
Japanese pride, augmented by victory
over the Russians, will restrict the
liberty which all religious cults enjoy in
the Empire of the Mikado.

Moved possibly by the controversy
about the rival claims of "Jack" Barry
and Paul Jones to the title "Father of
the American Navy," the Freeman's
Journal, of Sydney, Australia, prints an
interesting sketch of William Brown,
"the Irish Founder of the Argentine
Navy." The career of this valiant sailor
reads like a romance, and his naval
exploits were worthy of Nelson or
Farragut, Barry or Jones. One of his
memorable deeds was the thorough
whipping which he administered in
1842 to Garibaldi, who, during the little
war between Argentina and Uruguay,
sailed up the Parna with a squadron to
the relief of Corrientes. Brown received
the highest honors in the gift of his
adopted country ; and died in 1857, at
the ripe old age of eighty, a type ot
the many Irish Catholic heroes who
for centuries have displayed in other
lands the masterful qualities for which
no fitting field was offered in their own.

It may turn out that there is more
smoke than flame about the Equitable
scare,— less of sober truth to justify
censure than of newspaper exaggera-
tion to cau.se excitement and arouse
hate. Nevertheless, there is a moral to
be drawn from this incident, and we
are rather gratified to find it pointed

out b}'^ a daily newspaper. It can not
be denied that, with all their faults,
the best representatives of the daily
press are among the best preachers.
Says the Inter-Oceaa :

All the lies which professional anarchists tell
about the cruelty of rich men in acquiring their
riches — all the lies which they circulate about
oppression of the poor by the government — have
proved futile in this country. They have been
futile because they have been lies, or malignant
perversion's of small and unimportant truths.
But when pillars of societj' are exposed as brittle
to the core — when men whom the people have
widely trusted with their fortunes and the future
of their families, and have believed in as models
of probity and honor, are found to be but
whitcd sepulchres, — then anarchy really gains
converts, and the institutions of civilization
are menaced.

The revelations in the Equitable »cand*l are
making more anarchists to-day than all the
anarchist speeches made and literature published
in this country in twenty years. They have
brought fear and hate into tens of thousands
of respectable households. They have so shat-
tered confidence in human honesty and decency
that tens of thousands of men are driven to the
delusion that everything that is, is wrong. And
that is the beginning of anarchy. Not the lie
but the truth is what kills. That is why the
Equitable scandal is making anarchists.

Our Chicago contemporary is right
in saying that the evil influence of
anarchist speeches and literature is next
to nothing in comparison with that of
examples of injustice and dishonesty on
the part of men filling positions of public
trust. There was logic in the threat of
a French anarchist, addressed to those
whom he accused of persecuting the
poor by imposing heavy taxes, and of
making them brutish by destroying
their ideals : ' You are robbing them of
the little they possess in this world,
and dashing their hopes of possessing
anything in a world to come. Nothing
shall prevent them from sharing in
what you yourselves possess now.'

The Roman correspondent of the
Glasgow Observer has fallen foul of
an article, "In the Alban Hills," con-

THE AVE MARIA.

117

tributed anonymously to that staid
and venerable periodical, Chamber's
Journal. The correspondent cites
numerous amusing instances of the
writer's ignorance and absurd misin-
formation, one of which we quote:

But the grossest piece of ignorance is found in
the passage where our tourist describes a funeral
he saw. " Presently we hear the murmuring of
a chant, and a humble funeral climbs the hill —
a simple coffin enough, with one poor wreath
of roses for decoration, but followed by hired
mourners, all dressed in scarlet and carrying
lighted candles: a pagan custom which still
survives all over Italj-." Pagan custom! Hired
mourners ! The poor scribbler did not know that
these simple mourners were a company of pious
laymen, members of a confraternity of Our Lady,
wearing their habit, and assisting, without
money and without price, at the last rites of the
Church for one of their departed brethren.

After reading this specimen of non-
Catholic comment on Catholic customs,
one is quite prepared to learn that
"Henry VIII. said three or four Masses
a day " ; that a " priest wore his balda-
chino" in a procession; that this same
procession was remarkable for its
"swinging thurifers"; that the Pope is
called by Catholics "the spouse of the
Church"; and that the dying Pontiff,
Leo XIII., "received the Vatican."
Verily Catholic functions as reported by
non-Catholic observers furnish comical
examples of "English as she is wrote."

Some of our philosophical publicists,
who have possibly been "educated
beyond their intellects," occasionally
take a somewhat supercilious if good-
natured fling at the fondness evinced by
President Roosevelt for emphasizing the
obvious, reiterating truisms, preaching
the platitudinous, and generally insist-
ing upon the observance of elementary
morality. As long, however, as these
plain lessons in common honesty are
not rendered superfluous by the con-
sistent integrity of the whole people,
normally cultured Americans are not
likely to quarrel with their chief execu-

tive on that particular point. One of
these so-called platitudes of which Mr.
Roosevelt delivered himself the other
day will bear meditating by not a
few of his critics. " It is far more
important," he said, "that men of vast
fortunes should conduct their business
afiairs decently than that they should
spend the surplus of their fortunes in
philanthropy." Obvious, perhaps, in
theory, but scarcely universally observed
in practice.

m • 0

Matarieh, near Cairo in Egypt, was
the site during the Middle Ages of a
church dedicated to the Holy Family.
The structure stood near the Tree of
the Virgin and the Fountain, on ground
that was once part of the Garden of
Balen, where dwelt Mary, Joseph, and
the Divine Child during their Egyptian
exile. For many years past, a little
oratory has replaced the former spa-
cious church ; but quite recently a larger
and more elegant sanctuary has been
built. A red marble slab on the fa9ade
of this new edifice bears the inscription,
Sanctx Familix in ASgypto Exsuli, —
"To the Holy Family Exiled in Egypt."
Another marble slab in the interior
vestibule tells who were the builders
and the motive that animated them.
The inscription on it is: " French relig-
ious, expelled by the current persecution,
ofi"er this sanctuary to the exiled Holy
Family, as a testimony of their love,
and of their hope one day to return to
the home-country."

We notice that not all French publi-
cists are charmed with the condition
of their Republic and its relations to
other powers. Writes M. Vendeuvre in
the Annales Catholiqaes : "France is
between the anvil and the hammer,
because she must be with either England
or Germany, and she ought to be with
neither. Both have robbed her, both
have seized a part of herself, both dream
only of exploiting her, both are false

118

THE AVE MARIA.

friends It is time to choose between

life and death ; and if we are to continue
the internal policy now in vogue, we
must make up our minds not only to
give whatever is demanded of us when
we are threatened with a declaration
of war, but also to make our will and
cheerfully apportion France among
our avaricious neighbors, provided they
allow us during life the luxury of
baiting our priests."

Discussing the inadequacy of the civil
service system in the appointment of
policemen. Commissioner McAdoo, of
New York, recently declared that many
of the questions asked in the exam-
inations are absolutely absurd. The
statement is not at all exaggerated.
We have frequently wondered at the
variety and extent of the knowledge
w^hich these sapient civil service exami-
ners apparently deem essential to the
performance of even the most common-
place menial duties. And our sympathy
has ever been with that applicant for
■ the position of janitor of Congress
w^ho, in answer to the question, "How
far is the moon from the earth ? "
wrote, "I don't know, but she's far
enough away not to interfere mate-
rially with my performing the duties

of janitor."

» ■ •

American readers of Mr. Herbert
Paul's "History of Modern England"
will be charmed with the appreciative
and sympathetic spirit in which the
author deals with that character of
heroic simplicity, the President who
among all our executives got closest to
the heart of "the plain people." Thus
adequately does Mr. Paul delineate
Abraham Lincoln:

He was indeed a strange mixture of openness
and reserve. There was the Lincoln who would
not let his Cabinet enter on business until he had
poured out a flood of irresistible drollery upon
every sort of subject, thus perhaps relieving his
mind from a tension that it could not otherwise
have borne. There was also the melancholy,

mystic, brooding Lincoln, a dreamer of dreams
and a Wiever in them; as gentle and tender as
he was strong and brave; feeling the losses of
the South only less acutely than the defeats
of the North; horrifying his generals by his
free pardons of deserters and spies; hoping
always for the reunion of the future; repeating
his favorite text, "Judge not, and you shall not
be judged." With the doubtful exception of
Washington, Lincoln was the greatest of all
Americans; and Washington was substantially
a British aristocrat, while Lincoln was racy of
the soil.

Discussing the assassination, and
the comments thereon evoked from' the
press and the public men of England,
Mr. Paul declares that these comments
interpreted but poorly the real feeling
of the British masses for "the foremost
man of his time." His own estimate is
as truthful as it is generous :

Not many Englishmen understood or appre-
ciated Lincoln during his lifetime. His sudden
and violent death illuminated, as by a flash
of lightning, a character as noble in its self-
forgetfulness, as heroic in its fortitude, as
pathetic in its isolation, as homely in its quaint,
rugged strength, as any in the pages of Plutarch
or the realities of life.

A young correspondent sends us the
following account of what would seem
to be a supernatural cure through
the instrumentality of the Water of
Lourdes. The letter is signed and dated,
and, as will be seen, bears prima facie
evidence of genuineness :

I suflered with curvature of the spine For
about two years my parents were taking me
around to different doctors, but they availed
nothing. At last they heard of a doctor who had
cured many persons afflicted like I was ; so they
brought me to see him, and he put a plaster of
Paris cast on me.

I attend St. Cecilia's Catholic School ; and one
of the Sisters there gave me some water from
Lourdes, and told me to use it, and to make a
nine days' novena. I did so; and the first time
the doctor examined me after I had finished the
novena, he said I was well enough to leave off
the cast. After wearing the cast for five and
one-half years, a novena to Our Lady of Lourdes
cured me.

I am fourteen years old, and I am happy to
say I am now as well and strong as many other
girls of ray age.

The Lost Rosary."

BY LUDWIG NODLING.

mm

T was the afternoon of a
spring day,— a typical April
daj', sunshine alternating
with heavy showers, and
dark clouds ever and again obscuring
the blue vault of heaven. Toward
evening the weather cleared, and the
golden beams of the sun cau-sed the
towers and turrets of the small old-
fashioned town to glitter like burnished
gold, and the telegraph wires to appear
like threads of silver.

The unpretending little railway
station was astir in expectation of the
incoming train. The truck with the
mail bag had been rolled noisily onto
the platform, where a few passengers
were preparing for their journey. Here
a gentleman might be seen taking his
juggage from a hotel porter, and feeling
in his waistcoat pockets for a gratuity ;
there a well-to-do farmer stood leaning
against a post, calmly blowing clouds
of smoke from a short black pipe;
farther on, a fidgety old lady flitted
to and fro, asking for the twentieth
time whether the next train was really
the one which would convey her to her
destination.

These three seemed to be the only
travellers — but no: there were two
other persons standing apart, evidently
with the object of having a few undis-
turbed minutes together before parting.
One was a lady in deep mourning,
with a sad smile on her pleasing,
kindly countenance, her eyes moist with
unshed tears, and a slight quaver in

• Translated for Tag Avk Maku.

her voice as she spoke to the boy
beside her, whose hand she held in an
affectionate grasp.

The lad himself was unmistakably a
schoolboy going back to school, as was
testified by the badge on his cap, and
the portmanteau and neat umbrella
in his hand.

The signal giving warning of the
approach of the train was heard. At
the sound the lady's pale face seemed
to grow paler, and her lips quivered as
she said :

"The train will be here directly, my
child, we must say good-bye."

"O mother, how awfully fast the
holidays go by!"

"Yes, darling. They seem to me like
a pleasant dream. While they last I
feel less lonely than I have felt since
your dear father's death."

"Do not cry again, mother!" the
boy entreated, looking up at her fondly.
"I will not give way, for your sake.
But, Alfred, you will not — must not
forget him. This is the first time that
he is not here to bid you good-bye."

"No, mother,— dear mother!" sobbed
the boy.

"You must not cry. Be brave," the
lady said as, letting go her son's hand,
she kissed him fondly. " Be sure to pray
every day for your father; and think
of his grave, where we put the wreath
of geraniums he liked so much."

"Yes, mother, I will pray for him,
never fear,— every day."

The locomotive of the incoming train
was discernible in the distance. The
mother made an effort to be cheerful,
as, with a changed manner, she said :

" Keep a good heart, my boy ; and be
diligent at your studies. The summer
vacation will soon come. Be devout to
our Blessed Lady : < she will help you.

120

THE AYE MARIA.

But stay, — what am I thinking of! You
will be hungry on your way. Take this
with you."

Thereupon she took from an elegant
little hand-bag a packet of sandwiches,
neatly tied up, which were transferred
to the boy's pocket.

"0 mother, I am not a bit hungry!
I am sure I want nothing to eat."

Without heeding this protestation,
the lady proceeded to take a good-sized
cake of chocolate from her bag, which
the same way, without any opposition
from the recipient as he thrust it in his
pocket and turned toward the train
which was just entering the depot.

But his mother had not yet finished
her exhortations and admonitions.
While some of the doors were being
opened, and the conductor went along
the length of the train shouting the
name of the station, she felt hastily in
her pocket and took out something
which she pressed into the boy's hand.
It was nothing valuable, nothing impor-
tant in the eyes of the world ; only a
mere trifle bought for a few cents at
an insignificant shop, — only a rosary, a
commonplace one, with black beads and
a brass cross ; but rendered valuable by
the blessing pronounced over it and the
- indulgence attached to it by the good
old Capuchin Father. And as she put
it into the boy's hand, and squeezed
that hand in farewell, she whispered :

"There, take this,— the last and best.
Take care of it, Alfred; mind you do
not lose it; and say it often for father
and for me."

The boy slipped the rosary into the
same pocket in which the packet of
appetizing sandwiches already reposed.
But before he could utter a word of
thanks the stentorian voice of the
conductor bade all intending travellers
take their seats; and a strong hand
half lifted, half pushed him into a
second-class coach.

.\n old gentleman with grey hair and
a grey beard, who was sitting next

the door, was so kind as to put the
portmanteau and umbrella in the net,
and to make room for his travelling
companion oppo.site to him.

The lady expressed her thanks to the
good old gentleman. It was a conso-
lation to her to know that her boy
w^ould be under the protection of so
friendly and benevolent -looking an
individual.

"I am sure you are very welcome,
Madam," he replied, with a polite bow.

Alfred felt pleased at the respectful
manner in which his mother was
treated.

The conductor came by to shut the
doors with a loud clang. No sooner
had he passed than Alfred's mother,
contrary to all rules, stepped on the
footboard to give her boy's hand a final
grasp, and utter a fervent "God bless
you ! " But she had to step back hastily
onto the platform ; for the signal to
start was given, the locomotive sent
forth a shrill whistle, and the train
began to move slowly out of the depot,
leaving the widowed lady standing
alone, waving her handkerchief by
way of farewell.

"What was the name of that anti-
quated little nest?" asked one of the
passengers.

Our schoolboy heard neither the
question nor the answer: he was
struggling to repress the tears that
would come. He seemed still to see
the waving handkerchief, and to hear
the loving "God bless you!" Nor did
he heed the lamentations over the
delay caused by waiting so long at
a little out-of-the- world depot, uttered
by a stout elderly lady beside him,
who was nursing an equally corpulent
lapdog.

But there were other passengers in
the compartment besides those already
mentioned : Mr. Julius Smith, a very
self-satisfied young man, aged eighteen,
with a high collar and a low forehead,
absorbed in the perusal of a question-

THE AVE MARIA.

121

able French novel; and his brother,
Mr. Caesar Smith, aged seventeen, also
dressed in the height of fashion, sucking
industriously at a huge cigar which
would not burn aright. Both of these
intellectual and refined gentlemen sus-
pended their occupation when the
greenfinch, as they denominated Alfred,
got in; and one of them formulated
his opinion of the newcomer in an
impromptu rhyme, to which the other
beat an accompaniment on the floor:

Mammy bids her darling good-bye,
And mammy's darling begins to cry;
She gives him a handker' to wipe his eye.

Alfred was now fairly roused from his
gloomy cogitations. He looked round,
boy-like, to scan his fellow-travellers.
Yet, to his astonishment, when he
passed them in review, exemplar)' order
and quiet prevailed. The old gentle-
man was, it is true, looking rather
sternly over the top of his newspaper;
but the old lady was calmly regaling
her pug with sweet biscuits, Mr. Julius
Smith was smiling at the pages of his
book, and Mr. Caesar Smith was endeav-
oring to relight his obstinate cigar.

After Alfred's eyes had sufficiently
scrutinized his fellow-travellers' coun-
tenances, they wandered aimlessly over
the landscape, ever changing as the
train rushed onward, and finally rested
on the outside sheet of the newspaper
his vis -A- vis was holding before his
face. An advertisement in big letters
attracted his attention : it proclaimed
the superexcellence of a certain make of
chocolate. This reminded the boy that
he had a tablet of that very kind in
his pocket ; his countenance brightened
and his hand went to his pocket in
search of the delicacy. But let it not
be supposed that he brought it out,
unwrapped it boldly, and consumed it
in the sight of all present. Not at all.
His fingers worked stealthily in the
depths of his pocket, till the wrappers
were torn and their contents could be
surreptitiously conveyed piece by piece

to his mouth. Thus the weary journey
was sweetened for a time.

Presently a gentleman who was
sitting in a comer of the compartment
took out a sandwich, purchased a^the
last depot at which the train had
stopped — which for several days had
reposed beneath a glass case on the
refreshment counter. What wonder that
Alfred remembered that he had a far
more appetizing one at his disposal,
made for him with especial care! It
was rather difficult to get the packet
out of his pocket ; but with a pull out
it came, and Alfred forgot all about
his protestations to his mother that
he could not possibly eat anything that
evening.

The journey's end was rapidly
approaching; they were nearing the
big town, with its churches and schools,
its monastery and barracks, its opulence
and its destitution, when an occurrence
of an unexpected nature took place.
The stout lady sitting beside our hero
suddenly gave a start and a scream,
moving away from him so quickly
that her petted dog fell howling to the
ground. Her eyes were fixed with a
terrified expression on the space in the
seat between Alfred and herself. What
was it?

"A snake! — an adder!" she cried.

Everyone sprang up. Mr. Julius closed
his book; Mr. Caesar promptly struck
the small black reptile with a yellow
head, as it appeared coiled upon the
seat. The next moment he burst out
laughing, and Alfred colored to the
roots of his hair.

"Why, it is a — what do they call
the thing ? A rosary, 'pon my word !
Madam, you need not be alarmed : it
will not bite. Have you never seen a
little article of the sort,— what the old
wives wind round their wrists as a
charm against Heaven knows what?"

"But how has it come here? The
market-women travel third-class."

The young men indulged in some silly

122

THE AVE MARIA.

witticisms, and all laughed except the
old gentleman. He looked searchingly
at Alfred, who on his part did not join
in the mirth, but sat there, seeming
confused and foolish, so that ever3-one
looked at him.

Then Mr. Caesar took up the rosary
on the end of his stick and dangled it
in the boy's face, saying:

"Here, mamma's darling, does this
article belong to you?"

The old gentleman's arm moved
nervously. And Alfred ? As for him, he
grew redder and more uncomfortable
every minute, as he stammered :

"To me? No— no, sir, — no, really it
does not!"

The young man retreated to his place,
and began to discuss with his brother
what fiin they could have with the
" snake "; while Alfred, meeting the eyes
of the old gentleman fixed on him with
a grave, reproachful expression, would
gladly for very shame have hidden
under the seat. Was it possible that
the gentleman could have seen through
the newspaper that the rosary had
come out of his pocket when the sand-
wiches were pulled out ?

The train was already slowing into
the station. A moment later all the
doors flew open; and Alfred was only
too glad to spring out and make
his way through the crowd with his
portmanteau and umbrella, and thus
escape from the searching gaze of the
old gentleman, who, as soon as the boy
was gone, addressed the young men:

" One moment, gentlemen ! The rosary
has an owner. Be so obliging as to
hand it over to me."

"I beg 3'our pardon, sir! I had no
idea it belonged to you," was the
reply; and the rosary was at once
given up as requested.

The gentleman said no more, but
politelj' assisted the lady to alight.

On leaving the depot, Alfred made his
way quickly through some of the less
crowded streets of the town in the

direction of his school. Presently he
relaxed his steps, and turned up a side
street where a church dedicated to
Our Lady of Dolors was situated.
How quiet and peaceful it was in the
sanctuary of God! The boy laid his
portmanteau in a bench near the door,
and knelt down. The solemn stillness
impressed him, and he came once more
to himself, — his conscience awoke.

"Now I am back here, so far away
from home! Oh, what would mother
say if she knew! What did she say?
'Take this,— the last and best. Take
care of it. Mind you do not lose it.' O
mother, if you only knew!" The tears,
long repressed, rolled down his cheeks.
"I wonder if father knows? He is
in heaven."

Then there recurred to his mind the
story of Tarcitius, who, also a young
boy, allowed himself to be beaten to
death rather than give the holy myste-
ries into the hands of unbelievers. How
deeply he had been touched on reading
that account in "Fabiola" during the
holidays! Had he not wished to be
a missionary, to go amongst savage
tribes, to suffer and perhaps lay down
his life for the Faith ? Yes, and now,
for fear of the mockery of two good-
for-nothing fellows, he had been so
cowardly, so base as to disown his
rosary, the last thing his mother had
given him! O Alfred, well may you
blush and weep for shame!

Amid the turmoil and tumult of the
busy town an humble and sincere sup-
plication went up to Heaven from the
heart of the repentant boy, — a prayer
of deep sorrow and contrition :

"O God, forgive me! Let me find
my rosary again! I do not deserve it.
If Thou wilt not grant my prayer
for my own sake, grant it, I beseech
Thee, for my mother's sake. She is so
good and pious!"

The boy's humble entreaty pierced
the clouds and ascended to heaven ;
and the Heart of Jesus, ever merciful

THE AYE MARIA.

123

and compassionate, did not reject it.

Who shall say an angel was not sent
to stand unseen in the path of our old
grey-haired man who was walking from
the railway depot into the town? He
suddenly stopped, as if a thought had
struck him, and looked at his watch.

" I have half an hour to spare. I may
as well go round the other way," he
said to himself. And as that way led
past the Church of Our Lady of Dolors,
he paused. "I will just go in for a
few minutes to pay my respects to
Almighty God."

And at that very same time, in a
little town far away, a lady in deep
mourning was kneeling before the altar
of the Blessed Virgin in an humble
chapel, reciting her beads for her only
child, from whom she had parted that
day. "O Holy Mother of God, protect
my boy in the hour of temptation!"
she prayed.

The church was empty, otherwise an
old man might have been seen stooping
over a tearful boy and saying, as he
touched his arm :

" Is not this my young fellow-traveller
of this afternoon ? "

The boy looked up, startled and
surprised. Yes, it was the good old
gentleman who had been in the railway
coach that was speaking, and who
added kindly:

" Are you already so very homesick ? "

Alfred stood up quickly, anxious to
acknowledge his fault.

"O sir, I am ashamed to look you
in the face; for I must confess that
the rosary was mine!"

"I knew that all the time," his inter-
locutor replied. " I saw how it fell out
of your pocket onto the seat."

" Yes; my mother gave it to me just
as I started, and bade me never lose
it ; and now 1 am — oh, so sorry that
those — those — "

"Say 'those blackguards' at once."

"That they should have it, and scoff
at it,"

"Well, I am glad that at least you
regret having lost your beads through
human respect. For the future I should
advise you to remember Our Lord's
words about casting pearls before
swine, and what He said about those
who are ashamed to confess Him
before men."

Thereupon he put his hand in his
pocket and took out the missing rosary.
Never did starving beggar hold out
his hand more eagerly, more gratefully
for a gold piece than Alfred did for
his lost beads.

The Little HungarianSi

BT MRS. MARY %, MANNIX.

Xn.— On the Road Once More.

Steffan sat on the side of his bed,
reflecting. It was not likely that the
imposition he had practised upon the
liveryman would be discovered until
sufficient time had elapsed for the return
of the horse and wagon. He had pur-
posely given a wrong direction to
Murphy: several days must elapse
before he could be traced. He thought
their chances were good for a week in
this little mining town. By that time
they would have money enough to
take a railway journey. If he could
only give a false clue, and get the
children out of reach of any one who
might institute a search for them, he
believed all would go well.

He really felt relieved at having got
rid of the team ; although he had hoped
to sell it a little farther on, and put
the money in his pocket. But luck had
been against him in the Briggs matter,
and he must needs accept the conse-
quences. It may, however, have been a
blessing in disguise, reasoned the show-
man; some one would have recognized
the team sooner or later. He had a
sanguine disposition, on the whole;
and began to augur glorious things for

124

THE AVE MARIA.

the future, as he pictured to himself
the generosity of his compatriots as
they showered coin upon himself and
his young companions when they saw
the dances and heard the songs of
their native land.

Louis and Rose sat near the window,
silently looking out. They had ex-
changed but few words with Steffan
since the occurrence of the morning.

"Louis," he said pleasantly, "no
doubt you think it a little queer that I
spoke of you as 'my children' to that
fellow Briggs. But I had to do it. He
might have found us out, if I hadn't,
and taken you back. You wouldn't
like to go back. Rose ; would you ? "

"No, sir," repHed the child at once.
"At least, I never want to be separated
from Louis."

"And you never shall be— now," said
Steflfan.

Louis did not speak. His gaze was
riveted on the top of a hill not far
away, beyond which lay the little grey
house, from which it seemed to him
they had been absent a very long time,
though this was only the third day of
their journey. Already in the heart of
the boy many doubts and misgivings
were forming themselves. He feared
that Steffan was not at all what he
had represented himself to be.

But the voice of Rose, hopeful and
positive as she answered the question
of Steffan, set his thoughts in a new
train. At all risks they must remain
together. If he should return, Father
Garyo would be certain to separate
them, — and, he acknowledged, with
good reason. Then Rose would die of
grief; she had said so, and he knew
Rose. She would weep and bemoan
herself to death. When that happened
he would be alone, — entirely alone!
No : they would go on ; they must
stay with Steffan, with whom thej'
could earn money; and perhaps — no,
certainly — Aey would find Florian.
"Are you satisfied, Louis?" asked

Steffan, seeing that the boy did not
speak. He was a little afraid of Louis.

"Yes," rejoined Louis, slowly, "I am
satisfied. It is a pity you had to lose
the horse and wagon, isn't it?"

"Well — in a way, 3'es," said Steffan.
"But I should have had to sell it, and
one never gets much for anything when
people know you have to sell. We'll
travel bj' rail after this."

Louis silently resumed his survey of
the mountain-top.

"You think it's all right, my saying
you kids belonged to me, don't you?"
inquired Steffan again.

"Well, no," responded the boy. "I
suppose you could hardly have helped
it, though. I can't see much excuse for
ever telling stories. That's what father
used to say."

"When you get to be as old as I am,
and have been knocked about the world
as roughly, you'll say there isn't much
excuse for ever telling the truth," said
Steffan, with a harsh laugh. "Anyway,
you had better let it stand as it is,
my boy. Everybody here thinks now
you belong to me, and we'll travel
better that way. It's the only safe
thing to do. Don't say anything to
the contrary."

"No, sir," replied the boy, feeling that
with every step he was progressing
farther on the path of deceit.

"There's the supper bell!" exclaimed
Steffan. " I think we'd better go down."

When supper was over, the trio went
upstairs to don their costumes for the
evening. It was quite dark as they
descended the narrow stairway and
passed through a rear door into the
street, as it was called, — though it was
really a rough road, thick with dust
in dry weather, and a slough of mud
when it rained. As they made their
way to the place where the entertain-
ment was to be held, thc}^ could see
groups of men, in red or grey flannel
shirts and overalls, gathered about the
d'^ors of various saloons.

THE AVE MARIA.

125

The "hall," which consisted of a long,
low shed in the rear of one of these
saloons, but which the stage-performers
entered by a backdoor, was filled with
men when they arrived. There were
not more than twenty women in the
audience; but as 3'et, at least, every-
body was quiet and orderly. The men
were all smoking, and it was through
a dense cloud that the children peered
into the assembly as they mounted the
stage. Rose at once began to cough
violently, and some one among the
audience cried out:

"Open the windows! That little
chick can't stand this air."

A dozen men instantly sprang to their
feet. The windows were lowered ; and
by the time the trio had played three
or four Hungarian dances, the atmos-
phere was clear enough for singing.

It was a good performance, though
the children's voices sounded some-
what thin beside that of Steffan. But
the songs were those that the listeners
had heard beyond the seas, in the home
of their childhood, from the lips of
the mothers they were never again to
behold ; and a more sympathetic or
appreciative audience no singers ever
had. Men wiped their eyes and cleared
their throats, and called out for their
favorites, as they had done on the
evenings when Louis and Rose had
sung in the Square.

And when at last Steffan, thinking
they had done enough for one evening,
sent them down with two new shining
tin plates to collect whatever their
listeners might be kind enough to give
them, the response was very generous.
He had previously told them not to
speak anything but Hungarian, if they
should be questioned ; thinking in this
way to excite further sympathj' from
their hearers. They were moderately
well acquainted with the language,
which their father had taught them, and
were quite able to reply to whatever
remarks were addressed to them. The

general impression among the audience
was that they had but recently come
from Hungary, as they seemed "to speak
no English ; and one man called out
to Steffan, who was conversing at the
other side of the hall :
\ "How comes it, brother, that you
speak English so well and your children
not at all?"

"I have just brought them over," he
replied. "They have not yet learned it.
When they are here as long as you and
I they will speak as well."

"I do not doubt it," said the other.
" But I only hope they will not lose
our songs."

"No, they will not," answered Steffan.
"It is with them that we must earn
our bread."

It may or may not have been lucky
for Steffan that the hotel -keeper was
not present. He had heard the children
speaking English that morning. The
morals of the community, however,
were not such as to deprecate the
telling of a few lies, if a little more
money were to be made by it ; and the
chances are he would have considered
the tactics of Steffan as worthy of
imitation rather than censure.

When the collection had been taken
up and emptied into Steffan's pockets,
he again mounted the platform and
announced that there would be an
entertainment on the two following
evenings.

" Let's have a dance Saturday I " cried
some one in the audience.

"Yes, after the concert," put in
another. "We'll pay you well."

" All right ! " said Steffan. " We wish
to please you, as you have already
Ijeen very generous with us."

When he counted the money on his
return to the inn, he found it amounted
to twenty-five dollars.

"Not so bad!" he chuckled. "Half
of this belongs to you, kids; but I'll
take care of it for you. Eaifi one pays
his own expenses, of course. Now go

126

THE AVE MARIA.

to bed and sleep well, so that you
may be fresh for to-morrow evening."

The next morning Steffan purchased
some cheap literature, which he took
to the room and gave the children to
read, in order to keep them occupied.
He did not wish them to go abroad,
fearing that they were not far enough
from home to elude discovery.

The day passed wearily enough for
Louis, but Rose slept a good deal.
When night came, the entertainment of
the evening previous was repeated,
with some changes in the programme.
The enthusiasm was even greater than
the night before; there were many
women present, and not a few children.
It was difficult, and to Louis very
odious, to be obliged to keep up the
fiction of being unable to speak English.
But they did not betray themselves;
and Steffan, in high good humor, treated
them to ice-cream and cakes after the
performance was over. That night he
counted thirty -five dollars, some of
which he lost playing cards after the
children had gone to bed. But he
recovered his losses later, and retired to
rest at four o'clock in the morning, with
a gain of twenty dollars in his pocket.

He took the children for a drive
next day, and informed them that
they would leave the town sometime
on Sunday, by the short railroad that
conveyed the miners to and from the
large town where the corporation had
its plants and offices. Every day they
remained increased the danger of dis-
covery, and he wanted to move on.

But their departure took place some-
what sooner than he had anticipated.
That night, while the dance was in
progress, and the tired brother and
sister, clouds of dust penetrating their
eyes and nostrils, were longing for the
time when they should be released from
their now painful task, Steffan, march-
ing up and down the stage as he played
the violin, saw a tall form pass through
the entrance. It was that of a man

with snow-white hair and venerable
features, accompanied by another man,
short, fat and florid, in whom the kid-
napper immediately recognized Father
Garyo and the stableman. Murphy.

"The game is up ! " he said to himself;
and then, with his usual quickness of
mind, summoned his wits to his aid.

It seemed to him that, rather than
make a disturbance, the priest would
await the close of the dance before
presenting himself; and Steffan hoped
to gain time by a device which flashed
across his fertile mind.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," he
announced, as the perspiring couples
paused from their joyous labor, "we
have prepared a little treat for you, in
acknowledgment of your kindness. We
will make a change in our costumes,
and you will at once recognize some-
thing which will recall to you our
native land."

Then, leading the children by the
hands, he retired to the dressing-room.

" Hasten ! " he said in a whisper.
" Come away from here at once. Father
Garyo is in the audience!"

" Now — without getting our clothes ? "
asked Louis.

"Yes, now — at once! You have your
music and I have mine. That is all
we need. Come! "

And, thrusting them before him, they
passed quickly into the dark road, and
were soon toiling wearily over the hills
through the silence and desolation of
midnight.

(To be continued.)

Bell Screeds.

Upon a bell made in the fifteenth
century is engraved this quaint verse:

When I rynge, God's prayers synge;
When I toule, pray heart and soule.

Another bell used before the Blessed
Sacrament has this inscription:

I, sweetly tolling, men do call

To taste on meat that feeds the soul.

TliL AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

127

— A committee of English bishops is considering
the question of a uniform hymn-book for the use
of Catholics in England.

— A copy of the fourth quarto edition of
Shakespeare's "Richard III." sold in London
the other day for the respectable sum of $8,750.
The copy is said to contain five autographs of
William Penn, the founder of Pennsylvania.

— Blessed J.-M.-B. Vianney has been made the
subject of a notable poetic work by Father
Longhaye, S. J. The poem is in the form of an
oratorio ; and when a competent artist is found,
as one certainly will be, to write a congruous
musical score, the Cur^ of Ars will be fittingly
glorified by the most expressive of the fine arts,
music wedded to immortal song.

— A series of handbooks for the Catholic clergy,
similar to the excellent one for Anglican parsons,
edited by A.W. Robinson, B. D., and published by
Longmans, Green & Co., is announced. The
volumes will be issued, under the editorship of
Mgr. Canon Ward and the Rev. H. Thurston,
S. J., by the same publishing house. We hope
the form of the first series will be followed.

— The French journal, Le Soleil, remarks that
M. Combes' thesis on "The Psychology of St.
Thomas Aquinas," which sold a few years ago
for ten cents, has now attained the respectable
price of five dollars. The new edition is in large
octavo form and makes a book of 528 pages.
It bears the date 1860, when the discredited
politician was a professor of logic and a Catholic.

— "Notes on Christian Doctrine," by the Most
Rev. Edward G. Bagshawe, D. D., is a capital
presentation of the doctrines of the Church, with
excellent suggestions for preachers and catechists.
It is a book of special merit, as every reader
will discover. It deserves to be better known.
We are delighted to notice that a second edition
has just been issued by Kegan Paul, Trench,
Trijbner & Co.

— "The House of Cards," a novel by John
Heigh, has a title which, in the memory of the
present writer, has a connotation of flimsiness,
instability, and general unsoundness. No such
metaphorical meaning, however, is attached to
the phrase as here employed. It is merely the
equivalent of "the Cards family." While not
particularly luaid in its opening pages, the story
improves in style and interest as it proceeds;
and one grows to like the "sometime Major
U. S. V." who does the the telling of it. The John
Heigh who figures as the author on its title-
page is suspected by some to be Dr. S. Weir
Mitchell ; by others, Mr. James Lane Allen is

thought to be the owner of the pseudonym.
Whether he be either or neither, John Heigh has
written a readable novel, with many a bright
bit of epigrammatic philosophy to spice its pages.
The Macmillan Company.

— It is gratifying to hear that the English
Catholic Truth Society's Library for the Blind
now contains over seventy volumes in Braille
type — tales, biographies, devotional books, etc.
Persons interested in such publications should
communicate with the Hon. Mrs. Eraser, 69
Southwark Bridge Road, London, S. E.

. — "A Gleaner's Sheaf," compiled by an Ursuline
nun, is an excellent collection of pious thoughts
in prose and verse. We are glad to see such names
as Cardinal Newman and Bishop Hedley among
the authors cited. The concluding selection is St.
Augustine's favorite ejaculation: "Say to my
soul, I am thy Salvation." R. & T. Washbourne
and Benziger Brothers, publishers.

— The Stanislaus Julien prize ($500) for the
.current year has been awarded by the French

Academy of Inscriptions and Belles- Lettres to
Father Leo Wieger, S. J., for his work, " The Rudi-
ments of Chinese Speaking." It is consoling to*
know that France's scholars, if not her rulers,
recognize and appreciate the service which French
missionaries are constantly rendering to their
country.

— "A Child's Influence," by Madame Cecilia,
published by R. & T. Washbourne, is a taking
little drama in three acts, requiring seven char-
acters and little change of scenery. It is a ten-
derly pathetic play, the central idea of which is the
influence exerted on a sorrow-worn heart by an
amiable, unspoiled child. Another play which we
can heartily recommend to schools and societies
is"Clotilde of France," adapted from "lerne of
Arraorica," by the Ursulines of St. Teresa, New
Rochelle, New York.

— The contents of the initial number of the New
York Review will be sure to interest every reader
to whom such a periodical appeals. It begins
brilliantly. "The Spirit of Newman's Apolo-
getics," by Wilfrid Ward, and "Catholicity and
Free Thought," by George Fonsegrive. the leading
articles, are of special value and timeliness. The
other papers are hardly less important. Father
Gigot's "Studies on the Synoptic Gospels," and
" Recent Views on Biblical Inspiration," by Dr.
Driscoll, are first instalments of what promise
to be exceptionally informing articles. Both of
these writers have already done excellent work
in their chosen field. The notes and book reviews
are competent and of present interest. Our best

128

THE AVE MARIA.

wish for this new review Is that it may maintain
the standard set for itself in the initial number.
It is intended to be "A Journal of the Ancient
Faith and Modern Thought." We shall look to
it for a solution of new problems and such a
restatement of theological positions as scientific
and historical research have demanded.

—From the American Book Co. we have received
three suggestive text -books for the little folks:
"Nature Study," by F. Overton; "Half Hours
with the Lower Animals," by C. F. Holder; and
"David Copperfield" and "Oliver Twist," retold
by A. D. Severance. Other new schoolbooks
(published by Ginn & Co.) are "The Story of
Columbus and Magellan," by T. B. Lawler; and
"Short Studies from American History," by A. F.
Blaisdell. Both are attractively published and
should be valuable adjuncts in the class-room.

— "Specimen Letters," selected and edited by
Messrs. A. S. Cook and A. R. Benham, of the Yale
faculty, and published by Ginn & Co., will be
especially welcome to teachers who have felt
the difficulty of restoring the art of letter-writing
to its old place in the school curriculum. There
is a splendid variety, the letters including such
writers as Addison and Pope, Swift and Gray,
Franklin and Walpole, Lamb and Southey,
^Stevenson and Lowell. The examples given
should teach the charm of naturalness in letters,
and this alone commends the book.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest boolcs will
appear at the head, older ones being dropped oat
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rale, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will be imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad.
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"Notes on Christian Doctrine." Most Rev.

Edward Bagshaw^D. D. $1.35, net.
"The House of Cards." John Heigh. $1.50.
" The Transplanting of Tegsie." Mary T. Wagga-

man. 60 cts.
"The Sacrifice of the Mass." Very Rev. Alex.

.McDonald, D. D. 60 cts., net.
"The Knowableness of God." Rev. Matthew

Schumacher, C. S. C. 50 cts.
"The Blessed Virgin in the Nineteenth Century;

Apparitions, Revelations, Graces." Bernard

St. John. $1.75, net.

'The Imitation of Christ." Sir Francis R. Cruise.

30 cts.
' The Redemptorists at Annapolis." $2.
' The House of God and Other Addresses and

Studies." Very Rev. Thomas J. Shahan, D. D.

$1.50, net.
'The Lodestar." Sidney R. Kennedy. $1.50..
'Nut- Brown Joan." Marion Ames Taggart.

$1.50.
'Beyond Chance of Change." Sara Andrew

Shafer. $1.50.
'The Gospel According to St. Mark." Madame

Cecilia. $1.25.
'The Devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus."

Rev. H. Noldin, S. J. $125.
' The Life and Letters of Eliza Allen Starr." Rev.

James J. McGoverii. $5.
' Holy Confidence." Father Rogacci, S. J. 60 cts.,

net.

Obituary.

Remember tbem that are in bands. — Heb., xill, 3.

Rev. Eugene Smyth, of the archdiocese of
New York.

Mr. Jesse Zane, of Philadelphia, Pa. ; Mrs.
Charles Michel, Charleston, S. C; Miss Johanna
Hogan, Denver, Colo.; Mr. Conrad Lind, Hunt-
ington, Ind. ; Miss Frances Carroll, Dorchester,
Mass.; Mr. Joseph Kuhn, Youngstown, Ohio;
Mrs. Johanna Murphy, Pawtucket, R. I. ; Mr. J.
A. Gunshanan, Hartford, Conn. ; Miss Catherine
Sullivan, S. Braintree, Mass. ; Mr. J. Kneffler,
Massillon, Ohio; Mr. William Cotter, Mr. Richard
Mooney and Miss Ellen Lawlor, Derby, Conn.;
Mrs. Margaret Herr, Toledo, Ohio; Hon. John
Mulkey, Metropolis, 111. ; Mrs. C. McLaughlin,
Providence, R. I. ; Mr. J. B. Richard, Danielson,
Conn. ; and Mrs. Arthur Salmons, Bridgeport,
Conn.

Requiescaat in pace !

Our Contribution Box.

"Thy Father, who aeetb in secret, will repay thee."
For the seminary at Harar, E. Africa:

J. F., $10.
Father Stroebele's mission boat:

J. R., $5; G. H. R., $2. ,

Three poor missionaries :

F. S. H., $30 ; E. S., $3 ; F. Mc, $3 ; D. D., $10.
The leper priest at Mandalay, Burma:

"Subscriber," $5; R. C.,$5; poor widow, $5 ;

E,J.B.,$1; A.M.D.,$5; L.A.D.,$3; S.M.M.,

^i; M.H.N.,$5; Mrs.J.S. M'C, $1; B.H., $3.

HENCEFORTH ALL OENERATIONS SMALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUK€, I. 4«.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, JULY 29, 1905.

NO.

[ Published every Satuiday. Copyright: Rev. D. E. Hudson, CSC]

Hymn to Mary.

BY L. F. MURPHY.

we bring thee, sweet Mother of

WHAT shall
^^ Jesus.'

What shall we place on thy dear altar-shrine?
Flowers the fairest our bright earth can offer,

See, dearest Mother, already are thine !

Lilies that breathe of the heart's pure intention,
Roses that tell of our love, have been laid ;

Lips can not utter and hearts can not summon
Else that would please thee, blest Mother and Maid.

Hear, then, O Mary, our voices repeating
All thy rare glory the ages have told !

Fresh from our hearts springs the glorious greeting,
Breathed from the lips of the Angel of old:

Hail, full of grace, gentle Mother of Jesus I
Hail, full of grace; for Our Lord is with thee,—

Purest and best of the maids of creation.
Chosen the Saviour's dear Mother to be !

Bless all thy children, O beautiful Mother;

Guide us and guard us till death comes ; and th?n
Show us thy glory in heaven, sweet Mother,—

Show us the face of our Saviour. Amen !

Santiago.

BY AUGUSTO F. VILLEGAS. *

OW fruitless are the eflForts of
historians to separate the true
^ from the false in the deeds of
'^ remote ages ! What matters it,
for instance, whether Tubal or Tarsis
or another was the founder of Iberia ?
or that the history of Florinda is
fiction ? Who knows for certain
whether the exploits of Bernardo of
Carpio are true or fictitious ? What do

we gain by knowing? At the end of
a thousand years, even true history
appears legendary. And still I think
that legends are truer than history.
This is not paradoxical. The legeiid
is the work of the people; if they
misrepresent facts in exterior features,
they do not necessarily falsify them in
essential points. It is true that neither
Ferdinand Gonzalez nor Cid Roderick
was such as romances and poems depict
him; but can we not recognize that
popular fancy has made them symbols
which typify all the characteristics and
warlike virtues of the Spanish chiefs of
the Middle Ages ? In this sense, the
poem of the Cid and that of Gonzalez
are truer than the chronicles which were
written under the monarchical power.
To believe implicitly in the traditions
and legends which exist in Spain, and
particularly in Galicia, in regard to San
Yago, or St. James, would be absurd.
Yet, through the fictitious details and
marvels with which the simple faith of
the people have adorned these legends,
we can perceive the spiritual feeling
of the Spaniards at the time of the
Conquest. I shall try to relate briefly
a resume of the legend of St. James,
leaving it to the reader to separate
the true from the false.

We are told that St. James the Greater,
son of Zebedee, the poor fisherman of
Bethsaida, after preaching the Gospel in
Judea and Samaria, decided to spread
the good word among the towns of
the Spanish Peninsula, and he accom-

• Translated for Thb Ate Masia by U. S. M.

130

THE AVE MARIA.

plished it in this way. Accompanied
by several of his disciples, he embarked
at Joppa (now called Jaifa), crossed
the Mediterraneap and disembarked
at Carthagena. Preaching from town
to town, and frequently suffering severe
persecution, he travelled to Iliberis
(to-day called Granada), traversed
Andalusia, visited Toledo, penetrated
into Portugal, and arrived at Galicia.
According to appearances, Galicia was
the land of his choice ; and Iria Flavia,
on the beautiful Arosa River, w^as his
favorite residence.

There is no doubt that St. James'
eloquence, which had caused him to be
sumamed Son of Thunder, was the
means of converting many people in
Galicia. The Apostle could not, how^-
ever, remain long among his beloved
Galicians. The persecutions which the
young Church was suffering in the
Orient demanded his presence there;
and, abandoning Spain, he went to
Palestine, preaching to the people the
word of the Gospel, vigorously attack-
ing the Scribes and Pharisees, convert-
ing to Christianity some of his most
hardened persecutors, and receiving in
the end the crown of martyrdom, by
being beheaded on the 25th of March,
in the year of Our Lord 44.

The body of the saint was left by his
persecutors as food for the vultures ;
but his disciples hastened to secure it,
'and, remembering the Apostle's great
love for Galicia, they decided to remove
the remains to Iria Flavia. From the
port of Jaffa, where formerly St. James
had embarked for Spain, his disciples
now departed with his body. It was
a frail bark in which they sailed, but
God protected them against the perils of
the sea; and so it was that, without
any mishaps, they arrived at the Arosa
River on the 25th of July, landing
with the sacred relics at a beach called
La Barca. For a long time a stone
in the form of a boat could be seen
near the church of Santiago, in remem-

brance of the boat which carried the
Apostle across the sea. There was also
a stone column, which the people of
the country called Pedron, in which,
according to tradition, was deposited
the body of the saint, and to which
the boat was moored. The followers
of the saint buried their beloved master
in a place called Liberura Donum,
nearly eight miles from the Pedron.

As many as eight centuries succeeded
these events before the advent of Alfonso
the Chaste to the Spanish throne.
Spain had passed under Roman rule,
the invasion of the barbarians, the
Visigothian monarchy, and the Sara-
cenic conquest. Of the sepulchre of St.
James no one had any recollection. The
church which was built on the ground
called Liberum Donum (corrupted into
Libredon) was destroyed, and on its
ruins was a dense tangled growth of
shrubs and underbrush. Tradition says
that such was the case when Theodore,
Archbishop of the See of Iria Flavia, in
the reign of Alfonso the Chaste, was
told by some of his diocesan flock that
mysterious lights could be seen in the
night in the grove of the Libredon,
and that there could be heard beautiful
singing, which, no doubt, announced
some celestial miracle.

Archbishop Theodore went to the
spot; and, after preparing himself by
prayers and fasting, discovered the tomb
of the Apostle. No less rejoiced than
the Archbishop at the good news, the
King, accompanied by several prelates
and wealthy men, went to pray at
the tomb of the saint, and ordered a
church to be built there, extending the
diocese of the Archbishop three miles.
Such was the origin of Compostela,—
later on called the city of Santiago.

The news of the miraculous discovery
of the sepulchre of the Apostle spread
not only through Spain but also to
the remotest Christian countries; and
from all parts, in the garb of pilgrims,
came princes, priests, nobles, peasants,

THE AVE MARIA.

131

I

I

and rude men of arms. Adorned with
shells and carrying in their hands
gnarled staffs, they followed the road
to Compostela; some of them doing
severe penance, others anxious to pray
before the sacred relics, all of them
moved bj' the sincere faith which accom-
plished the prodigies of the Middle Ages.
The trip was a hazardous one. To
reach the Iria Flavia, the pilgrims
were obliged to expose themselves to
the mercy of the sea, 6t traverse a long
road through dense forests, crossing
precipitous torrents, climbing mountain-
ous heights, risking the attacks of the
Moors who occupied a large part of
the Peninsula, or exposing themselves
to the robbers who infested the routes.

The pilgrims wore shells sewed on
their rolies and hats. The origin which
tradition attributes to this custom is
a curious one. It is said that a Moorish
nobleman was travelling on a stormy
night along the wild Galician coast,
toward the castle where his wife was
awaiting him, when his horse became
frightened and both horse and rider fell
into the sea. At this minute the small
boat which contained the remains of
the Apostle came ploughing the waves ;
under the keel of the frail bark the
waves were lulled, and the terrific wind
as it touched the sail became a soft
breeze. Sustained by a miraculous
strength, the knight was able to reach
the shore, where the bark arrived as
well; and, attributing his preservation
to the holy relics, he adorned his person
with shells which he found on the
beach, as a proof of his miraculous
escape and in remembrance of it.

This is a digression, but we shall
return now to the origin and growth
of Santiago. As a historian has very
aptly said, Christian Europe, without
realizing it, has constructed a city
around a tomb. Various calamities fell
on Siintiago. First, the fierce Normans
entered it with fire and sword ; after
that, Almanzar conquered and sacked

the city, despoiling the temple, and
forcing the Christians to carry the
bells on their shoulders to Cordoba, to
serve as lamps in the "Grand Mosque of
the Occident. In spite of this, Santiago
was spreading; and the magnanimity
of the kings, together with the alms
and donations of the pilgrims and the
zeal of the clergy, not only enlarged the
church and adorned it with wonderful
things, like the Portal of Gloi-y, but
also contributed to the growth of the
cit3', enriching it with numerous public
buildings and churches, with magnifi-
cent monuments, inns, and hospitals.
The ancient town, which in the ninth
century contained not more than four
hundred inhabitants, in the fourteenth
century was the first city of Galicia.

At that time they began to celebrate
the Feast of St. James on the 24th
and 25th of July. It was a sight
to behold the multitude of devout
pilgrims, composed principally of the
peasantry of different countries, wend-
ing their way in groups to the ' ' Cross
of the Harapos," to change their old
robes of sackcloth for the new ones
adorned with shells with which the
city presented them. The nave of the
cathedral was occupied by the faithful,
and filled with fragrant fumes from the
incensories; troops of noblemen were
there, with their beautiful standards
representing the different nationalities;
public dances and banquets were given ;
and above all this animated picturd
the bells of the churches pealed forth
wildly, mingling their tones with the
music of the oboes and flageolets and
the noise of the fireworks.

Six centuries have passed since then.
True it is that the faith has cooled ;
that now the pilgrim docs not don a
robe covered with shells to prostrate
himself before the sepulchre of the
Apostle, nor believe that the Road of
St. James is marked in the heavens by
the Milky Way. To-day the soldier
does not invoke the name of the saint

132

THE AYE MARIA.

with the glorious cry of Santiago,
cierra, a Espaha! Neither does he
beheve that the patron of Spain can
be seen riding in the clouds on a
milk-white horse. But the peasants
of Galicia, nevertheless, gather joyfully
in holiday dress to celebrate the feast
of Santiago. Still further, the pious
custom attracts not a few tourists;
and last year Alfonso the Thirteenth,
as in olden times Alfonso the Chaste,
Alfonso the Great, and so many other
monarchs have done, prostrated himself
before the sepulchre of the saint, thus
showing reverence to the faith of the
city and to the glory of his country.

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SADLIER.

XXVIIL — (Continued.)

UDDENLY Miss Tabitha heard
the latch of the gate click, a
quick step upon the garden path,
and the voice of Leonora talking
light, pleasant strain to Mary
The happy ring in her voice, that
something which love and happiness
alone can impart, smote upon the
spinster with a feeling akin to terror.
Was this another injustice which she
was about to commit in the sight of
high Heaven? Yet the conjecture did
not in any wise change her purpose.
That was inflexibly fixed. Better, she
thought, to sacrifice Leonora than to
sacrifice them all; the more so as her
niece's marriage would in any case be
]3revented should Eben Knox carry out
his purpose. The Brethertons would see
in Leonora — or so Tabitha fancied —
a proximate cause of misfortune to
their family, and the near relative of
one who was implicated in the crime.
Miss Tabitha was, in her own way,
fond of the girl, but there was little
real sympathy between them. Their

natures touched, so to say, at no vital
point; and the difference of religion,
which Tabitha resented, had no doubt
a controlling influence in the matter.
She was proud of her niece, admired
her beauty, and even loved her. The
girl's company had been a great solace
to her loneliness. In the ordinary course
of affairs, if she had not been involved
in this strange, dark tangle, she would
have gloried in Leonora's success, and
would, after the manner of maiden
aunts, have unquestionably indulged in
the gentle pastime of matchmaking.

The shadow of Eben Knox had been
darkly projected across her path,
though for years she had been lulled
into a false security by the manager's
holding his peace. The coming of young
Mr. Bretherton had disturbed this
fictitious calm, and his instantaneous
attraction toward her niece had been
as the spark which caused the ignition
of that inflammable material which
had lain darkly in the gloom of the
mill-house. As matters stood, whatever
of tenderness or loyalty belonged to
Miss Tabitha's nature had early centred
round the Brethertons, and for them
she was prepared to make almost
any sacrifice.

Hearing Leonora's approach, Tabitha
rose from her knees and seated herself
mechanically beside the hearth, where
scarcely a spark remained. So pinched,
so gray, so haggard did she appear,
with the drawn, strained look about
her eyes, that Leonora, catching the
gleam of lamplight upon her aunt's face,
started. She herself formed as complete
an antithesis as possible to her aged
relative. Her plain, perfectly fitting
costume was eminently becoming; her
cheeks were glowing with a delicate,
peach-like bloom, the result of her walk.
Her eyes were softly shadowed by a
gravity which seemed the reflex of that
Benediction whereat she had assisted in
the deep peace of the convent chapel ;
yet there was in their depths a light of

THE AVE MARIA.

133

that earthly happiness, which played in
the smile about her lips and warmed the
whole countenance into an expression
intensely human, entirely lovable.

She had been in consultation at the
convent with the old chaplain, whom
she had known since her childhood ;
and he had given her advice which
had been as exceedingly palatable as
it was wise and just. He had strongly
urged upon her the advisability of
marrying young Mr. Bretherton. In his
opinion, there was no good or sufficient
reason against the match; and he
warned her that, at the outset of a
young man's career, such a disappoint-
ment as would be her refusal often
resulted disastrously. He was convinced
that the Go.vernor and Mrs. Bretherton
were far too good Christians to enter-
tain any serious opposition to a match
desirable in every way save that of
worldly expediencj-.

All the way homeward, under the
darkened trees, in the deep gloom of
the autumn twilight, she had indulged
in a long, happy reverie, whereof the
central figure had been tall, erect and
vigorous, with a brown-tinted, clear-
cut face, a chin showing character and
determination, and eyes full of fire and
intelligence. In short, she had been
thinking of j-oung Mr. Bretherton, and
of that answer which she must now
give him. She was convinced that this
time it should be a favorable one;
for, after all, what could life offer to
either of them in comparison to their
love? It was not the futile fancy often
dignified by that name, but an affection
founded on sympathy and early asso-
ciation, and sanctioned by both reason
and faith. Theirs was a love destined
not to pass away like the breath of a
summer breeze, but to ripen and deepen
in the course of years. They could each
attain their full growth only in each
other's society.

Hence Leonora was convinced that
.sh« would be a good m^tgh for Jim

Bretherton in a far higher sense than
that of the conventional phrase. He
might marry an heiress or a woman
of fashion and never grow or develop
in any sense. Her aspirations for him
were of the highest. She wanted him, in
loving her, to be at his best ; and she
knew that she could charm, interest,
delight him as it was not likely any
other woman would ever be able to do.
This was an intuitive conviction which
had nothing to do with vanity; and
it added to her personality, when in
her lover's society, a rare and subtle
attraction.

As for herself, it did not require a very
searching analysis to determine that
the young heir of the Manor had been,
during all these years, almost as vital a
part of her life as the air she breathed.
She had loved Millbrook for his sake.
When she had been absent, she had
returned thither gladly and with a
warm, living interest in itself and all
its surroundings. This, she knew now,
had had its origin in the garden at
Rose Cottage, when she had played
and quarrelled with the young gentle-
man from the Manor. It was his
personality which had lent beauty to
Millbrook and its homely surroundings
even when he was far away, and,
manlike, careless to some extent of all
that he had left behind. But scarcely
had he returned to the familiar scenes
when that mysterious attraction had
seized upon him, and he had uncon-
sciously turned toward Rose Cottage
in search of some lost sweetness.

Having fully realized these things,
and having fully given herself up to the
prospect of happiness opening before
her, she had been altogether heedless of
the cheerless darkness of the evening,
the howling wind and the spectral
trees. Entering the cottage, she had
found her aunt crouching over the
dying embers with a helpless, bewjldered
look upon a fac? vy'hicl; had growi^
suddenly aged,

134

THE AVE MARIA.

Leonora, vaguely reproaching herself
for neglect, hastened forward to see
what could be done with the fire, which
she presently stirred into a cheerful
blaze. She turned up the lamp, drew
the curtains, and restored the room to
some semblance of its ordinary life and
colors; after which she hastened to
the kitchen to hurry Mary Jane with
the tea, since Aunt Tabitha so evidently
needed to be revived. She thought that
the old lady was merely chilled and
depressed. She began to have other
thoughts about the niatter, however,
during the course of a chat with Mary
Jane, — a chat which lasted during the
interval of preparing tea.

"Mr. Craft, he come to see your
aunt," began the garrulous hand-
maiden. "But Mr. Knox from the
mill, he was in there first. I never was
so scared in my life as when I opened
that parlor door and seen him settin'
there, for all the world like the scare-
crow over to Sim Todd's field. I just
let a screech out of me, and Miss
Tabithy told me to go out, and I ran.
She looked kinder scared of him, too;
most everyone is, I guess."

"Poor Mr. Knox! He's harmless
enough, I dare say," Leonora replied
carelessly. "But I do wish, Mary Jane,
you had put a log on the fire instead
of screeching and running away. Aunt
Tabitha looks as if she'd had a chill."

"She ain't got no chill," Mary Jane
argued. "She always looks like that
when he's round. And I couldn't put
any wood on the fire when Miss
Tabithj' told me to go out. Anyway,
I'm scared of him, I am."

Leonora laughed. Laughter came
readily, she was so very happy.

"You have a strong imagination,
Mary Jane," she said, while she went
on delicately browning the muffins.

Mary Jane made the toast, and gave
an occasional stir to a savory mince
of mutton which was simmering over
the fire. She put a fresh piece of bread

upon the toasting-fork, while her face,
scorched in the heat of the coal fire,
glowed crimson; then she gazed at
Leonora, and asked abruptly :

"You ain't ever thinkin' of marryin'
Mr. Knox?"

"Marrying Mr. Knox?" exclaimed
Leonora. "Oh, no, indeed! But how
did you ever come to think of such
a thing?"

"There was some talk about it
down to Jackson's store the other
night. Tommy Briggs and Reuben
Jackson, they were most wild when
they heard of it; and Miss Spencer
gave Mr. Venn, the butcher, the worst
dressin' you ever heard, because he said
it would be a mighty good thing for
you. Miss Lenora, — that you could have
lots of good butcher's meat."

Leonora laughed again.

"How very absurd, ridiculous!" she
said, half vexed,

"He's comin' here after you, — every-
one can see that; and he's awful fond
of you."

Leonora shuddered ; the thought was
distasteful.

" Everyone says," Mary Jane con-
tinued, "that you're goin' to marry him
for his money."

"I shan't marry him or any one else
for money!" exclaimed Leonora, hotly.

"Folks say," Mary Jane persisted,
"that young Mr. Bretherton likes you
a lot, too ; and I guess any one could
see that with half an eye when you and
him was doin' them picters together.
And he did look awful handsome,
he did!"

Leonora listened with smiling eyes.
Vividly before her came those mimic
scenes upon the stage, and the strain
of "Amaryllis" seemed to sound in her
ears ; but she onlj- observed lightly :

"What a lot of things folks say!"

"Most say that you like him, too,"
ventured the audacious Mary Jane.

" Who runs may read," thought
Leonora; but aloud she remarked:

THE AYE MARIA.

135

"'Folks' seem very busy with me and
my affairs."

"Yes," said Mary Jane, in perfectly
good faith ; " and they say it's a mortal
pity for Miss TaTjithy to let Mr. Knox
come round here and have the chance
to say that he's goin' to marry you."

"He never said so!" exclaimed Miss
Chandler, aghast.

"I guess he just did. There was a
man come over from Nashua the other
day and he told Reuben Jackson so,
and Reube pretty nigh kicked the feller
out of the shop. But Dave heard Mr.
Knox tellin' lots of men, that come to
the mill from the country round, that
he was goin' to be married pretty soon
to the handsomest girl in Millbrook."

"Of course he thinks his girl the
handsomest," said Leonora, intent on
the muffins; "but, whoever she may
be, her name is not Chandler."

"He said it was," persisted Mary
Jane. "Dave heard him tellin' folks
that he was goin' to marry the niece of
old Miss Brown over to Rose Cottage."

Leonora's face flushed with indigna-
tion, and there was a thoughtful look
in her eyes ; but she answered lightly :

"Either Mr. Knox or Dave was
drawing the long bow that time."

"Dave wasn't!" Mary Jane declared.
"And I know one thing, Miss Lenora, —
that if I had a beau like young Mr.
Bretherton, I wouldn't have that horrid
Mr. Knox comin' round, and I'd tell
Miss Tabithy so, flat to her face."

"Mary Jane risen in revolt!" cried
Leonora, with eyes full of laughter.

She did not like the girl's allusions
to Jim Bretherton ; but in her present
happy mood— fitting into her naturally
genial humor, which wished well to
all mankind, — she hesitated to rebuke
Mary Jane's forwardness, especially as
she knew that it was actuated by a
genuine, if clumsily expressed, good will.
In that glow at the heart which
possessed her at thought of her good

(To be

fortune, she was disposed to be lenient
with everyone.

"You shouldn't be too hard on
Mr. Knox," she observed. "You must
remember he is your beau's 'boss,' —
isn't that the word ? By the way, when
are you and Dave thinking of getting
married?"

Mary Jane giggled shamefacedly but
delightedly, as she answered:

"Pshaw, Miss Lenora! I ain't goin'
to get married this long time."

" Oh, Dave will have something to say
to that! He seems very fond of you."

Mary Jane's face could not get any
redder, because of the unnatural hue
it had already assumed from the stove ;
but a smile of radiant content over-
spread her visage. For her life was
brighter and her duties less onerous
because of that lank and freckled
stripling who at morning and evening
paused for a few half-shamefaced words
with her at the gate.

The shadows of the kitchen, mingling
with the firelight, flickered and played
upon the two girls, so widely differing
in every particular, and yet made akin
by a touch of nature.

Leonora had just finished brewing
the tea, which she always did herself;
and she hurried Mary Jane.

"If that toast is ready," she directed,
"you had better bring in everything.
I know poor Aunt Tabitha is in need
of a good cup of tea to cheer her up."

Leonora passed into the sitting-room,
with her shining face and her glow or
happiness, which seemed to bring with
it a visible light. Aunt Tabitha saw
and resented this happiness as a distinct
menace to those plans which she had
formed ; but it nevertheless had an
effect upon her. It improved the moral
atmosphere of the room, and, together
with the viands, hot and tempting,
which were presently put upon the
table, somewhat aroused the hapless
lady from her slough of despond.

continued. )

136

THE AVE MARIA.

Bernard Pendrel's Sacrifice.

BY MARY CROSS.

^^=v HOUGH he was not exactly an
vl/ old man, popular opinion had
placed Sir Anthony Pendrel in the ranks
of confirmed bachelofs; and when, sotoe
few years before the date of this nar-
rative, he had brought the widow and
the only son of his younger brother
to live with him at the manor, it
was generally understood that he had
thereby "settled the succession," and
fixed upon his heir; and everyone
agreed that young Bernard Pendrel's
lines had fallen in pleasant places.

The quaint Tudor mansion, which
had figured in many a picture and
served as the "locale" of many a
historical romance, lay bathed in the
rosy incense of a summer evening ; cut
deep above the portal were the Pendrel
arms and motto, draped in immemorial
ivy; the many windows flashed back
the lingering light.

From the long green slope of lawn
and the shelter of a spreading oak tree,
Bernard surveyed the old house, loving
its every stone, its every tradition ;
whilst a pretty girl, dressed in the
extreme of fashion, who occupied a
basket-chair near him, studied his clear-
cut profile and handsome head with
a complacent air of proprietorship. It
was so seldom, in her experience, that
good looks and a full purse went
together that she felt herself a specially
favored ^hild of Fortune in being en-
gaged to a young man who had both,
and who would probably prove a
sufficiently obedient husband.

Near the little tea table Mrs. Pendrel,
white-haired and stately, fanned herself
in serene contentment.

"A penny for your thoughts, Ber-
nard!" said the girl suddenly.

"Alas, you don't intend that munifi-
cent offer to be accepted ! " said he. " It

is only your ostentatious way of letting
me know that you have a penny."

"And that is only your evasive way
of declining to tell me your thoughts.
Do you know that a. habit of abstrac-
tion is growing upon you ? I'd rather
you did not brood over your secret
crimes in my presence. It is anything
but complimentary."

"If you are so severe, Hilda, I shall
faint."

"Simpson will soon revive you with
the hose," said she, glancing toward
the distant figure of the gardener amidst
fragrant, flowering bushes.

The sound of the spraying water on
the leaves was cool and refreshing;
roses and lavender yielded tribute to
the soft breeze; there was a cloud of
birds in the sky; and a minute point of
light expanding into the evening star.

The clash of a gate, a quick, decided
step that gradually drew nearer and
nearer, and then Sir Anthony came
in sight; and the peaceful scene, the
happy united group were broken up
forever.

Sir Anthony was handsome and
upright still, with keen blue eyes and
an obstinate mouth, a line between his
brows indicating a tendency to frown.
He was obviously in an ill humor;
and Mrs. Pendrel looked at him with
some trepidation, knowing the cyclonic
nature of his "tempers." He accepted
a cup of tea from Hilda's fair hand,
but set it down untasted.

"What is this I hear about you,
Bernard?" he began brusquely. "Is it
true that you are in the habit of going
to the Roman Catholic chapel?"

"I have been there rather frequently
of late," confessed Bernard, at which
Hilda's color rose. How stupid of him
to offend his uncle, on whose favor so,
much depended!

"What on earth took you there?"
demanded Sir Anthony, who, like Queen
Elizabeth, meddled with no man's
conscience but prohibited every religion

THE AVE MARIA.

13?

except his own. "Is the mummer}' so
very entertaining?"

" .\propos of entertainments, we must
go to that concert on Thursday,"
struck in Mrs. Pendrel, in the feeble
hope of effecting a change of subject;
but Sir Anthony waved the transparent
device aside.

"I'll trouble Bernard to answer my
question," he said. "I am anxious to
know why he went into the chapel, in
the first place."

"It was very simple," replied Ber-
nard, to whom his mother's distressed
face appealed. " I was near the chapel
one day, and met two children going
to their father's grave with flowers.
They were crying, and I tried to com-
fort thei;i, and went with them whilst
they arranged their little crosses on
the humble grassy mound. Then they
knelt down and prayed for their
father's eternal rest. On every grave-
stone I read the inscription, 'Of your
charity, pray for the soul'; and I
realized for the first time that I
belonged to a church which does not
sanction my praying for the dead,
however near and dear. I could not,
like those children, ask God to have
mercy on the soul of my father. The
contrast between their belief and
practice and my own struck me pain-
fully, and I went into the chapel to see
if there were other points of difference
as striking, and — "

"For my part, I am not so conceited
as to imagine that my dear and dead
ones can't get into heaven without
my prayers," interrupted Sir Anthony,
sharply. "My good lad, priests in-
vented purgatory to fill their own
pockets, not to comfort the bereaved
or benefit the dead."

Bernard laughed in spite of himself.

"The doctrine is a dismal failure
with P'ather O'Grady, then. When I
called on him, he was dining off hard-
boiled eggs and watery cocoa; and, if
I may so say without irreverence, his

garments and his furniture indicate the
Catholic veneration for relics rather
than anj'thing else — "

Sir Anthony's eyes flashed an inter-
ruption.

"You called on Father O'Grady!"
he exclaimed.

"Well," said Bernard, "I thought he
was the proper person to apply to
for an explanation of what I did not
understand in Catholicism."

Sir Anthony abandoned his angry
cross-examination, and surveyed his
nephew in silence for some moments.

"Now, look here, Bernard!" he then
said. " I am a plain man, and say
what I mean without equivocation or
mental reservation. I leave that sort of
thing to priests. Plainly, then, if there
is any more coquetting with Rome, you
must find a home elsewhere. If your
reverend friends have marked you down
as the heir to a fine old property, they
may meet with disappointment. These
estates are not entailed, and I will take
good care that no Romanist gets hold of
them. I am sure you understand me?"

He bowed to Hilda and went indoors,
followed by Mrs. Pendrel.

Hilda turned upon her lover angrily.

" How can you be so unnecessarily
provoking, so wilfully misleading ? "
she demanded. "To vex Sir Anthony
like that ! As if j^ou had any intention
of going over to Rome!"

" I must go where God calls me,
dear," he answered gently. " I have
been waging a spiritual warfare long
enough. And it has come to this — that
for me it is either Rome or nothing,
Catholicism or sheer unbelief. How
can one believe that the God who
careth for the falling of a sparrow
had so little regard for His human
creatures' souls that He abandoned
them for centuries to a false teacher,
left them for generation after genera-
tion to the sole guidance of an erring
church ? If Rome is not the true
Church of God, there is no God."

1S8

THE AVE MARIA.

"I can't argue,^' said Hilda, pettishly;
"but I think that if you must change
your religion, you might choose a
more— respectable one than Romanism.
Mamma says that all the beggars
and charwomen and scavengers are
Romanists."

" But St. Peter had a boat of his own,
otherwise what an ungenteel beginning
of Christianity ! " smiled Bernard.

"I am perfectly serious," said the girl,
"because this is a serious matter. If
you offend Sir Anthony, he will wash
his hands of you; and I certainly will
not marry either a Romanist or a poor
man. It is only fair to tell you that; I
don't hold myself quite as cheaply as
you seem to think."

"Hilda, don't be so unkind!" he
pleaded ; but the pretty face hardened
more and more.

"Unless you give me your word of
honor that you don't intend to be both'
wicked and foolish, you may consider
our engagement at an end," she said
hotly. "Please don't say anything at
all, if you will not say what I wish."

A carriage swept up to take the
young lady home; and Bernard, white
and silent, handed her into it, and
watched it whirl away, his lips quiver-
ing. A thunderstorm had come and
gone, with no smallest cloud beforehand
to prepare him for it.

Sir Anthony and Mrs. Pendrel were
going out to dinner; consequently
Bernard, to his relief and satisfaction,
had the evening to himself, to face the
position in undisturbed solitude. For
he recognized the crisis, and knew that
his final choice must be made, his
irrevocable decision be taken with little
or no delay. What should it be?

He shut himself into the library to
think out the problem, and began a
deliberate pacing of the long room,
full of books, and grave bronze busts
of mighty thinkers. Must he give up
this lovely home, his fair betrothed, be
estranged from his mother and his

kindred, for what might, after all, be
a delusion ? And even if Catholicism
were the truth, and for him the way
and the life, might he not temporize a
little, — remain as he was in the hope
that Sir Anthony's prejudices would
eventually be overcome ? But this night
his soul might be required of him! Yet,
why should he offend his hasty but
kindly uncle, grieve his widowed mother,
wound the heart of the girl who had
promised to be his wife ? Could it really
be right thus to hurt and distress his
dear ones, — to purchase his ow^n peace-
of mind at the cost of wrecking theirs ?
He wavered before the subtle tempta-
tion. How easily he could bring back
the sunshine to Hilda's and his mother's
face! How easily regain Sir Anthonj-'s
favor! A few simple words, a promise,
and all would be well. He would write
to Hilda, and tell her that she was
dearer to him than — than what ? Than
Truth ?

His troubled eyes rested on an old-
fashioned glass case protecting a time-
worn volume. He had never before
given it any special attention ; now to
break, though only momentarily, the
chain of agonizing thoughts, he con-
sulted the carefully compiled catalogue
for information as to the old book,
and found this record : " Breviary.
Belonged Bernard Pendrel, S. J., executed
in 1581 for high treason. Account of
trial, sentence and execution in folio
30." Then followed a detailed descrip-
tion of the Breviary.

Bernard's interest was aroused.
What manner of man had this, his
namesake, been? He found the foho
mentioned, learning from it that Father
Bernard Pendrel's treason had con-
sisted of being a priest, and exercising
the duties of his sacred office. He had
spent his life in ministering to his
afflicted flock, and in keeping alight the
lamp of faith; he had died, spurning
every temptation to apostasy, breathing
under the very knife of the executioner

THE AVE MARIA.

139

the holiest Name, saluting with his last
breath his glorious Queen and Mother
as Gabriel had saluted her long ago.

Bernard's veins ran fire. This man,
this hero, had been of his blood, of
his race. After the Revolution, the
Pendrels had "conformed," he knew;
weak, degenerate descendants of mar-
tyrs, preferring to please the creature
rather than the Creator, though the
martyr- priest had shown them which
was the better. To-night it seemed to
Bernard as if that dead hand stretched
itself from the grave in solemn warn-
ing; as if the long -silent voice rang
across the centuries with its sublime
renunciation of earthly things, its
triumphant proclamation of Christ
Crucified, reminding him that the dis-
ciples of such a Master are called
to Calvary, not to Thabor; and the
young man, falling on his knees,
besought the great company of con-
fessors and martyrs to help him along
the narrow path, so that he too,
at its ending, might hear the grand
"Well done!"

"You have pleased yourself, knowing
the consequences, Bernard," said Sir
Anthony, a week later, when Bernard
had announced his intention of being
received into the Catholic Church with-
out delay. " You can't complain that
you were not aware of what they
would be. I may be a heretic, but
I am also a man of my word, and
I meant what I said to you when we
first spoke on this subject."

"I understand," Bernard answered
quietly. Like the Son of Man, he had
not whereon to lay his head ; but he
knew that kind old Father O'Grady
would shelter him for a day or two
at least. "Believe me, uncle, I am not
thankless or ungrateful — "

"O my dear fellow, spare yourself
the trouble of making fine sjjeeches !
They are thrown away on me, and
won't alter my decision in the slightest.

Does Hilda Denison know ? What does
she say about it?"

"She has returned my ring, and
declined to see me again."

"Sensible girl! Well, Bernard, I have
only this to say to you — that I shall
not visit your folly and wickedness
on your mother. Her home is here as
long as she pleases. I am glad that
her annuity is so secured to her that
neither priest nor priestling can cajole
her out of it."

"God bless you for your kindness to
her, uncle!" said Bernard, fervently.

Sir Anthony declined his outstretched
hand, uttering a cold "Good-bye!" and
Bernard left the room for the harder
parting with his mother. He had been
prepared for all this ; he had gone
through it all beforehand in tor-
tured imagination; but the reality
was infinitely more hard and bitter.
He felt as though his very heart were
being torn out.

Stern and pale and reproachful was
Mrs. Pendrel's face as he stood before
her.

"This is a blow you might have
spared me, Bernard," she said.

"Dearest mother, what can I do?"

"Break my heart, it would seem. But
you will come back to us, you poor,
deluded boy ! You will come back, sick
and sorry and humiliated. Do not be too
sure of Anthony's forgiveness, however."

"Bless me, mother, before I leave
you!" he said, kneeling before her with
streaming eyes.

"How can I, when you are denying
God and forsaking His truths? But I
will pray for you ; and when you come
back to us, repentant and ashamed, I
will bless you." Laying her hand upon
his head, she cried aloud: "O Heavenly
Father, have mercy on this poor,
misguided soul ! Give him grace and
give me grace to do in all things Thy
will, and Thine only ! "

To that prayer Bernard answered
with a heartfelt "Amen."

140

THE AVE MARIA.

Once his nephew had left the manor
and then the little town, Sir Anthony
drove over to Hilda Denison's residence,
finding her at home and alone.

"Mother is out paying calls," she
explained; "but I hope she will return
before you go. Sir Anthony. She would
be so sorry to miss you."

"Thank you!" said he. "Look here,
child ! I scarcely know what to say to
you, I am so indignant and ashamed.
That ass, Bernard!"

Hilda held her handkerchief to her
eyes.

"I beg your pardon!" observed Sir
Anthony, reddening. " I am a clown,
and should not have mentioned his
name. But he isn't worth your tears."

"O Sir Anthony, I am not crying
about him ! It is because I am so sorry
for you ! To be treated with such base
ingratitude!"

"You are an angel! I shall get over
his conduct, no doubt; and so will
you. You are young, and there must
be sunshine in store for you."

Hilda fingered a comer of her hand-
kerchief coyly, looking at the ground
as she answered :

"As far as I am concerned, there is
not much 'getting over it' necessary.
I was mistaken in my feelings for
Bernard ; and even if this had not
happened, I should have released him
from his engagement, because — because
I found I did not care for him very
much, after all."

"Did he know this?" asked Sir
Anthony, when he had regained the
breath of which the young lady's con-
fession had momentarily' deprived him.

"No. He didn't turn to Romanism
or consolation. Sir Anthony,— if that
is what you fear."

"Well! I used to wish that I stood
in his shoes. One never knows," said
Sir Anthony, shaking his head.

"That you stood in his shoes?" she
echoed sharply.

"My dear young lady, don't be

I

offended. My admiration — my more
than admiration — for you will not be
obtruded now any more than it was
when I envied him. I am too painfully
aware of my deficiencies, my short-
comings— "

' ' Sir Anthony ! What a game of cross-
purposes we have been playing at! I
thought you only tolerated poor, silly,
frivolous me for Bernard's sake!"

" And— and— what ? Is it I you really
care for?" he stammered eagerly.

"For whom else could I?" she softly
whispered.

. i* .

Ten years had come and gone; and,
as far as Sir Anthony and Hilda were
concerned, Bernard had ceased to exist.
That he had entered the English College
at Rome and been ordained priest,
and had since returned to England,
his uncle had indirectly learned ; but
mention of him at Pendrel was pro-
hibited. Sir Anthony rejoiced in the
possession of a son and heir, and a
bright young daughter, and was as
happy as a man could be who had
been married for his money by a wilful
and selfish girl. Not long after his
marriage, Mrs. Pendrel had left the
manor, the bride objecting to her
presence there; but Sir Anthony had
provided her with another home.

And now for him had come the end
of all earthly things. A chill, a sudden,
short, severe illness, and he lay gasping
away his life, a uniformed nurse doing
the little that could be done to relieve
his sufferings. At intervals Hilda and
her mother came mto the room, recog-
nizing that the end was near.

On the last of these occasions Sir
Anthony opened his eyes and fixed
them in pitiful appeal on his wife,
craving for help and comfort none
there could give him. His mind had
travelled back across the years to the
times when his nephew, gentle and
loving, had been with him; and per-
chance he dimly discerned that in losing

THE AYE MARIA.

141

him, he had lost the purest and most
gracious influence that had stirred his
hfe. Very clearly he remembered the
evening when their estrangement had
begun, and how mildly the young man
had answered his angry questions.
He remembered the explanation of
how he had first been drawn toward
the Catholic Church — through prayer,
prayer for the dead. So foolish, so
vain, so superstitious it had seemed
then ; but now —

"Who will pray for my soul?" he
sighed.

Hilda bent over him.

"What is it, Anthony?" she asked.

"I am dying!" he said.

"Oh, no, Anthony! You will soon be
better," she replied soothingly. "Nurse
thinks so, and Dr. Brown is quite
pleased with the progress you are
making. Don't worry yourself, dear!"

"I am dying!" he repeated. "Hilda,
will you ask Bernard — "

"Ask Bernard what?" she said,
abandoning her well-meant but ftitile,
foolish attempt to deceive him as to
his condition.

"Of his charity, to pray for my soul,"
gasped Anthony.

He spoke no more; a little while,
and he had been called to render an
account of his stewardship.

There had been some delay in sending
for Mrs. Pendrel ; and when she arrived,
all was over.

To the inmates of the manor, indeed,
the death seemed to have happened
quite a long time ago. Mrs. Pendrel
found the young widow and her
mother occupied with milliners and
dressmakers; Mrs. Denison trying to
settle the vital question whether the
children's mourning should be all black,
or whether, considering their youth,
a little white might not be introduced
by way of "relief"; whilst the mother
submitted to the poising of a series of
crape and lissc l)onncts on her fair
hair, finding a diflicult^^ in selecting one

that really did become her. Locked in
a room upstairs, the dead man lay
alone; and the world — his little world
where he had been supreme master —
went smoothly on without him.

"Did Anthony mention me?" Mrs.
Pendrel inquired, in a pause of the
voluble modiste's discourse.

"Oh, 3'es! " said Hilda, sweetly. "And
Bernard too."

"What did he say about Bernard?"

"Say? Oh, that we were to ask
Bernard to pray for his soul! So
unlike poor Anthony, wasn't it?"

"A sick fancy. He was wandering
in his mind, poor man! " observed Mrs.
Denison, apologetically for Anthony.

"Was the rector with him?" Mrs.
Pendrel asked Hilda.

"N — no. Anthony didn't ask for him.
We hadn't time to send for him. It
was all so sudden, we never thought — "
she had recourse to her handkerchief

"Don't distress the poor child with
questions, dear Mrs. Pendrel!" said
Mrs. Denison. " Have you ordered your
mourning yet ? It is quite a mercy that
we must attend to these melancholy
duties, isn't it ? They prevent us from
giving ourselves up to useless grief,
don't they? So unchristian to fret,
too, /think!"

Mrs. Pendrel sought the nurse, who
had not yet left the manor.

"You were with Sir Anthony when
he died, I believe ? " she said. " Possibly
you heard him mention his nephew
Bernard. If so, what were his exact
words?"

The nurse repeated them. They were
ringing in Mrs. Pendrel's ears as she
gazed on the rigid face of the dead.
How less than nothing were the things
of earth to him now! How little
anything mattered but to have sought
first the kingdom of God and His
justice!

In a mean street of a populous city
was a humble church with the presby-

142

THE AVE MARIA.

ter3^ beside it. Day aud night there were
noise and clamor about it, — the clang
of hammers in foundry and workshop,
the roar of furnaces, the shrill cries of
children, the scolding of wrangling
housewives, the hoarse laughter of men
in the glittering drink shop at the
comer. Smoke and soot and dust
contended for supremacy ; odors of fish
and hot grease issued from the tall,
dingy "model" lodging-house towering
above the grime.

The church doors were open, and
the poor congregation were streaming
in, — poorly -clad, toil -tired men and
women, ragged children, "the wander-
ing beggar weary-foot"; all sorts and
conditions but the well-to-do and richly
clothed, with one exception.

This was a lady who entered with
the crowd, in the hesitating manner
of one to whom all the surroundings
were strange. She took refuge behind a
pillar, whence, however, she could see
the altar, on which many candles were
burning. The service began, but she
was like a person who has not learned
to read looking at a printed book.
She did not understand ; she knew not
what meant that taking down and
raising up of the gleaming monstrance,
whilst the whole people bent in awe
and devotion. But near her was a
picture of the Mater Dolorosa, and that
she did understand ; knowing that it
represented a Mother who had loved
her Son as never other mother did, who
had given Him up to death for the life
of the world.

Then a voice that she knew and that
thrilled her to her heart rang through
the church in the divine praises :
"Blessed be God! Blessed be His holy
Name!"

Gradually the congregation melted
away, and the edifice was almost
deserted. The priest reappeared, no
longer in his vestments, but wearing
a worn and faded cassock. He came,
down the aisle to the confessional;

I'

and the unseen watcher distinctly saw
the refined, beavitiful face, the sensitive
mouth, the touches of grey in the
clu-stering hair, the slight droop of the
shoulders telling of fatigue.

He was intercepted first by a woman
with a shawl over her head, and a
" Could ye spare a minute, yer reverence,
plaze?" then by a crippled lad; to
whom succeeded a sullen-looking man
with two dirty children, who was at
length swept aside by a fussy elderly
maiden. To each tale of woe or
want or grievance the priest listened
with unchanging patience and interest ;
comforting, counselling, warning. He
retired then to the confessional, round
which a few penitents were waiting.

So, to dwell in a stifling slum, sur-
rounded by sin and sorrow, poverty
and care, at the beck and call of the
lame, the halt, and the blind, the
uncouth and uncultured, he had given
up wealth and ease and leisure, social
pleasures, "sweet sights and sounds,
soft speech, and willing service" ! What
religion but that truly of God could
enable a man so far to conquer human
nature, to make and to persevere in
such a sacrifice?

The last penitent departed ; and the
priest emerged, turning out the lights
as he advanced, until none were left
but one that glimmered redly before
the Tabernacle. There he knelt with
arms extended in the form of a cross,
the rays of the sanctuary lamp falling
on his face, "which then was as an
angel's."

At the sacristy door the strange lady
awaited him.

"Bernard!"

"Mother!"

He drew her into the little room,
and they wept in each other's arms.

"Bless me, though I would not bless
you!" she sobbed. "Bless and forgive!
For now I know God's will, and I
come to you, His priest, to learn how
I may save my soul."

THE AYE MARlA.

143

"My own dearest mother!" he mur-
mured, in his heart a very rapture of
thanksgiviving for this answer to his
daily prayer for her.

"Anthony is dead," she told him at
length; "and his last words were:
'Ask Bernard of his charity to pray
for m}' soul.' "

"God grant him eternal rest!" ex-
claimed the priest, deeply moved.

A Visit to the Cur^ of Ars.

ONE of the most distinguished priests
of Paris, Canon Lenfant, renowned
alike for his eloquence and zeal — he
devotes his life to missions in the most
crowded districts of the capital and its
suburbs, — relates his visit to the Cur€
of Ars with a freshness of emotion that

can not fail to impress every reader.

•
• •

The beatification of John Baptist
Mary Vianney recalls one of the
sweetest and most cherished memories
of my life. The 8th of May, 1859,
four months before the death of the
holy man, while on a pilgrimage from
Paris to La Salette, I stopped at
Villefranche-sur-Saone, some miles from
Ars. A spacious coach which awaited
the travellers, or rather pilgrims, that
arrived by the railway was at once
crammed. At first all were silent,
each one restraining the emotion that
increased as we neared the desired
spot. After some time, however, a few
words were spoken, and the conversa-
tion soon became general, the subject
naturally being Ars. None of us had as
yet had the privilege of contemplating
the venerable features of the servant
of God, as we were all going to Ars
for the first time.

At the farther end of the conveyance
sat a young fellow of about twenty,
whose legs were crippled. He was on
crutches, and was going to ask the

good priest to cure him. Beside him
sat a lady in deep mourning, who had
recently lost her husband and her only
son. She wished to pour out her two-
fold sorrow into the bosom of the man
of God and find solace in her trial.
Among the rest were perhaps some
sinners in quest of peace of conscience.
Thus, every trouble, every disease of
heart, soul, or body, sought relief from
this great servant of God.

In the midst of this quiet conversa-
tion, carried on less to divert our
minds than to diminish the length of
the road, we reached Ars. A poor
village, a humble church with a tiny
square in front of it, was all that was
to be seen. Here was the famous spot,
the abode of such exalted virtue that
the very atmosphere seemed redolent
of piety. Here a hundred thousand
pilgrims came every year from all parts
of France and even from other countries
of Europe.

At the outset of his pastorate, the
humble priest, in order to discourage
visitors, had persuaded his parish-
ioners to keep no inn or restaurant;
but five hotels soon had to be built,
and even these were far from sufficient
to accommodate the ever -increasing
throng. On our arrival, the hotels were
all full, so each traveller set out to
look for shelter. As for me. Providence
led me to an old women, full of faith
and that primitive simplicity seldom
met with nowadays. Her name was
Mademoiselle Lharicoti^re, and she
consented to furnish me with board
and lodging for the moderate sum of
two and a half francs per day.

Having settled this business, my
next care was to go to the church.
As an ecclesiastic (I was tonsured), I
knelt at the foot of the altar, as near
as possible to the sacristy which the
Cure was about to enter to confess
the men.

He soon appeared, came quite close
to me, and knelt down to adore the

144

THE AYE MARIA.

Blessed Sacrament. In spite of the deep
emotion that set my heart fluttering,
in spite of the feehng of reverence that
kept my head bowed down, I was able
to cast a glance at the venerable
countenance that attracted the eyes of
the whole world. Long, white locks
fell upon his shoulders; his forehead
was bare ; his cheeks were sunken from
privations and years ; his eyes were
lovingly fixed upon the Tabernacle.
What a beautiful face! Notwithstand-
ing the furrows and wrinkles, the effect
of age and suffering, it was radiant
with an incomparable freshness. All the
virtues that adorned his pure soul were
reflected in his countenance, and gave
it a truly heavenly expression.

After a somewhat protracted prayer,
he rose and proceeded toward the
vestry. I hurried after him ; and,
unable to restrain my pent-up feelings, I
threw myself at his feet, incapable of
speech. He kindly raised me up, and
then spoke to my ear, in the sacred
privacy of confession, some of those
sentences that seemed to fall straight
from heaven. Oh, never shall I forget
these communings, all too short, yet
long afterward re-echoing in my soul ! I
shall always keep, as a precious relic,
the little medal of Saint Philomena that
his hand placed in mine, and that I
wear nighjt and day attached to my
scapular. After having obtained per-
mission to serve his Mass during my
stay at Ars, I retired, and another came
to draw from that wonderful heart
the consolations and help he needed.

The next morning, at half-past six, the
Cur6 offered the Holy Sacrifice. Needless
to say, I attended the appointment
punctually. Oh, how often since I have
been a priest, since I, too, have had
the happiness of saying Mass, have I
recalled that radiant, transfigured face,
those melting eyes fixed upon the divine
Host! With what humility he repeated
the words, Doniinc, non sum dignus !
With what reverence he received the

body and blood of Jesus Christ ! Faith
and divine love issued from his hands,
his eyes, his lips; he seemed forgetful
of earth.

The same day, after a frugal meal
at my lodging-house, I witnessed a
touching and wonderful sight. The
Cure, at his usual hour, crossed the
village to go to the church. As soon
as he appeared, strangers, drawn up in
line on each side of the road, exclaimed ;
"Here is the saint!" And instantly
everybody rushed out to see him,
gathering around him, and so pressing
him on all sides as to impede his walk-
ing. Little children wefe placed under
his hand for a blessing ; men and women
knelt before him to implore the same
favor; he had to touch medals and
other pious objects; and each visitor
endeavored to catch a word, a look, a
smile. Even thus passed our Saviour
through the villages of Judea and
Galilee, scattering benefits as He went
about doing good.

Some hours later, while taking a walk
through the country, I saw a young
woman, with an infant, coming up to
me. Her face was beaming, and, unable
to contain the joy that overflowed
her heart, she cried out: "O Monsieur
I'Abbe, how happy I am to have come
a long distance to see Monsieur le Cure
d'ArsI He is a saint. My baby was
blind. I carried it to him yesterday;
he bade me make a novena to Saint
Philomena ; this is only the second day
and my child can see!" On my return,
I told the miracle to my old hostess,
who replied: "You are surprised, Mon-
sieur I'Abbe! Ah, we about here are
well accustomed to miracles ! Our Cure
works some every day. If I were told
he had raised to life all the dead in
the parish graveyard, I should not be
at all surprised."

She spoke only of the visible wonders ;
but who could reckon the thousands of
invisible marvels seen by the angels
above,— hopeless conversions, sudden

THE AVE MARIA.

145

relief from spiritual anguish apparent!}'
incurable, effulgent and instantaneous
light to discern a vocation or disen-
tangle the most intricate affairs!
He saw into the past, read the future,
discovered the inmost secrets of the
soul, — omnia prospiciens. God indeed
rendered His saint marvellous, the
wonder - worker of the nineteenth
century.

I stayed at Ars three days, on each
of which I had the happiness of serving
the Mass of the holy Cur^. This honor
I obtained by dint of gentle entreaties,
though I was merely a clerical student,
and the privilege was often denied to
dignitaries of the Church and other
high personages. When at last I had
to wrench myself from that hallowed
place and return to Villefranche, it
seemed to me that all I had seen and
heard there was a dream that had
carried me into heaven.

On arriving at the steamboat wharf
whence I was to sail for Lyons, I
perceived the cripple, my fellow-traveller
in the coach three days before. He was
actuallj' running about the quay, and
seemed almost crazy with joy and
gratitude. The saint had cured him ;
he had left his crutches in the chapel of
Saint Philomena at Ars.

To a Cistercian Monk.

BY BE.VJAMI.N COCKER.

I SOUGHT my inspiration among the haunts of

men,
Where women love and painters dream and poets

dip their pen;
'Mid princes, priests and sages, I lool<ed in vain to

find
The spark of that diviner flame my soul might

share in kind.
But, sorrowing, I ceased my quest; and, hurrying

by them all,
I found it in a monk who prayed behind a cloister

wall.

New Mei.i.eray Adbey,
Feast of the Ascension, 1905.

An Imperial Philanthropist.

AMONG the most popular members
of the great House of Hapsburg
was the late Archduke Joseph, who
devoted much of his time and a
considerable part of his revenues to
humanitarian pursuits. The admirable
Fire Brigade organization of which
Hungary is justly proud is due to his
high patronage and active personaB
supervision. The Archduke, as presi-
dent of this life-saving association,
followed closely every improvement iff
the implements and working system of
foreign fire companies, and published
interesting appreciations of the same.

His interest was first drawn to the
subject by witnessing a terrible confla-
gration in Vienna, for the extinguishing
of which his own regiment had been
requisitioned. The Emperor Francis
Joseph was himself present, and, on
catching sight of his cousin, he called
out: "If you and your soldiers can
not help us, the street is doomed ! "
The inmates had been rescued, but
the roofs of the burning buildings
threatened to ignite those adjoining,
when the Archduke dashed forward at
the head of a group of picked men,
and hewed down the smoking rafters.
Two of his companions never came
out agaih, and he himself escaped only
at the price of severe burns and
contusions.

From this time forward Archduke
Jo.seph gave his attention to the ameli-
oration and augmentation of the fire
brigades in Austro- Hungary. In the
latter country especially, since he was
bound to it by particular ties of birth,
residence, and association, his work
was crowned with success. Hunga-
rian noblemen followed his example in
becoming members of the fire brigades
in their districts; so that it has come
to pass in this land — media-val in so
many other respects— that the grade of

146

THE AVE. MARIA.

officer in a life-saving institution is as
creditable as that in one whose object
is the destruction of life.

The military knowledge which Arch-
duke Joseph had acquired as Chief
Commander of the Houved troops was
useful in the organization of his new,
peaceful army. The perfection of the
branch in his own domain at Alcsuth
was due to his personal training; and
his office of commander was no sinecure,
for he frequently led the rescue party
when fire broke out in the neighboring
villages.

The Archduke's predilection for the
Romany race, misrepresented by the
thoughtless as a fad, was based on
the loftiest motives of humanity. He
believed in the possibility of civilizing
these wandering tribes, in whom he
discovered many noble qualities. Some-
times he travelled with them for several
days, sleeping in the gipsy tents and
partaking of their food. He studied
their language, which he spoke with
facility, and of which he endeavored to
compile a grammar. Of their manners,
customs and history, he has left an
interesting account, which throws a
precious light on the probable origin
of these banished sons of Pharaoh.
The friendly relations of "the gipsy
Archduke" with the Hungarian Tsigans,
it will be remembered, once stood him
in good stead during the war with
Prussia.

Besides contributing to literature.
Archduke Joseph compiled an extensive
treatise on the medicinal properties
of common herbs; and here he had
precious aids in his wife and second
daughter, both of whom shared his
interest in botanical researches. Plis
eldest daughter, married to the Pre-
tender to the throne of France, is
protectress of many benevolent institu-
tions in France as well as in Hungary.
She often visits Paris, where the
representatives of the old regime crowd
around her, to the great discomfiture of

the Combes and Company, who have
not yet seen their way to passing a
law for her exclusion. The Duchess of
Orleans has extended a helping hand
to many of the persecuted commu-
nities which Republican "Liberty and
Fraternity " have forced to leave their
native soil.

Archduke Joseph's only surviving son
bids fair to be his worthy successor
in benevolent undertakings. He has
a numerous family, so that there is
little danger of the extinction of this
noble line, the Fourth in the Hapsburg
descent. The death of his elder brother,
who was accidentally killed in the
hunting field, was the most cruel loss
Archduke Joseph had to sustain ; but
both parents accepted the blow with
that resignation which characterizes
the believers in another and better life.

The deceased Archduke was an exem-
plary Christian, most exact in the
fulfilment of his religious obligations. He
heard Mass .daily; and, with his wife,
the kind and charitable Archduchess
Clotilde, took the keenest interest
in the well-being of the people on
his estates. The schools which they
encouraged were those of a practical
tendency, calculated to impart a knowl-
edge of the everyday' facts concerning
the material necessities of life; but
whenever a special talent manifested
itself, the Archduke undertook the
responsibility of the pupil's higher
education. Even this cursory glance
at his life will explain why Hungary
mourns to-day in the death of Arch-
duke Joseph the loss of a public
benefactor. R. I. P. B. H.

Anything which makes religion its
second object, makes religion no object.
God will put up with a great many
things in the human heart, but there
is one thing He will not put up with
in it — a second place. He who offijrs
God a second place offers Him no place.

— Ruskia.

THE AVE MARIA.

147

Religious Emotionalism vs. Religious
Influence.

THE current number of the Dublin
Review contains the third, and con-
cluding, article of Father Birt, O. S. B.,
on "Religious Influences in London."
As our readers may remember from
a former reference in these columns,
these articles are in the nature of an
extensive review of the voluminous
stud}' of London life made by Mr.
Charles Booth. Like each of its prede-
cessors, this last paper of Father Birt's
contains much that is interesting to
all students of sociology, and more
that is thought -provoking to those
who regard religion as the only solid
basis on which the superstructure of
society can be reared. We purpose
reproducing here some paragraphs
which will well repay reading.

Of one matter as to which Catholic
opinion is not everywhere uniform,
Father Birt says:

There should be no reasonable refusal to
acknowledge that, merely as a philanthropic or
social institution, the Salvation Army has done
and is doing a real work, good in its way and
within certain limits. . . . But, notwithstanding
material and numerical progress, it lives by
appeal to the elementary emotions. The evidence
available concerning it, of which there is plenty,
all points downward : loss of spirituality is
succeeded by emotionalism, tending to degenerate
into sensuousuess. It is of the earth, earthy.
Upheld as it is by the personality of its remark-
able originator, it may safely be prophesied that
after his death it will sooner or later split into
sections, and its present power and hold over
that section of the masses to which it appeals
will in consequence dwindle. Within recent j-ears
signs have not Ijccn wanting that the dangers
of a split have been very real. . . .

Just what a close student of this
phase of religious emotionalism has
come to think of it is thus summarized :

The general result, therefore, may be summed
up in one sentence. In Mr. Booth's mature
opinion, the Salvation Army "is now of little
importance as a religious influence, but has
turned toward its 'social wing' the marvellous
energies and powers of organization, and the

devoted work it commands." Mr. Booth agrees
with us Catholics that as a religious force it
is an illusion ; and, referring to the fine centre
possessed by this body in Clapton, is compelled
to admit, notwithstanding much active work in
progress there, that "with them, no less, and
perhaps even more, than with all the rest, it is
their own religious life that is spun and woven;
and what they would persuade themselves and
others to believe as to their religious work in
the world, and its influence as a Gospel deliv-
erance, is but part of an extraordinary illusion
which Ijegins to stand unveiled before us."

Of the perennially flourishing drink
evil, the Review writer has this to say :

The evil of drink, though undoubtedly less
than it was some years ago, nevertheless still
cries aloud for remedy, and all denominations
have in a certain sense united in a crusade
against it. We have our League of the Cross;
and outside the Church every parish or congre-
gation has its Band of Hope, its Lodge of Good
Templars, or similar institution, pledged to wage
relentless war against this curse of the country.
The success attained may vary, but the efforts
are untiring. While we can not but thankfully
recognize the earnestness of those who direct
this struggle against the demon of drink, we are
perforce led to realize that danger lies even in
these attempts to "serve the brethren." Though
temperance, wisely preached, is capable of effect-
ing untold good, its advocates too frequently
let zeal outrun discretion, and, in consequence, as
often as not only succeed in repelling where their
sole aim is to attract. Mr. Booth has clearly
grasped this fact, and endorses the opinion of
a certain missionarj- who stated to him that
"teetotalers do not help temperance reform by
looking down on those who take alcohol —
regarding total abstinence as a kind of gospel."

Another danger besets these temperance societies
which has been already noticed in connection
with Bible classes : the tendency to make them
take the place of a church, and thus to multiply
sects In such circumstances it is useful to bear
in mind Mr. Booth's excellent remarks on the
subject of temperance work: "Christian people
are not agreed," he remarks, "as to the best
cure [for the evil of drink] ; and a religious mind
no more implies total abstinence (though it may
imply sobriety) than either sobriety or total
abstinence implies a religious mind. The dis-
connection between these societies and religion
is shovirn by the fact that they difler hardly
at all, whatever the flag they fly. Low Church
or High, Protestant, Nonconformist or Roman
Catholic, or mission of whatever type, — all
employ much the same methods in seeking to
deal with the same evil, and all equally fail."

14-8

THE AVE MARIA.

The meagre attendance at church
services is a burning question in this
country not less than in England ; and it
is interesting to read on the subject Mr.
Booth's views quoted by Father Birt :

"Dress is a common and perfectly sincere
excuse; but it is only an excuse. The effort after
a decent life, which would lead men or women
to attend some place of worship voluntarily,
never stumbles over this obstacle. . . . So, too,
the ordinary habits of the people — the late
lying in bed on Sunday mornings, etc., etc., —
are pointed to as obstacles to church-going.
But time is found for all these things by those
who do go to church, except the last hour or
two in bed of a morning.

"That there is at bottom nothing in the ques-
tion of dress, nor in poverty generally, to interfere
with church-going, is shown conclusively bj' the
Roman Catholic churches, whose people include
the very poorest. Large numbers of every class
attend Mass. For the very poor, as for the
well-to-do among Catholics, this is a religious
duty; and though they sort themselves more
or less according to class in the hour at which
they come, all are ready to enter and kneel
down together in the House of God. But
amongst Protestants, as regards the laboring
classes, church-going is rarely attained, except
with the very poor in connection with relief;
and then it is "only the women who come."
"Such an admission," comments Father Birt,
"vitiates the value of the act: the motive is
not the worship of God, an act of religion, but
merely a low, if not hypocritical, form of
cadging."

One conclusion that is forced upon
the attentive reader of this exhaustive
review of the volumes dealing with
religious influences in London life, is
that the spirit of which Catholicism is
very commonly accused really belongs
to the sects; is typical, not of the
Church, but of "the churches." These
latter, it would appear from the multi-
plied evidence gathered by an unbiassed
inquirer, subsist and thrive on emotion-
alism as almost their only diet. As we
had occasion to point out not long ago,
in differentiating the Catholic mission
and the Protestant revival, such emo-
tionalism as does exist among Catholic
worshipers is based upon the bed-rock
of definite dogmas, and is merely
ephemeral, not normal or habitual.

Additions to the Mass.

REFERRING to the prayers which
Leo XIII. ordered to be said after
Mass— prayers to which Pius X. has
lately made an addition,— a correspond-
ent of the London Tablet expresses some
thoughts which we are confident must
have occurred to a great many other
persons, although no one, perhaps, has
ever ventured to open his mind on the
subject to the public. With due respect
to ecclesiastical authority, as well as
deep reverence for the Holy Sacrifice,
he declares that "this addition — this
change — has created a difficulty for
some Catholics, and tends to lessen
the attraction which many outside of
the Church found in the dramatic unity
and symmetry of the public worship
of the Mass."

It was Carlyle, we believe, who,
after witnessing the celebration of Low
Mass in a Continental church, said :
"I have come to the conclusion that
the Mass is the greatest thing in the
world." That was many years ago,
when it was the general practice for
the priest to leave the altar imme-
diately after the last Gospel. The
addition of prayers in the vernacular —
prayers which have no reference to the
Holy Sacrifice — is calculated, we feel
sure, to detract from its solemnity in
the eyes of outsiders.

The difficulty of which the Tablet
correspondent complains is twofold.
In the case of one who has received
Holy Communion and who is engaged
in making thanksgiving, there is an
interruption, a distraction. The prayers
after Mass unavoidably divert the
attention of the communicant from
what he should be doing with all
possible diligence. If one has not com-
municated, one still likes to leave the
church with the thought of having
heard Mass, not merely with that
of having said prayers in common.

THE AVE MARIA.

Ud

Besides, the Ite Missa est is the signal
for departure, though the Gospel of St.
John follows it. Says the correspondent
whom we have quoted :

"I and many others, being weak
brethren, feel the distraction to which
those added prayers give occasion;
and would desire to come from the
church when the priest dismisses us
with his blessing, with the fragrance,
the memory of the Holy Alass fresh
and vivid in our minds, and undis-
turbed by anj'thing, even by other pious
thoughts. Would our bishops have
compassion on us and represent our
difficulties ? I know that many pious
souls are restless, carried away no
doubt by zeal, ever seeking new outlets,
inventing new devotions, petitioning for
new indulgences. I have no desire to
restrain them in other matters; but
the H0I3' Mass— I should like to think
of it as I first knew it in my childhood ;
and wish that I had it now as it was
then, when my heart was young and
fervent."

We confess to being among the " weak
brethren" ourselves; and we hope to
see the day when the addition of a
single word to the Mass — after the
Gospel of St. John of course — will be
strictly prohibited by Papal authority
the world over. More frequent use
of the beautiful Praj^ers for Various
Purposes at the end of the Missal
would be the result. It is our convic-
tion that if the Holy Father were
informed of the feelings of many of
the faithful, lay and clerical, regarding
additions to the Mass, such action on
his part would not long be delayed.

Let us bear in mind this truth— that
on the bed of death, and in the day
of judgment, to have saved one soul
will be not onl3' better than to have
won a kingdom, but will overpay by
an exceeding great reward all the
pains and toils of the longest and most
toilsome life. — Cardinal Manning.

Notes and Remarks.

The Kingdom of Belgium has just
"celebrated the seventy-fifth anniversary
of its independence, having been until
1830 a part of the Netheriands. This
little Catholic nation is now one of
the most prosperous in the world. Its
total population is estimated at about
seven millions, though the area of the
country is only 11,373 square miles.
The surplus of births over deaths in
1903 was 73,626. The Catholic faith
is professed by nearly the entire popu-
lation of Belgium. The Protestants
number only 10,000, and there are
considerably less than half that many
Jews. Of churches and chapels, schools
of all grades, convents and charitable
institutions, there is no end. Each
of the six dioceses into which the
kingdom is divided has its own ecclesi-
astical seminary ; and there are, besides,
ten smaller seminaries. The Catholic
University of Louvain, with its five
"faculties," or branches of study, has
an enrolment of 1431 students. There
are universities also at Brussels, Ghent,
and Liege. The Diamond Jubilee celebra-
tion in Belgium was in thanksgiving
for its peace, progress, and prosperity.
On the 21st inst., by order of the
hierarchy, a solemn Te Deum was sung
in all the churches of the kingdom.

The threatened depopulation of
France by what has come to be known
as race suicide is said to be the greatest
worry of French economists. " What
is to become of the Republic in a few
years more?" they are asking; and
well they may. In spite of all means
that have been employed to remedy
the evil, the population of the country
remains stationary. Mr. Thornwell
Haynes, United States Consul at Rouen,
furnishes some painfully interesting
statistics on this subject. One hundred
years ago France had 26 per cent of

150

THE AVE MAfJlA.

the population of Europe, now she has
only 11 per cent of it. The number of
families possessing the average number
of children (five) is 584,582, whereas
1,808,839 possess none at all, and
2,379,259 only two. In assigning
causes for this state of things, econo-
mists contend that the heavy taxation
in France militates not only against
marriages but against the raising of
families. Mr. Haynes mentions neglect
of religious practices and beliefs as
the "first and foremost cause." He
declares that "the deterioration in the
birth rate is not manifest in localities
where the people are most faithful to
religious teachings."

While the moral and legal right
of workingmen to strike is generally
conceded as a sociological principle, the
circumstances under which that right
is exercised may materially change the
nature of the action and very properly
alienate from the strikers the sym-
pathy of the general public. When,
for instance, some seven hundred ice
delivery men in New York chose —
not deliberately, let us hope — for their
striking time a day on which the
thermometer registered from 95 to 100
degrees of heat, and deaths in conse-
quence were numerous, it is not strange
thait their act called forth very general
condemnation. The sympathy which
they look for from others should have
been extended by them to the sufferers
whose distress their strike aggravated.

An interesting Catholic mission of
which one hears only infrequently is
that of Reykjavik, in Iceland. There
is something of the pathetic in the
statement of Father Servaes, the resi-
dent priest, who informs the Missions
Catholiques about the restricted
number of Catholics, the one Catholic
church on the island with seating
accommodation for three hundred, the

school under the control of the Sisters
of St. Joseph, and the hospital which
these same religious have recently been
obliged to give up to lay management.
Pathetic, because for five centuries and
a half— from 1000 A.D. to 1550 A.D.—
Iceland was a Catholic country. Fifty
poems in honor of Mary Immaculate
published there are still extant; and
old chronicles mention many shrines
of pilgrimages, among others that of
Our Lady of Hoifsstadur, near Skaga
Fjordr.

In 1550 the head of the last Cath-
olic bishop was stricken off by the
Reformers, and for three and a half
centuries no Catholic priest dared land
upon the island. About 1858 a French
missionary priest, Father Boudoin, made
an attempt to turn the Icelanders
to the faith of their ancestors. He
remained in the countrj^ sixteen years
without being able to exercise any
external function of his ministry; and
only in 1874, the date of a new con-
stitution, did he receive permission to
open a public chapel. Two years later
he died, and for twenty years longer
Iceland was abandoned to itself. In
1892, when Leo XIII. made the mission
of Denmark and Iceland a Vicariate
Apostolic, with Mgr. Von Euch as its
spiritual head, Iceland did not contain
a single Catholic: all its inhabitants
were Lutherans. The conditions now
are improved ; and, a start having been
made, the Catholicizing of the people
will, we doubt not, go on apace.
Father Servaes bespeaks from the
readers of the Missions the charity of a
material alms, and of a "little prayer,
not less indispensable for the full
success of our difficult work."

In view of the fact that many persons
take Ernst Haeckel and his "Riddle of
the Universe" very seriously, it may
be well to state that this writer, far
from ranking as a "high authority"
in Germany, is the laughing-stock of

The AVE MARIA.

151

savants there. He is regarded simply
as a mountel)ank or fanatic who
appeals to the mob. Having no schol-
arly reputation to lose, and assured
that his disciples will never know the
difference, he is reckless in his utterances
and dogmatic to the last degree. "The
Riddle of the Universe," translated into
English by an apostate priest, is trash,
whatever half- educated infidels and
scoffers may say of it.

Dr. Hirsch, whose ready opinions
carry weight with a large class of
persons outside of his own denomina-
tion, is another overrated celebrity.
Like the late Col. Ingersoll, he is witty
and elocjuent,— anything but scholarly,
according to the Chicago Israelite,
which says:

We owe it to the public and to the Jewish
ministry to place in their true light the preten-
sions of this misleader It is in the interest of

American Judaism that whatever ascendency
Dr. Hirsch's brilliant talents may have given him
over impressionable minds, should be counter-
poised by such demonstrations as we have
reluctantly undertaken of his utter unreliability.

We are at a loss to understand why
persons should be disturbed by the
utterances of such men as Haeckel
and Hirsch.

An important paper on our duty to
the imprisoned, by the Rev. Aloysins
Fish, O. M. C, was read at the annual
convention of the Federation of Cath-
olic Societies of Pennsylvania, recently
held at Scranton. Having been engaged
in prison work for several years. Father
Fish knows whereof he speaks ; and his
experience has a practical value, not
only for priests who may be called
upon to serve as chaplains in public
institutions, but for Catholic laymen as
well. Father F'ish says:

I have made a careful investigation of the status
of the priest in the prisons. While I have found
in a few instances outrifjht bigotry, in most cases
the priest is allowed access to Catholic inmates,
and is not hampered in his spiritual service to
them. UowmrcT, the policy of our public penal
institutions depends greatly upon the personality

of the head officials. Some of these, under misin
terpretation of their broad duties to the inmates,
or under the impulse of personal narrowness of
mind, make the priest feel that, while they will
not exclude him from the precincts of the institu-
tion, he is regarded as a meddling interloper.
Under such conditions it is easily conceivable
that the Catholic inmates must suffer neglect.
The priest is not a politician and has no strong
political affiliations. He is easily intimidated by
the veiled opposition to his presence, and the
result is that he faces these unpleasant conditions
only when it is absolutely necessary.

Here is the great opportunity for the Catholic
laity. In all our States there are Catholics of
prominence and even of political power. Why
must they be so negligent of the needs of their
fellow -Catholics in durance that they do not
use their influence to have these conditions miti-
gated ? Much — in fact, all — could be done by
such men without arousing fanatical antagonism.
The heads and managers of our penal institutions
are ignorant of what we Catholics regard as our
imperative needs ; they do not feel obliged to go
out of their ordinary routine to make provision
for us, if we are not enough interested to go
asking it of them. A mere word from some one
that can meet them on equal ground is often
sufficient to enlighten them and to lead them to
throw down all barriers to intercourse between
priest and prisoner. Even where bigotry is prev-
alent, this amelioration can be brought about
through quiet and peaceful discussion better
than by public battling. This regard as one
of your duties, you men of the Federation; see
to it that as far as your influence goes, both in
State, county and city penal and correctional
institutions, there be no hindrances to the full
exercise of their faith by those in prison,— that
the priest be made to feel that he is at least a
welcome visitor.

Apropos of the recent discussions con-
cerning "tainted money" — discussions
which it regards as a healthy indication
of an awakening public conscience, —
Printer's Ink pertinently remarks : " But
if consistency is a jewel, it would be
well if some of the newspapers that
have joined in the hue and cry against
tainted money would examine the
dollar in their own tills with a view to
discovering if all the coin that passes
over their counters can honestly be
classed as clean."

The reference is to certain kinds of
advertisements "which every magazine

152

THE AVE MARIA.

and some newspapers refuse to accept " ;
and while it is admitted that the moral
tone of the advertising columns in
the daily press is much better than it
was a decade ago, it is correctly held
that there is still room for improve-
ment. That Printer's Ink's ideas as
to moral or immoral advertising are
not especially prudish is clear from
the certificate of cleanliness which by
implication it grants above to "every
magazine," — a certificate which would
certainly not be signed by all discrimi-
nating moralists ; so one may estimate
the nefariousness of t^e so-called "med-
ical " advertisement by its vigorous
denunciation thereof:

If the money acquired by unfair methods in
trade is "tainted," what term is strong enough
to apply to the unspeakably filthy lucre wrung
by misrepresentation and chicanery from the
ignorant and unfortunate, — doubly unfortunate
in that they have no one but themselves to blame
for their condition ?

Recent investigations conducted by in-
spectors from the Post Oflice Department
have disclosed the fact that so many
"specialists" are purely and simply
defrauding quacks, that one is almost
justified in declaring the presumption
to be against the honesty and skill
of the advertising doctor. Reputable
physicians do not use such spectacular
methods of securing patients ; and
reputable periodicals should eliminate
from their columns all advertisements
of this suspicious nature.

Another bugaboo of the pessimistic
native American is rapidly losing its
power to terrify. The immigration into
this country of large numbers of the
"decadent Latin races" was not long
ago denounced, in all the moods and
tenses of hysterical patriotism, as a
danger seriously menacing the morality
and social order of the republic. The
Portuguese belong to one of those
pestiferous Latin races; yet here is
what the Boston Herald, quoted in the

Pilot, has to say of that class of immi-
grants to Southeastern Massachusetts :

No nationality represented in this common-
wealth has so wonderful a crime record as have
the Portuguese. Among the thousands of them
that are here, arrests for crime, committed either
on person or property, are almost unknown. If
all of the rest of the people of Massachusetts
were as free from criminal offences as are our
citizens of Portuguese birth, we could probably
shut up as useless nine-tenths of our correctionary
and penal institutions. Clearly, a class of popula-
tion such as this has something to say in its
defence.

Equally clearly, the Church of which
this class are consistent members has
something to urge in behalf of her
beneficent influence on the morals of
the land. The ultimate fact is that
the more of the solidly Catholic, among
the Latin races, who take up their
residence in these United States, the
better will be the outlook for the moral,
social, and financial integrity of the
America of the future.

Some one has found the following
minute in the parish book of St. Bar-
tholomew, in the city of London, for
1643: "Read an ordinance for the
demolition of superstition and idola-
trous things both in the church and
without, where it was ordered that the
three letters in the pulpit-cloth, L H. S.,
should be put out." And in the accounts
for the same year this entry occurs:
" Pdto the imbroderer for taking I. H. S.
out of the pulpit-cloth, and imbrodered
same again with other work, twenty
shillings, besides five shillings he allowed
me for the old stuflf." Of curious inter-
est, these items are also quite signifi-
cant. They throw a white light on
what the ancestors of Anglo-Catholics
considered superstition and idolatry.

Under the heading, ' ' Books that have
Helped Me," we occasionally find a list
of works the early reading of which
has given a decided bent to the career
of a )-outh subsequently notable in the
domain of literature, science, art, or

THE AVE MARIA.

153

the more prosaic field of commercial
endeavor. As a "book that made
me," might the late Mother Catherine
Aurelie, of St. Hyacinth, Canada, have
appropriately referred to Father Faber's
"The Precious Blood." Her perusal of
a French translation of that well-
known work gave definite shape and
a distinctive name to the religious
institute of which she became the
foundress— the Order of the Precious
Blood. A mystic of the Middle Ages, set
down amid the materialistic environ-
ments of the nineteenth century. Mother
Catherine was a striking exemplifica-
tion of the fact that the contemplative
life is not at all incompatible with
sanity of judgment and practicality of
aim and purpose. Approved by the
Holy See nine years ago, the Order of
the Precious Blood, notwithstanding
the rigor and austerity of its rule,
at present counts as many as eleven
convents in Canada, this country, and
Cuba. A model of every Christian
virtue, and a servant of God exception-
ally privileged in matters spiritual,
Mother Catherine recently closed a
truly beneficent career by a most edify-
ing death. R. I. P.

We have frequently commented on
the fact that when Frenchmen are
practical Catholics at all, the proba-
bility is that they are eminently robust
ones. Our conviction on this point has
just been strengthened by the perusal
of a notable letter, contributed to

I the Viriti Franqaise by Vice -Admiral
de Cuverville, Senator of Finisterre.
Writing of the renewal of France's

: consecration to the Sacred Heart of

[ Jesus, this frankly religious oflicer notes
that in many dioceses of France there
is becoming established the custom of

■ consecrating one day a week to the
reparation of injuries done to Our
Lord, and the preparation of His
social reign. Quoting the prayer to
the Sacred Heart, recited in common

at the family hearth, for this purpose,
the Admiral adds:

This is an example to be followed. What better
resolution can we take, at this period of national
supplication, than that of conforming hencefor-
ward to a practice which will be the best of
preparations for the act of allegiance on the part
of Catholic electors, and which will be, for all, a
striking affirmation of the rights of God?

Here evidently is one French Catholic
who has the courage of his convictions,
and who would think it as pusillan-
imous to truckle to the infidels and
Masons who rule France as to give
the order "about ship" and flee from
his country's enemy upon the ocean.

It is the irony of fate that just when
the world 'at large is taking off" its
cap to salute the self-glorified pseudo-
scientist, the inner circle of really
eminent savants has got through the
process of weighing him in the bal-
ance and finding him wanting. During
the past few months we have read
a number of eulogistic reviews of
Haeckel's works, contributed probably
to the publications in which they
appeared by critics as competent to
discuss the questions involved as was
Arthur Pendennis at the outset of his
literary career. And we have felt like
mailing to each such critic the follow-
ing appreciation of Haeckel, from the
pen of Sir Oliver Lodge :

He is, as it were, a surviving voice from the
middle of the nineteenth century. He represents,
in clear and eloquent fashion, opinions which
then were prevalent among many leaders of
thought, — opinions which they themselves, in
many cases, and their successors still more, lived
to outgrow; so that, by this time, Professor
Haeckel's voice is as the voice of one crying
in the wilderness,— not as the pioneer of an
advancing army, but as the despairing shout
of a standard bearer, still bold and unflinching,
but abandoned by the retreating ranks of his
comrades, as they march to new orders in a

fresh direction If a man of science seeks to

dogmatize concerning the Emotions and the
Will, and asserts that he can reduce them to
atomic forces and motions, he is exhibiting
the smallness of his conceptions, and gibbeting
himself as a laughing-stock to future generations.

154

THE AVE MARIA.

Notable New Books.

Historical Criticism and the Old Testament. By Phre

J. M. Lagrange, O. P. Translated bj- the Rev.

Edward Myers, M. A. London ; The Catholic

Truth Society.

Father Lagrange's lectures, in the well -fitting
English dress which his translator has g^ven
them, make excellent reading for Biblical students
generally, and constitute exceptionally valuable
material for the youthful Catholic student in
particular. The author's world-wide reputation
as a sound Catholic critic, the quasi-authorita-
tiveness incidental to his position as a member
of the Biblical Commission founded by Leo XIII.,
and the timeliness of the topics handled both in
the lectures proper and in the appendix ("Jesus
Christ and New Testament Criticism"), combine
to make the present volume a very welcome
addition to recent Biblical studies.

The titles of the different lectures sufficiently
indicate the scope of the work. They are six in
number: Biblical Criticism and the Dogmas of
the Church, Doctrinal Development in the Old
Testament, The Idea of Inspiration as Found
in the Bible, Historical Criticism and Science,
Historical Character of the Civil Laws of the
Israelites, and On Primitive History. The
translator notes that, as these discourses were
delivered to the ecclesiastical students of a
Catholic university, the lecturer was entitled
to assume, in the matter of terminology, much
that would call for fuller explanation before a
more popular audience. Notwithstanding this
intimation, the general Catholic reader may be
honestly advised to procure the work ; he will
derive undoubted profit from its studious perusal.

A Story of Fifty Years. From the Annals of the
Congregation of the Sisters of the Holy
Cross. 1855-1905. With Illustrations. The
Ave Maria.

Any one who is familiar with the ways of
Almighty God in regard to the souls of those
for whom He has destined some special mission,
will not deny that, at the time when and place
where they are most needed, He endows certain
spirits with the necessary qualifications, and in
His merciful and loving Providence lifts up their
hands, strengthens their feet, and fits their
shoulders for the burthens He has decreed them
to bear. This is particularly true of religious
Orders and Congregations, the beginnings of all
of which have been distinguished by several
remarkable characteristics — viz., hardship, suffer-
ing, poverty, petty trials and opposition.

The history of the Sisters of the Congregation
of the Holy Cross does not differ in these
particulars from othcr§ who have walked over

thorns to the heights of perfection. There is
to-day in the United States, we presume, no
Congregation more flourishing, more progressive,
more in conformity with the modern religious
spirit — which combines superior education and
culture with that piety which, though always
old, is perennially new, — than that of the
Sisters of the Holy Cross.

When Father Edward Sorin, of venerated
memory, laid, in 1842, the foundation of the
Holy Cross in America, he already counted on
the assistance of the Sisters of his Order, who
arrived the year following. At that time Father
Sorin was the acknowledged superior of the
community of Sisters as well as his own, and
both were under the supervision of a common
mother -house in France. It was not until a
number of years had elapsed that the Sisters
were made independent. But before this was
accomplished they were obliged to pass through
deep waters, w^hich served only to purify and
renew them as a second baptism.

To a cousin of James G. Blaine, Mother Angela
Gillespie, whose name was a household word
among Catholics during and after the Civil War,
the Congregation is indebted for much that
stands for progress and prosperit}^ She was, in
the truest sense of the word, a valiant woman,
a mistress of affairs, a pioneer of charity, a
teacher unsurpassed, and a Christian unafraid.

All this and more the reader will find in the
clear, succinct and comprehensive narrative, told
by a member of the Congregation, in the book
just published as a memorial of the Golden
Jubilee of the Sisters of the Holy Cross.

Ballads of a Coantry Boy. By Seumas MacManus.

Gill & Co.

In "Ballads of a Country Boy" the versatile
Mr. MacManus has laid up a pleasant surprise
for those who know him only as the sober and
veracious historian of the fairies of Donegal, or
as the author of that charming Irish idyll,
"A Lad of the O'Fricl's." He has not, of course,
abandoned the MacManus country ; for the
atmosphere of these poems is the Donegal atmos-
phere; and, indeed, with the exception of some
tender and pathetic pieces that are clearh-
autobiographical, this volume may be described
as the lyric side of the life which the author
has already shown in its romantic and pla3'ful
aspects. There are patriotic songs and bird songs
and nature songs, and songs of sadness, and of
love that is wholesome and pure,— a large gamut
with never a note out of harmony with the char-
acter of the Irish peasant whose life he projects.

One is glad to miss in the work of Mr.
MacManus the yearning after paganism so un-
pleasantly familiar in the writings of Mr. Shaw,
Mr. ^eats, and Mr. George Moore. The spirit of

THE AVE MARIA.

155

I

reverence, of faith, of Christian resignation in the
presence of keen human grief, the pure affection
and the strong spirituahty of these Ballads are
in fine contrast to the erotic tendencies that her
best friends have been grieved to find in some
of the modern spokesmen of Holy Ireland. The
author has the true Keltic instinct for the music
of words, his technique is good, and the soft
lights of fancy — a drab sort of fancy that is not
essentially Irish — play freelj- on his themes. His
first volume of verse is auspicious and will
strengthen the popularity of Mr. MacManus
among lovers of sincere and healthfiil literature.

By What Atithority?. By Robert Hugh Benson.

Benziger Brothers.

While the secular historical novel has had, for
the past decade or so, a vogue that has resulted
in a multiplicity of " yore - and - gore " fiction
books, Catholic historical tales have not become
so numerous as to outwear their welcome. The
present volume, however, would deserve recogni-
tion even were the class to which it belongs
notably larger than it is. " By What Authority ? "
is a story of the days of Queen Elizabeth, and,
incidentally, a masterly exposition of the religious
problems that convulsed England in the early
years of the Reformation. The varying fortunes
of the Maxwells and the Norrises, with those
of the courtiers, Protestant prelates and rectors,
proscribed Jesuit priests and Catholic laymen
associated with them, is deeply interesting, and
withal so full of local color and so conformable
to the recorded historj- of the period treated as
to raise the book far above the plane of ordinary
fiction and entitle it to the consideration
bestowed upon authentic annals.

The novel is a long one — the narrative taking
558 pages in the telling, — but few readers will
complain that it has been unduly extended or
that its bulk has been increased by the reprehen-
sible pr.octice of padding. Irish readers, however,
will quite naturally resent the tone in which the
natives of Erin are referred to. Cultured English
readers, too, will notice faults of style that mar
some of the pages, notably the first two or three.
But, after all, "the story's the thing"; and this
particular story is one which we take pleasure
in commending.

The Ridin^^dale Boys. By David Bcarne, S. J.

Burns & Oates ; Benziger Brothers.

Father Bearne writes delightful English, and
we have no doubt that much of his popularity
among young folks — and young- hearted old
folks, too, — is due to his gift of literarj- style.
Better than most of his contemporary rivals in
the fieUl of juvenile literature, he knows "how
to say" the abundant good things that impress
him as worthy of being said. This new book of
his has to do with a number of the characters

who figured in his former " Ridingdale Stories " —
a circumstance of itself an incentive to procure
it, — and with additional personages quite as
interesting and as cleverly delineated. These Rid-
ingdale boys are genuinely Catholic young
fellows; not "goody-goody" monstrosities, but
active, healthy, mischievous, occasionally naughty
(and subsequently repentant) little men, whom it
is a pleasure to know even at second-hand. No
better book for our Catholic young folk has
appeared for a long while; ancj the touch of
novelty which our American boys will discover
in the games and pastimes indulged in by young
Britishers will give to it additional charm. The
illustrations are plentiful and good.

Elizabeth Seton. Her Life and Work. By Agnes
Sadlier. D. and J. Sadlier & Co.

This charming life of the foundress of the
American Sisters of Charity is not merely
an interesting and edifying biography : it is a
valuable addition to the history of the Church's
development in these United States. The story of
the sixteen or seventeen years between Mother
Seton's conversion to the true faith in 1805 and
her saintly death in 1821 is intimately connected
with movements that meant much for the rise
and progress of Catholicism ; and her association
with such eminent churchmen as Archbishop
Carroll and Bishop Cheverus illumines the
narrative with side-lights for which the lover of
America's ecclesiastical history will be grateful.

Miss Sadlier has done her work in a loving and
reverential spirit ; and " the Sisters of Charity
in the United States, who are leading that holy
life of which Elizabeth Seton was so perfect an
exemplar," to whom she respectfully dedicates
the book, have reason to rejoice in that their
foundress has had the good fortune to find
so capable and sympathetic a biographer. The
work contains about a dozen excellent illus-
trations. It is well printed and bound. An
attractive volume to place on the shelves of
every private or public library.

Daughters of the Faith. By Eliza O'B. Lummis.
The Knickerbocker Press.

These are indeed " Serious Thoughts for Catholic
Women," and every chapter carries with it a
lesson, timely and of utmost importance. "The
Daughters of the Faith" should be found in
every parish of every town ; and there is no doubt
that, if this association were thus spread, an
immediate change in conditions would be notice-
able. Miss Lummis sets forth in this little book
the needs of the times and the dangers that
threaten society, at the same time suggesting
ways and means to .stem the current of evil.
The work can not be too highly recommended
to Catholic women, young and old.

"When Mother Wants it So."

BY SARAH FRANCES ASHBURTON.

A LWAYS obey your mother, child;

And do it quickly too,
Nor argue as to why or when,

As naughty children do.
It is enough that she should speak,

And bid you stay or go;
It is enough, though sometimes hard,

That mother wants it so.

She has lived twice, three times your years,

Her toils are all for you;
Sooner would she lay down her life

Than ever bid you do
What is not wise, what is not best.

Obey, then — be not slow, —
Sure that the task is never ill

When mother wants it so.

Be thoughtful of her every wish,

Be gentle, sweet and kind ;
Nowhere on earth so true a friend

As mother will you find.
O be her help, her joy, her pride.

As she is yours, you know,—
Obedient to her slightest wish,

Because she loves you so!

The Little Hungarians,

BY MRS. MARY E. MANNIX.

XIII.— Stranded in the Desert.

OUR months later, three worn
and weary travellers were
dropped from the Santa Fe
train at a station in the heart
of the desert, because their tickets would
not carry them any farther.

Steffan had so often travelled ' on
his luck,' and the sympathies of the
public had so frequently been enlisted
on behalf of the childi'en who were
with him, that he had come to rely

upon them as a kind of passport on
their journeys. But this time they had
fallen in with a conductor who, while
compassionating the brother and sister,
turned a deaf ear to all entreaties of
Steffan. He had been deceived, he
maintained ; he had not known that
Dos Arboles was in the heart of the
desert, but had thought it a flourishing
town. The conductor shook his head
sceptically.

"You should have informed yourself
positively of that," he answered. "You
say you have travelled all over the
United States."

"I have never been West before,"
said Steffan. "I don't know anything
about it."

Louis and Rose had long ago learned
to be silent, to hide their feelings, to go
where they were driven, to follow when
Steffan led. They had been wanderers
since the night they had fled from
Father Garyo and his companion.
Before many days had elapsed they
had learned the bitter truth about
Steffan: that he was an impostor and
a kidnapper.

They had been hungry and footsore,
tired and homesick ; yet they had never
made an effort to free themselves from
the j^oke under which they had been
ignorantl}', yet voluntarily, placed.
Steffan had taken care to watch them ;
he never allowed them to speak to
anybody in English, until the time came
when the Hungarian element w^as
absent from the towns they visited.

After Steffan had admitted that the
Hungarian troubadours were a fiction,
he made no effort to keep up any
pretence of an ultimate destination.
They gave their performances wherever
they could, generally on the streets, from
which they were often driven, In such

THE AVE MARIA.

157

►

cases, Steffan, fearing arrest, would
move on to the next town, sometimes
on the cars, sometimes in a wagon,
and often on foot.

More than once it had occurred to
Louis to escape; but the farther they
got away from home, the more he
reahzed how difficult it would be to
return. They were helpless, without
resources; he feared they might be
arrested as vagrants, and he and Rose
probably separated ; and any hardship
or privation was preferable to that.
Moreover, Louis felt ashamed to go
back. He lully comprehended what a
mistake he had made, and how ungrate-
ful his conduct must seem to the only
friends they had in the world.

The hope of finding their brother was
the only one that now animated the
children, and the only thing which
kept them from giving way to despair.
Naturally submissive and docile, they
bore their wrongs patiently. The fiery
flashes of little Rose had long ago
subsided. During the present journey
something like anticipation had arisen
in their minds.

After many halts and delays, they
were nearing California. As the train
puffed away and disappeared in the
distance, they looked about them.
Besides the station, a few frame houses,
weather-stained and rickety, comprised
the town. One of these was a dwelling,
a sort of annex to the station; the
other was a saloon. About midway
between the track and the horizon— at
least so it apj)eared to the unfamiliar
eyes now gazing upon it— a stretch of
water gleamed in the late afternoon
sun. Here and there upon the immense
arid plain appeared a number of sheds,
which the trio imagined to be shelters
for horses. But they were in reality
Indian dwellings; for Dos Arboles was
an Indian village, — if such a widely-
scattered collection of dwellings can
with ]>ropriety be called a village.
The children's belongings consisted

of two shabby telescope baskets and
their musical instruments. Steffan car-
ried an old-fashioned leather bag.

" Lift the grips and come right into
the station," said Steffan. "The sun is
terribly hot here."

Wearily Louis obeyed him, Rose
dragging on behind.

"Where you going?" inquired the
station master, who was also the
telegraph operator.

"We don't know," replied Steffan.

"Don't know?" exclaimed the man.

"Well, we are bound for California,"
continued Steffan. " But we've been
fooled in our tickets and put off here.
Thought this was a town."

"So it is, — an Indian town."

"No white people?"

"No steady residents except my wife
and me, and the saloon-keeper and his
boy. This is a freight station, and a
passenger too. Once in a while they
come over from the mines and from
some of the ranches to take the cars
here. To-morrow night we'll have 'a
plenty of 'em.' "

"I'm a showman," said Steffan.

"This your show?" the station
master asked pitifulh^ looking at the
white, pinched faces of the two children.

"We have good music and we can
sing," answered Steffan. "Will they
like that?"

"I guess so. Anything for a change.
They're good -hearted fallows, though
a bit rough. They'll help you onward
all right."

"Where can we stay?" asked Steffan.

The man looked about him.

"We've got only one room and a
little kitchen. But there's plenty of
empty shacks round, where you can
sleep. And my wife will be glad to give
you a bite, if you'll play for her. She's
very fond of music."

At this moment a woman appeared
at the door between the office and the
dwelling. Her skin was brown and
parofced like that of an Indian. She

158

THE AVE MARIA

was very neat and clean, and smiled
pleasantl}- at the two children.

"Bless ray soul, you look awfully
tired, dearies!" she said. "Who are
they. Pike?"

" Stranded," replied her husband.
"Got anything for them to eat?"

" Oh, yes ! Are you hungry, children ? "

"Yes, ma'am," came timidly from
two pairs of lips.

"Come right in here, then."

"May I go too?" asked Steffan.

"Certainly, certainly! You are all
three welcome," answered the woman.

In a few moments she had prepared a
simple but appetizing meal. The table
was covered with white oilcloth; a
bunch of nasturtiums standing in a
glass vase in the middle lent a touch
of taste and refinement to everything.

"Your own children?" inquired the
woman, after they had risen from the
table.

"Oh, yes!" was the reply.

"Mother dead?"

"Long ago."

"What a pity! A hard life you must
have, I am sure! "

"Sometimes, — not always. The kids
like it; they're used to it."

The kind-hearted woman looked at
them doubtfully. The children went to
the window. Suddenly the sun, during
the last hour a ball of red fire on the
horizon, dropped behind the mountains.
It was almost dark.

"The land of no twilight," said the
station master. " It will be coolernow."

"Let us go over to the lake," said
Louis to Rose. "The water looks so
clear and fresh."

"How far away do you suppose it
is?" asked the station master.

"Maybe half a mile," answered Louis.

"Half a mile!" exclaimed the man,
w^ith a laugh. "It's well on to six
miles, that lake. That's the deception
of the desert. If you'll give us a little
music first, we'll walk round after a
while — or my wife will, for I can't leave

the place,— and find you a couple of
shacks for sleeping. We've got two or
three mattresses we'll lend you."

Steffan brought in the music; but
then proposed that they play outside,
as it was so warm. The audience was
augmented by the saloon-keeper and
his assistant, who came out at the
first sound of the music. Everybody
pronounced it excellent, unusual, and
sure to attract a crowd and draw
considerable money.

( To be continued. )

The Warning of the Birds.

The death of Archduke Joseph of
Hungary recalls a story which, though
often repeated, may be new to some of
our young folk. During the war which
he waged with Prussia, his troops
had on one occasion encamped on the
outskirts of a forest, and had lain down
for the night, when one of the sentries
sent word to the Archduke that a
soldier insisted on speaking with him.
When admitted, the man proved to be
a gipsy, of whose peojile the good
Archduke had been a warm friend and
benefactor. The soldier hastily warned
him, in gipsy dialect, that the enemy
was stealing upon the camp.

"How can you know this?" asked
the Archduke. "The outposts have
given no warning."

"Because they see nothing," returned
the gipsy. "But remark the flocks of
birds on the wing, all flying south.
Birds do not fly at night unless some-
thing disturbs them. Nothing but the
passage of some great body through
the woods — for there is no fire — could
cause them to desert in such numbers."

" It is well, my son. We will see to it,"
said the Archduke; and he roused the
camp and got everything in readiness.
An hour later began the engagement
with the hostile forces that had meant
to surprise the camp.

THE AVE MARIA
With Authors and Publishers.

159

— Van Brce's Second Mass, arranged for four
mixed voices, and Mass of the Holy Rosary, by
Alphonse Cary, both in accordance with the
decrees of the S. C. R., are among the late
publications of J. Fischer & Brother, agents for
Cary & Co., London.

— We welcome an American edition of Paul
Bourget's great novel, "Divorce. A Domestic
Tragedy of Modern France." It is published by
Messrs. Scribner's Sons. The purpose of this
powerful book is to show the evils entailed by
any departure from the strictest monogamous
standard, and this purpose is carried out with
wondrous vigor and subtlety.

— "Home Songs," by Genevieve Irons, is a col-
lection of forty-six lyrics, "chiefly concerning holy
things." With much to recommend them in the
matter of graceful fancies, elevating thought, and
devotional atmosphere, these songs have the
additional merit of exceptionally correct versifi-
cation. Published, as a paper<oTered booklet,
by Burns & Oates, Ltd.

— A new edition of the Hon. Mrs. Maxwell
Scott's very readable work, "The Tragedy of
Fotheringay," has been published by Sands &
Co. Interest in Mary Queen of Scots knows no
waning, even though the books bearing on her
life and death form no inconsiderable library.
The material in the present account of the last
few months of Queen Mary's life is taken from
the Journal of D. Bourgoing, physician to the
royal prisoner, and from documents not gen-
erally cited in historical works.

— While there was much to praise in Sir Horace
Plunkett's "Ireland in the New Century," there
\\-cre also certain criticisms which necessarily
challenged vigorous dissent on the part of Irish
Catholics. Sir Horace, for instance, insisted that
their Catholic faith was one of the great sources
of Irishmen's economic shortcomings. The Rev.
Dr. O'Riordan, in "Catholicity and Progress in
Ireland," effectively disposes of that particular
fallacy, and of a good many more that are
devoutly believed by superficial students of Ire-
land and the Irish question.

— Sundry newspaper correspondents have been
commenting recently on Scott's misquotation of
Wordsworth's lines: "The swan on still St. Mary's
lake Float double, swan and shadow," and some
of them seem to think that Sir Walter's "Swan
upon St. Mary's lake" was too unimportant a
change to merit remark. As a matter of fact,
the change was condemnable for two reasons. In
the first phice, the epithet "still" suggests the
mirror-like surface which alone could provide the

double floating; and, in the second, the "swan
upon" is a rhyme not intended in the scheme of
the stanza, and hence a distinct fault of technique.
Wordsworth had every right to object to the
modified line.

^B. Herder has published a second edition of
"The Mysteries of the Holy Rosary." It consists
of an explanation of this devotion and a scries
of meditations on the mysteries of Our Lady's
chaplet. A summary of the indulgences granted
at various times by the Sovereign Pontiffs is also
given.

— It will be good news to the great mass of
our readers to learn that the scholarly Benedic-
tine historian, Dom Gasquet, has just published,
through Messrs. Bell & Sons, another valuable
work, "Henry III. and the Church." It is an
illuminative volume, and deals most satisfactorily
with a difficult period in politico - ecclesiastical
history. We shall review it later on.

— "Wandewana's Prophecjr and Fragments in
Verse" is the title of an attractive little volume in
white and gold, published for Eliza L. M. Mulcahy
by the John Murphy Co. The title poem is a
rhymed narrative of some thirteen hundred lines,
for the most part iambic tetrameter. The
"Fragments" are short lyrics, about forty in
number, upon a variety of topics and emotions.
Many of Mrs. Mulcahy's lines are so good, and
much of her work shows such dainty fancy, that
one regrets the occasional instances of faulty
rhymes, misplaced accent, and generally defective
technique. More careful proof-reading would
have eliminated a numljer of errors for which the
author will lie held responsible. The average
Catholic reader will derive both pleasure and
instruction from what Mrs. Mulcahy modestly
calls her "Simple Message."

— Writing in the current Atlantic Monthly,
Henry Dwight Sedgewick thus differentiates three
varieties of the reading mob: "The proletarian
reading mob, which reads dime novels ; the
lower bourgeois reading mob, which reads the
novels of Alljert Ross, E. P. Roe, and the like ;
and the upper bourgeois reading mob, which
reads Winston Churchill, Charles Major, Thomas
Dixon, Jr., . . . and otiiers." Mr. Sedgewick
makes no specific mention of Maurice Hewlett;
but if questioned, would probably place him in
the Winston Churchill class, — unless, indeed, he
has read Mr. Hewlett's latest novel, "The Fool
Errant," in which case he might well consign
him to the dime novelists' section. "The Fool
Errant" is an unwholesome story, and an
artistically untruthful one as well, inasmuch as

160

THE AVE MARIA.

its author presents as types cliaractcrs that, if
they ever existed at all, were not typical, but
distinctly exceptional, representations of their
class. Fra Palamone, for instance, is no truer
a picture of the average eighteenth - century
Italian friar than is Jesse James of the average
nineteenth-century American gentleman.

— L'AbW Hippolyte Hemmer, of the clergy of
Paris, contributed recently to La Quinzaine a very
interesting study entitled, "Reflections on the
Situation of the Church in France at the Begin-
ning of the Twentieth Century." Many readers
of his work having expressed the hope of seeing
it more widespread than the magazine in whose
pages it appeared, he has brought out a repro-
duction in the form of a brochure, with the title
Politique Religieuse et Separation. (Alphonse
Picard et Fils, 82 Rue Bonaparte, Paris.) These
thoughtful pages are replete with illuminative
statements of present conditions and the logical
consequences derivative therefrom. They are
vibrant with the note of actuality and show
scant courtesy to the reactionary spirit; and,
while taking account of existing difficulties and
coming trials, are , by no means pessimistic.
L'Abb^ Hemmer's study should prove of real
utility to the thinkers in Catholic France, and it
will undoubtedly attract the sustained interest of
cultured readers evervwhere.

The Latest Books,
A Guide to Good Reading.

Tbe object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
appear at the head, older ones being dropped out
from time to time to make room for new titles.
.4s a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will be imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller ~ia this country
who kcci>s a full supply of works issued abroad.
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"A Gleaner's Sheaf." 30 cts., net.
'A Story of Fifty Years." $1, net.
"The Ridingdale Boys." David Bearne, S. J.
$1.85, net.

"By What Authority?" Robert Hugh Benson.

$1.60, net.
"Historical Criticism and the Old Testament."

P^re J. M. Lagrange, O. P. 75 cts , net.
"Divorce. A Domestic Tragedy of Modern

France." Paul Bourget. $1.50.
" Wandewana's I'mphecy and Fragments in

Verse." Eliza L. Mulcahy. $1, net.

'Notes on Christian Doctrine." Most Rev.

Edward Bagshawe, D. D. $1.35, net.
'The House of Cards." John Heigh. $1.50.
' The Transplanting of Tessie." Mary T. VVagga-

man. 60 cts.
'The Sacrifice of the Mass." Very Rev. Alex.

McDonald, D. D. 60 cts., net.
'The Knowableness of God." Rev. Matthew

Schumacher, C. S. C. 50 cts.
'The Blessed Virgin in the Nineteenth Century;

Apparitions, Revelations, Graces." Bernard

St. John. $1.75, net.
' The Redemptorists at Annapolis." $2.
'The Imitation of Christ." Sir Francis R. Cruise.

30 cts.
' The House of God and Other Addresses and

Studies." Very Rev. Thomas J. Shahan, D. D.

$1.50, net.
'Nut- Brown Joan." Marion Ames Taggart.

$1.50.
'Beyond Chance of Change." Sara Andrew

Shafer. $1.50.
' Vigils with Jesus." Rev. John Whelan. 40 cts.

Obituary.

Remember tbem that are in bands. — Sbb., xUl. 3

Rev. A. Huthmacher, of the diocese of Cleve-
land; Rev. Richard Brennan, archdiocese of San
Francisco ; and Rev. Owen Walsh, C. SS. R.

Sister M. Liguori, of the Sisters of St. Joseph ;
Sister Mary Berchmans, Order of Mercy ; Sister
Alice Teresa, Order of Mt. Carmel ; and Mother
M. Sabina, Sisters of the Holy Cross.

Mr. George De Ville, of Canton, Ohio; Mrs.
H. V. Winslow, Martinez, Cal.; Catherine Garrity,
Cambridge, Mass. ; Mr. Edward Claeys, South
Bend, Ind. ; Mrs. Flora Lawler, San Francisco,
Cal.; Mrs. Catherine Schoniwald, St. Helena, Cal.;
Mr. David Supple, HoUiston, Mass.; Mr. Thomas
Welch, Columbus, Ohio ; Mr. A. McDonald, Alex-
andria, Canada ; Mrs. Eliza McEvilly, Montreal,
Canada ; and Mr. M. Steele, St. Peter's Bay, P. E. I.

Reqaiescant in pace !

Our Contribution Box.

'* Thy Father, who seeth ia secret, will repay thee."
The Chinese missions :

J.J. C, $1.
The lepers of the archdiocese of Tokio :

B.J. M., $1.50; Brooklyn, $1.
To supply ^ood reading to hospitals, prisons, etc.:

Friends, $4; P. H. A., $1; Mgr. O'R., $14.55;

C. P. A., $2.

I.A VIERGE AUX LYS.
(Bouguerean.)

HENCEFORTH AU GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUME, I., 4S.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, AUGUST 5, 1905.

NO. 6.

[Published every Saturday. Copyright; Rev, D. E. Hudson, C.S.C.]

Our Lady of the Snow.

BV S. M. R.

Sum nivia semita solis pcdibus Dei.

— Apocryphal Gospels.

Q PATH of whiteness for the feet of God,

O path wherein Divinity hath trod !
No stain of earth did thy fair body l<now,
Thou whiter than Mt. Selmon's trackless snow.
Thy crystal beauty blended with the tide
That poured for us from Christ's spear-riven side.
Transformed of Love, God's path of virgin snow.
Thou art the channel whence all blessings flow.
O Mother-Maid, O Heart of purity,
Be thou our way to thy dear Son and thee !

The First Priest in Korea.

BY DOM MATER.SUS SPITZ, O. S. B.

HERE lies in the Far East a
small peninsula which juts out
between the Yellow Sea and
the Sea of Japan, and stretches
southward below the maritime
province of Siberia and Chinese or
Russian Manchuria. In the native
tongue of its inhabitants it bears the
highly poetical name of Choson, or the
"Land of the Morning Calm," whilst
to outsiders it is known under the
name of Korea. For centuries this
peninsula was the shuttlecock among
the nations, till its " white -coated,
white -trousered, and white - socked "
inhabitants introduced the strictest
enclosure ever known in the political

history of the world,— a policy of isola-
tion, by which no foreigner was allowed
under pain of death to enter the
kingdom. Rightly, therefore, was the
"Land of the Morning Calm" styled
the "forbidden bridge between China
and Japan "and the "Hermit Kingdom
of the Far East."

But where neither merchant, nor trav-
eller, neither geographer nor scientist
had penetrated. Catholic missionaries
made their way, and the Church found
her faithful children — her martyrs and
confessors and virgins — ready to shed
their blood rather than stain the white
garment of holy chastity, or soil their
souls by taking part in pagan super-
stitions which they had renounced in
the waters of regeneration. Whether
considered, indeed, in its beginning and
development or in its maintenance,
progress, and present condition, Korea,
which for a century has l)een the
symbol of persecution and martyrdom,
furnishes the most wonderful chapter
of missionary history.

Korea is the blood-stained chapter,
the living martyrolog3', in the annals
of the Catholic Church in the nine-
teenth century ; for her whole history is
written in blood, every date is marked
by a martyrdom, every detail describes
a scene of torture, a dungeon or an
execution, during the four periods of
terrible persecution which had been
raging from 1784. to 1794, from 1794
to 1801, from 1801 to 1831, and from
1831 to 1884. Her first neophyte was
a martyr, her first Chinese apostle

162

THE AVE MARIA

was a martyr, her first native priest
was a martj'r, her first bishop was a
martyr, her first European missionaries
were all martyrs. It is to the first
priest who entered the Hermit Kingdom
of Korea, the Chinese priest Father
Jacob Tsiu, that we wish to draw the
attention of the reader. *

It was in the year 1784 that the
morning star of salvation began to
dawn in the "Land of the Morning
Calm," when, through the influence of
two young literati, Peter Seng-hun-i Ly
and John Baptist Pieki, recent converts
to the Catholic Faith, the first seed of
Christianity was sown in Korea. They
gathered round them their friends and
relatives — most of whom belonged to
the leading families of the nobility and
to the educated classes, — held religious
conferences, and compared the Christian
dogmas with the vague doctrines of
Buddhism, and thus formed in a short
time a nucleus of fervent lay apostles
such as Xavier Kouen Ilsini, Ambrose
Kouen, Louis Gonzaga Tanoueni,
Matthias and John Tsoi, etc. For ten
years, in spite of much persecution,
these heroic lay workers carried on
the labors of the apostolate and of
evangelization.

Over and over again the Korean
neophytes had applied to Bishop
Alexander de Govea of Peking, earnestly
begging of him to send them a priest.
But when year after year their prayer
remained unanswered, they at last
went so far as to assume episcopal and
sacerdotal functions, in order to give
to the Korean Church at any rate an
exterior sign of a hierarchy. Ignorant
of the sacerdotal character, these
neophytes undoubtedly acted in good
faith, till doubts arose in their minds

* Padre Gregorio de Cespedez, who accompanied
the Japanese General Augustine Ariniandono
Konishe, to Korea in 1593 acted only as a
military chaplain to the Japanese troops,
although he made a few converts among the
pagan Koreans.

about the validity of their orders
and their sacramental administrations.
They gave up their assumed dignities,
and sent Paul lun and John Baptist U
to the Chinese capital with the request
that the Bishop should send a priest
to Korea. Mgr. de Govea promised to
do so, and dispatched Padre Toao de
Remedios early in 1791. Padre Toao
was unable, however, to set his foot on
the soil of the "Land of the Morning
Calm," because the Korean messengers
who were to have led him across the
frontier did not appear, on account
of a new persecution which had just
broken out in that year.

For ten years (1784^1794) the Korean
Church had grown up without the
exterior help of a pastor'; and after
these ten years of an apostolate
which had been carried out by fervent
laymen, we find martj^rs, confessors,
and virgins; and, in spite of persecu-
tion and apostasy, a flock of 4000
fervent Christians, without a priest,
without any sacraments except that of
baptism, without the Holy Sacrifice, —
without any spiritual help and support
in the days of trials and doubts, in
life or death. Divine Providence, how-
ever, had been watching over the
destinies of the infant Church in Korea
and sent her help in due time.

In 1793 two Korean envoys, Paul
lun and Sabas Tsi, arrived again in
Peking to solicit the help of Bishop de
Govea. As Padre Toao de Remedios
had died in the meantime, his Lordship
chose for this purpose a young Chinese
priest, only twent_v-four years old,
whom Portuguese records call P. Tayme
Vellozo. His proper name, however, is
Jacob Tsiu, and he was born at
Su-tcheu, in the. province of Kiang-nan.
His sincere piet3% his profound learning
in both Chinese and ecclesiastical science
and literature, as well as his prudence,
his Korean-like features, and his adapt-
aliility to all the difierent circumstances
of life, induced the Bishop to select

THE AVE MARIA.

163

him for the important position ; and
subsequent events proved that this
choice was a good one.

Empowered with all the ordinary
and extraordinary' faculties, and forti-
fied with the blessing of the Bishop,
Father Tsiu left the capital of the
" Celestials in the flowery Middle King-
dom" in the month of February, 1794,
and after a journey of twenty days
arrived at the frontier of Korea. Owing
to the recent persecution, however, the
guards stationed along the frontiers
were on the lookout, and every traveller,
native or foreigner, was liable to the
minutest scrutiny before he A^'as able to
cross the passes lietween Pien-men and
Ei-tsiu, the last and first villages respec-
tively of China and Korea. Father
Tsiu had, therefore, to wait for a favor-
able opportunity and he lingered for ten
weary months, which were, however,
well spent. At the request of Bishop de
Govea, he visited the Christians scat-
tered along the frontiers of China,
Mongolia and Manchuria, and admin-
istered to them the spiritual consola-
tions of our holy religion.

In December Father Tsiu returned to
Pien-raen, where to his surprise he
found the Korean envoy Sabas Tsi,
who had been sent by the Korean
Christians to conduct their pastor
across the frontier into the land of
Choson, or Korea. After having
exchanged his Chinese dress for the
many -folded white Korean coat and
the large Korean white trousers, and
having laid aside the Chinese pigtail
and arranged his hair into the well-
known Korean top -knot. Father Tsiu
crossed the frontier river Apno in the
cold winter night of December 23,
1794, and arrived safely in the Korean
village of Ei-tsiu, where several native
Christians were waiting to receive him
and to conduct him to Han-yang, or
Seoul, the cajjital of the country-.

He arrived there in the beginning of
January, 1795, and was heartil3' wel-

comed by the Christians as a "God-sent
angel from heaven." The capital, with
its large population, seemed to Father
Tsiu to be the safest place of refuge,
as it was not so easy to detect a
stranger among the crowd; and, in
order to avoid all suspicion, he took
up his abode in the house of Matthias
Tsoi, one of the leading members of
the Catholic flock in the capital, who
lived opposite the royal palace.

Father Tsiu began his apostolic career
by studying the native language, in
order to converse more easily with
the ordinary classes of people, as only
the literati and the better conditioned
classes spoke Chinese. Then he began
his instructions to the catechumens who
were about to receive baptism, and
preached a series of mission sermons
to prepare the neophytes of longer
standing for the sacraments of Penance
and Holy Eucharist, of which they had
been deprived since the introduction
of Christianity bj' the lay apostles.
On Holy Saturday, 1795, Father Tsiu
baptized the first throng, consisting of
a large number of adult catechumens,
gave instructions to others, and spent
the afternoon hearing the confessions
of the hitherto shepherdless flock.
One can imagine the joy of both
the zealous pastor and his fervent
neophytes when on Easter Sunday
was offered up the first Holy Mass
ever celebrated on the blood-stained
soil of Korea. On that occasion the
greater number of Catholics, residing
in Seoul, assisted and made their First
Communion.

Day by day new Christians came into
the capital from the outlying districts,
to visit their pastor in his hiding-place,
and to receive from him the blessings
and consolations of our holy religion.
As the number of catechumens increased,
the pastor, absorlied in his apostolic
work, nearly forgot his dangerous
position in the Hermit Kingdom, and
one day the sudden appearance of the

164

THE AVE MARIA.

Korean police reminded him that he
was on forbidden ground. It was on
June 27, 1795, that the pursuivants
broke into the house of Matthias Tsoi
to arrest Father Tsiu. The pohce were
led by a young nobleman, Han-yeng-ik-i,
who had outwardly embraced Christi-
anity, apparently for the sole purpose
of coming into contact with the priest
and his followers, and betraying them
both. But the Christians had become
aware of his treacherous plans, and
warned Father Tsiu in good time. His
generous host Matthias Tsoi saved the
priest's life by sacrificing his own.

On the arrival of the police, he arranged
his hair according to the fashion of
foreigners and went to meet them. They
put him into chains and dragged him
before the tribunal, where to their
amazement they found that they had
the wrong man ; for the features of the
priest were altogether different from
those of his host. Father Tsiu wore
a long black beard, whilst Matthias
was deprived of any such ornament.
Excited and furious that their prey
should have escaped, the pursuivants
let their anger loose on Tsoi. Together
with Paul lun and Sabas Tsi, who had
brought the priest into the countrj^
he was thrown into the prison. As no
torture or cruelty was able to force a
single syllable from the lips of these
three confessors as to the whereabouts
of Father Tsiu, they were condemned,
and put to death together on June 28,
1795, their lifeless bodies being thrown
into the river.

In the meantime Father Tsiu found
a new hiding-place in the house of a
noble lady, Columba Kang, who had
lieen received into the one true fold of
Christ a few weeks before, and who
henceforth became the priest's powerful
])rotectress as well as his most zealous
helper in his apostolic work. Her
husband, a low-minded pagan of loose
manners, had abandoned her on account
of her -conversion, and she lived with

her mother in the capital. Columba
managed to conceal the priest even
from the servants living in the house.
Besides, the laws and customs of Korea
made this abode the safest place of
security. As Columba belonged to the
nobility, her house was exempt from
all police supervision. No authority
was allowed to enter the house of a
noble man or lady under pain of death,
unless there was a special royal license
for this purpose. The circumstance that
Columba's husband had left her, made
Father Tsiu's shelter still safer. Thus
the zealous pastor was well secured
Irom "the eyes of the law," so that
even manj' Catholics, residing in Seoul,
did not know of his hiding-place. Only
the principal leaders of the Christians
and the fathers of families were allowed
to see him from time to time, and to
them he gave the necessary instructions
for the guidance of others.

The six years which Father Tsiu spent
in this hiding-place were far from being
unfruitful. During the day he wrote
down his instructions and sermons,
which the catechists had to read to the
assembled congregations, and composed
or translated devotional books for the
use of catechumens, catechists and
neophytes. At night he instructed the
catechumens, administered the sacra-
ments, advised and strengthened the
Christians, who came to him to find
solace and comfort in their trials. From
time to time he left his hiding-place to
undertake throughout the provinces of
the kingdom longer journeys, during
which as a rule he always staj^ed with
the families of martyrs.

As the life of the missionary was at
the mercy of the numerous spies who
constantly pursued him, Father Tsiu
was unable to communicate freely with
his flock ; so he founded the Confrater-
nity of Christian Doctrine, or Mieng-to,
whose members obliged themselves to
Iiropagate the Catholic religion among
^ their relatives and friends and to

THE AVE MARIA.

165

facilitate the communications between
the pastor and his flock. Father Tsiu
placed at the head of this confraternity
Augustine Tieng-Yack-tsiong, a member
of one of the noblest families of Seoul,
a leader of the literati, who meantime
played an important role at the royal
court. Father Tsiu laid down the rules,
appointed the place and subject for the
discussions, and sometimes conducted
the meetings of the Confraternity from
his hiding-place. Truly this sfate of
things in the Church of Korea in the
eighteenth century reminds one forcibly
of the Church in the Catacombs in the
earlier centuries of Christianity.

The description of Father Tsiu's
character, zeal and energy, as given by
his faithful, devoted children is most
touching. They praise the edifying life
he led, his mortification, his exceeding
condescension and mildness, his pru-
dence and discretion ; they note his
ascetic features, and especially his deep
learning, of which his many writings
afford ample proof. Through his influ-
ence and saintly life he abolished many
abuses which as yet had not been
rooted out, or had crept in again ; and
during the six years of his apostolate
he increased the number of Christians
from 4000 to 10,000.

The King of Korea, Tsieng-tsong-tai-
wang, was favorably disposed toward
Christianity ; for he was well aware
that even many members of the royal
house as well as other noble families
had embraced the religion of Christ;
and to attack these would have
resulted very seriously for him. The
Queen -Regent, Kien-Tieng-siim-i, how-
ever, went hand in hand with the
enemies of the Christians. Scarcely,
therefore, had the King breathed his last
in 1800, when edicts were published
for the utter annihilation of the "new
religion."

The year 1801 will be ever mem-
orable in the history of the Church of
the Hermit Kingdom. During that

year Christianity in Korea bought its
citizenship into the Church by its own
blood and by the blood of its children.
Kim Il-Siun-i, an apostate, became
the Judas among his faithful brethren,
and delivered many Christians into the
hands of the persecutors. Among the
martyrs who were beheaded in that
3'ear we find some of the first disciples
of Seng-hun-i and Pieki, and many of
the zealous lay apostles who helped
Father Tsiu in his vineyard ; among
others John and Thomas Tsio, Augustine
Tieng, Ambrose Kouen, Louis Gonzaga
Tanoueni, and Peter Seng-hun-i himself,
"the first baptized Christian and the
herald of the faith in Korea."

The persecutors had in view only to
get at the leader of the Christians, and
numerous Catholics were arrested in
order to procure information of the
whereabouts of the priest, whose posi-
tion became more dangerous day by
day. Thinking that his withdrawal
for a time would stop the persecution,
Father Tsiu resolved to leave the
country. He actually quitted Seoul and
had gone as far as Ex-tsiu, the frontier
village of Korea, when suddenly he
changed his mind and returned to Seoul,
in order to deliver himself into the hands
of the authorities.

One of Columba Kang's servants had
in the meantime betrayed the secret
that she was sheltering the priest ; so
she was arrested and tortured by order
of the Queen -Regent. Columba con-
fessed that the priest had been in her
house ; but that, as she had been absent
for a considerable period, she knew
nothing of his whereabouts at the
present time. At once new edicts were
circulated throughout the length and
breadth of the "Land of the Morning
Calm," promising high rewards to
those who would aid in arresting the
"Chinese priest" and send him to Seoul.

Father Tsiu, as we have stated, had
already returned to the capital. Early
in the morning of April 28, 1801, he

166

THE AVE MARIA.

left his hiding-place, went straight to
the "Kuem-pee," the great prison for
state criminals, and presented himself
to the guards, saying: "I am the
stranger, the head of the new religion,
for whom you are looking in every
corner of the kingdom." Startled at
this unexpected announcement, but
glad at having the much-desired prey
at last in their hands, the guards put
him into chains and dragged him before
the judges. To the question of one of
them why he came to Korea, Father
Tsiu replied: "The only motive that
guided me was to preach the true
religion of Jesus Christ and to save the
souls of these poor people of Korea." He
declined, however, to answer any further
questions about the places and families
he had visited ; he made, instead, an
eloquent apology in defence of the
Catholic religion, and handed over a
written apology to the authorities,
wherein he denied that the Christians
were traitors to their country.

But although Father Tsiu was a
Chinese subject, and as such exempt
from Korean laws and law courts,
according to treaties concluded between
China and Korea, the Queen condemned
him to death. After having been tort-
ured and bastinadoed, the heroic con-
fessor was dragged outside the city
gates to a place which hitherto had been
destined for the execution of state crimi-
nals. When he arrived there and saw the
large crowd of people that ha4 gath-
ered, he said in a loud voice: "I die
for the religion of the Lord of Heaven.
Woe to you, ye men of Korea! Within
ten years your kingdom will be afflicted
by many misfortunes, and then you will
remember my name." After these words
his ears were pierced by arrows, and
the martyr priest was carried three
times round the place of execution.
Then he was placed in the centre, and,
kneeling, received from each soldier a
blow with the sword, at the command
of the military mandarin, who was

charged by the Queen to see that her
orders were executed with regard to
Father Tsiu.

Thus died the first priest of the
martyr Church of Korea, at the age
of .thirty-two years, at four o'clock in
the afternoon of May 31 (feast of the
Blessed Trinity), 1801. Three hundred
of his faithful children in Seoul followed
in the footsteps of their pastor and
laid down their lives for their religion.
Among them was his kind protectress,
Columba Kang, who was beheaded on
July 3, of the same year. For five days
and nights the severed head of the mar-
tyred missionary was suspended over
the gates of Seoul, whilst his lifeless
body was exposed. A company of
soldiers had to guard the place, lest
the Christians should steal the remains
of their beloved pastor. Moreover, to
deceive them with regard to his last
resting-place, the mandarin changed
his plans and buried the remains in a
different spot from the one originally
intended; and thus the resting-place
of the precious relics of the first
martyr priest of Korea is unknown.
His memory, however, has been kept
alive during the long years of persecu-
tion, and to this day is venerated
by the faithful children of the martyr
Church, to whom, in the days of trials
and triumph, his heroic life and death
have given new strength, life and vigor.

Read the lives of saints. There have
been saints of all ages, all ranks, all
conditions. Many retained baptismal
innocence, others had been great sinners.
They were subject to the same passions,
habits and temptations as ourselves,
and sometimes to greater, — that is,
they had as many or more obstacles
to surmount. And it is remarkable
that the Church never won more saints
than in those first ages when the
profession of Christianity was a pledge
of martjrrdom.— Grou's "Maxims,"

THE AVE MARIA.

167

Aunt Norine's Prayer-Book.

IIY MARV T. WAGGAMA.N.
I.

HND to my dearly beloved niece
and goddaughter, Marian Mor-
ton, I leave iti}- old prayer-book —
' St. Vincent's Manual,'— that has given
me comfort and help in my sorrow for
fifty years; asking that she will some-
times make the Stations of the Cross
for my departed soul."

A faint but irrepressible smile flickered
around the grave group of mourners
as the dry voice of Lawyer Banning
read out these words.

Mrs. Marian Morton's face flushed
slightly, but she gave no other sign.
Aunt Norine had been cruelly disap-
pointed in her, she knew,— disappointed
by her mixed marriage, her careless,
indifferent life, the irreligious education
of her children; but she had expected
no such stinging public rebuke as this.
Her old prayer-book — Aunt Norine's old
prayer-book— to her, when she had not
been within a church for half a dozen
years ! Legacies, memorials, bequests to
all the other nieces and nephews; and
to her, who had once been the best
beloved of all, only this !

But the pride which had always been
her bitter strength helped Marian
Morton to sit calm and unmoved, save
for the rising flush on her cheek, while
the final terms of the rich Miss Norine
Parker's will were read aloud to the
mourners, listening with ill -concealed
eagerness.

"And all the residue of my estate, not
otherwise given or bequeathed, I leave
in trust to the pastor of St. Margaret's
Church, to lie held for the term of ten
years, when, with all rentals and inter-
est accruing therefrom, said residue
shall be used for the erection of an
Orphans' Home in St. Margaret's
parish."

The words fell like a chill upon the
breathless listeners. Parker's Hill, with
all its fair outstanding land, to become
an Orphans' Home, when at least five
and thirty of Aunt Norine's blood kin
had been in a state of hopeful expect-
ancy for the last forty -eight hours!
But there were none to dispute Aunt
Norine's will in death, as there had been
none to defy it in life; none but the
dark-haired woman who had broken
passionately away from her hold and
rule fifteen years ago, and to whom the
prayer-book had been left to-day.

Aunt Norine had been calm and
clear-headed to the last, as everyone
knew. Parker's Farm with its wide,
well-tilled acres stretching down to the
willow -girdled river, its "great house"
with its polished floors and glittering
windows, its silver and china and linen
presses attesting to its old mistress'
watchful care, bore witness that Miss
Norine's "faculty" had never failed.
Was not the pantry key under her
pillow, the spoons counted by her
bedside, her silver hair wrapped care-
fully in its buckle curl-papers, on the
very night she had been found, with
her worn rosary clasped in her
withered fingers, placidly sleeping her
last sleep.

Yet, though Aunt Norine had proved
her lawful right to have her will and
way unto the end, gossiping tongues
were busy that evening as the mourners
scattered over the sunset hills ; and
the prospective Orphans' Home received
scant approval even from the most
charitable.

" It's her own flesh and blood she
might have thought of first," said
Cousin Jane Parker, sharply. "There's
my own Mary Ann drudging away in
the kitchen,— she that would be made
outright by the few years' schooling
a mite of that same Orphans' Home
would have given her!"

"And our Henry, with his weak back
and lame leg, — it would have been

168

THE AYE MARIA.

nothing more than Christian charity
to give a bit of a lift to him instead
of strangers that she will never see,"
said Mrs. Almira Brown, bitterly.

" Hem ! an Orphans' Home ! " growled
Uncle Josiah Gwynn. "It's easy seen
who was at the bottom of that.
Priest and parson are all alike. Once
they get the grip of a poor dying fool's
purse-strings, blood and kin may starve
on all that's left. Norine Parker may
have been queer and set in her ways,
but she was a kind woman at heart.
It was a hard blow her dead hand
gave Marian Morton this day, and the
priest was behind it. sure!"

"I beg your pardon!" said a quick,
crisp voice; and little Lawyer Norris,
who was making his brisk way to the
evening train, broke sharply into the
'Conversation. "Though it isn't in the
line of business, I really must put in a
disclaimer here. I can assure you all
that Father Morris was as ignorant
of the terms of the will as any of you.
It was drawn up three years ago, before
he became pastor of St. Margaret's;
and he is both surprised and troubled
at the responsibility placed upon him."
But while all other tongues were
thus busily discussing the event of the
day, one woman was walking home-
ward without word or sign of the fierce
storm raging in her breast. She held
her legacy in a reluctant hand, — the
old brown prayer-book, with its silver
comers, its graven clasp. Its touch
seemed to sting her like a seqient's fang.
Pride, anger, disappointment, morti-
fication, remorse, swelled the tempest
of passion in her heart. Something in
Aunt Norine's manner at their last
meeting had led her to think, to hope,
that the past had been forgiven, that
the old woman's heart had softened
to her wandering, wayward child of
long ago. The old brown prayer-book
seemed a hideous mockery of her hopes
and dreams. She felt she hated it, —
hated it and her, the dead woman who

had given her this cruel, pitiless public
blow. For all knew the sore need in
which she stood, despite her defiant
strength; all knew that the man she
had married against Aunt Norine's will
lay crippled and helpless; that the
gaunt wolf of Poverty stood at the
door of her home.

For a moment she stood at the bend
of the river, almost yielding to the
angry impulse to fling her legacy into
the blue depths beneath. But she could
not, — it seemed as if she dared not;
even now the old prayer-book was a
holy thing to her. She knew its story :
she had heard it from Aunt Norine's
lips in those far-off days when she had
learned forgotten lessons of faith, hope
and love at her knee.

The old book had been the gift of
one whose early death had changed the
world to Aunt Norine ; whose betrothal
ring had bound her as faithfully as the
unspoken marriage vow ; for whom she
had made the Way of the Cross daily
for fifty years. She could not fling Aunt
Norine's prayer-book away; but her
husband must not see, must not hear of
it. It would rouse him into demoniac
fury, she knew. Hurrying home, she
thrust it into an old bureau drawer, out
of sight, out of reach, out of memory —
as she bitterly resolved — forever.

II.

" Push me closer to the window,
mother, so I can breathe. It is so hot,
so close, so crowded here! All last
night I .was dreaming of the woods
and the fields and the river. I thought
I heard the plash of the water under
the old willows. Oh, how cool and
green they looked after these high
brick walls!"

And the speaker, a frail girl of seven-
teen, looked wearily out on the unlovely
rows of chimneys and housetops
blurring the blazing stretch of the
August sky.

"We will take a day on the boat

THE AVE MARIA.

16Q

when 3^ou are better, Milly," answered
the mother, whose gaunt, haggard face
was sadly changed from that of the
Marian Morton of old.

The last seven years had been a sore
struggle. Her husband had died, and
she had come with Milly and the little
boys to this great factorj' town for
work. But misfortunes had followed
her thick and fast. The mills had shut
down, and Milly's health had given
way. Now the children were running
wild in the court of the crowded tene-
ment house, while up in the close little
room under the roof she and Death were
making a fight for her darling's life.

"When I'm better!" the girl repeated
sadly. " Do you think that I'll ever
be better, mother dear? What did the
doctor say last night?"

And she lifted her hollow, wistful eyes
to her mother's face.

"That this weather was hard on
you, Milly."

"Yes, and that I was failing fast,"
the girl continued. "I heard him, — the
poor doctor is not too careful in
his speech. That means I am dying
mother."

"No, no, no, my Milly!" — the words
came with a hoarse, passionate sob.
"Don't say that, dading! You are
only weak and ill and discouraged.
Don't let the doctor's careless words
frighten you, dear."

"I — I can't help it," answered the
girl, with a shiver. "When I think of
it, mother, — the awful darkness, the
blank into which I can not see! Dying!
What does dying mean ? Where do we
go, what do we find ? If I only knew, —
if I onlj' knew! "

"Milly darling, don't talk, don't
think like that!" pleaded the wretched
mother.

"I must, I must! We never went to
church or Sunday-school, because, I
suppose, papa and you didn't agree
which was right. It has been such hard
work to live that we never thought

of what it was — to die. But now,
mother,— I'd like to know something,
to believe something; to feel there was
some One to pity, to care for me, in
this strange darkness, where I must go
all alone,— all alone!"

"Milly, Milly, don't!" pleaded the
mother, despairingly.

"You won't mind hearing it now,"
continued the sick girl. "Long ago,
when I was a child, I used to steal
off to the httle chapel at home — St.
Margaret's. I knew that father would
be angry, he used to say such dreadful
things about Catholics ; so I never toW.
It was so beautiful, mother,— the lights,
the flowers, the music, the little boys
in their red and white gowns, the
priest in his shining robes ! Once I saw
old Aunt Norine kneeling near the
altar, and I stole up to her; she
patted my curly head and made me
kneel down at her side. Then she took
me home with her, and gave me cherries
from the tree that shaded her porch.
Oh, what a beautiful porch it was,
with the red roses climbing over its
white pillars, and the cool breeze
blowing up from the river below!"

And the speaker sank back among
her pillows with a long, wistful sigh.

The mother set her strong lips
together in a hard, thin line. She could
have cried out in her pain as Milly
spoke. The old porch, the old home,
the beautiful, blessed life, that had been
hers in the long ago, for which her-
child was hungering, body and soul!
All night long the memorj' lingered,
rising like the desert mirage before the
dying traveller's despairing eyes. All
night long, while Milly tossed restlessly
in delirium, raving of flowing waters
and waving trees, the sword seemed
turning in the mother's heart.

The lamj) burned low in the close
little chamber; the hoarse cries of
drunken revellers came from the street
below. In the strange, dead hour that
follows midnight, Milly started up,

170

THE AYE MARIA.

panting and wide-eyed, struggling for
breath.

"I am afraid," came the piteous,
gasping cry, — "I am afraid to go out
in the darkness! Help me, mother, —
help me — to die!"

And then, at last, Marian Morton
called her little boy from his wretched
pallet and bade him go find a priest.

Father Maurice came at once, — a
white-haired old man, with kind, dim
eyes and gentle voice.

"My child is dying!" was the greet-
ing of the haggard woman who met
him at the threshold. "It is God's just
judgment on me. I have robbed her
of faith, of hope, of heaven. She is
dying unbaptized!"

"May God forgive j'ou, my daugh-
ter!" was the pitying answer; and
Father Maurice stepped to the bed
where the dying girl lay struggling in
fear and agony, took her icy hand, and
whispered words of comfort and hope.
In a little while the waters of
regeneration were poured upon Milly's
pale brow; and when the grey dawn
trembled in the narrow window, the
young soul went forth, spotless in its
baptismal innocence, into the radiance
of Eternal Light.

III.

Five days later a crushed and
humbled penitent knelt before Father
Maurice's altar. Penniless, homeless,
heart-broken Marian Morton bowed at
last in sorrow and submission at the
feet of her God.

Her few little household goods had
been taken by her creditors ; her boys
were to go to the asylum on the
morrow; Milly lay, her weary hands
folded on her breast, in a nameless
grave; yet for the first time in long,
bitter years her mother's proud, restless
heart was at peace.

The "Stations" had been the penance
fitly imposed by her confessor; and,
with Aunt Xorinc's praj'er-ljook — that
had been cast out from the bureau

drawer when her furniture was sold, —
Marian Morton prepared to make the
Way of the Cross.

The tarnished clasp of the old prayer-
book was stiff with rust; but, once
unfastened, the pages, still stained with
Aunt Norine's tears, fell open at a
touch. Pressed close within the yellow
leaves, as if marking the old lady's
favorite devotion, was a folded sheet
of paper.

"My beloved niece and goddaughter,
Marian Morton," were the words that
started out before the mourner's tear-
dimmed eyes ; bringing with them
bitter, remorseful memories of that
summer evening long ago when the
old prayer-book had been flung aside,
unopened, scorned, all its lessons of
faith and hope and love forgotten.

Wondering, she read on, even there at
the foot of the altar, bewildered, con-
fused, breathless. What did they mean,
these cramped lines, witnessed, attested,
signed the week before Aunt Norine's
death ?

That by this late deed of gift the old
home was hers; that porch and roses,
trees and river, all that her dying child
had craved, all that would have given
health and life, had been within her
hold, her touch, these long, cruel
years; that all that the pastor of St.
Margaret's held in trust, this 3'ellowing
bit of paper made, her own. And Milly,
whose childlike touch had softened the
old woman's heart, — Milly had died
parching for cool w-aters, pining for
the breeze and bloom held in the old
prayer-book's rusting clasp !

Gasping and panting, the wretched
mother started to her feet in remorseful
agon3\ But aisle and pillar seemed to
reel around her, and she fell fainting
and senseless. Aunt Norine's legacy
clasped at last in her icy hand.

A gentle white-haired woman sits on
the rose-wreathed porch, and listens to
the rippling flow of the willow-girdled

THE AYE MARIA.

171

river. The shout of" her happy boys
comes from meadow and stream, and
the wide halls of Aunt Norine's old
home echo with song and music and
laughter. Life is still full of duty and
love to the mistress of the great house,
whose doors are open to the needy,
the sorrowful, the sinful of every rank
and age and race.

But one spot on Mrs. Morton's wide,
beautiful grounds is kept sacred from
all intrusion. A high trellis covered by
clambering roses guards its approach.
And far down by the river -shore the
drooping willows sweep a spotless
pedestal, on which a slender marble
figure is poised as if for upward flight.
The inscription below reads simply:

MILLY,

WHO DIED AUGUST 4, 18 — .

MBA MAXIMA CULPA.

And the low ripple of the river seems
always to echo the penitent words
that are the burden of Marian Morton's
prayer by night and day: Mea culpa,
mea culpa, mea maxima culpa !

Sheaves.

BY EDWARD WILBUR MASON.

Q SOUL, let us ingather to the heart

Some growth of Summer's field, ere bloom
depart ;
Nay, not the grain : only the quiet of grass,
The herb of Peace with balm for all who pass!

And let us hoard in vaults of memory
Some golden spoil of Summer's orchard tree;
Nay, not the fruit: only the bough wind-stirred,
With its light burden of the singing bird.

And in the mind, before the Summer goes,
Let us store up some beauty of the rose;
Nay, not the leaves : only the scent whose breath
No worm can touch or mad wind spill to death.

Soul, let us garner for our Winter need
Some crowning harvest, ere the Summer speed ;
Nay, not the sun : trust only of the clod.
And hope of yet another Spring of God.

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SADLIER.

XXIX. — Aunt and Niece.

WHEN tea was over, the aunt
and niece returned to the sitting-
room. Leonora trimmed the lamp, drew
the curtains, and stirred the fire, prepar-
atory to taking a seat beside her aunt.
It was on her mind to disclose to Miss
Tabitha the approaching visit of Jim
Bretherton, who, once he should hear
Leonora's decision, intended to have a
formal interview with his old friend at
Rose Cottage.

"Aunt Tabitha," she said, "I think I
ought to tell you that— that Jim wapts
to marry me — "

Miss Tabitha interrupted her with an
abruptness that was startling.

" By 'Jim ' I presume you mean young
Mr. Bretherton?"

"Yes," assented Leonora, smiling at
Miss Tabitha's formal tone;, "but I
don't think it will be necessaiy in future
to give him so ceremonious a title."

" Your future," cried Aunt Tabitha,
speaking with unwonted energy, "can
have no connection with his!"

"I think 3'ou must have misunder-
stood," Leonora said gently, her eyes
still fixed in happy reverie upon the
fire. "Young Mr. Bretherton wants to
marry me, and I — I am willing." *

" Willing ! I should think so ! " rejoined
the spinster, in angry scorn. "Willing!
Why, you should be the proudest girl
in the State of Massachussetts, that a
Bretherton of the manor should have
chosen you!"

Leonora laughed. She had imbibed
just sufficient of her aunt's notions— of
the notions which permeated Millbrook
over and above its otherwise frankly
democratic spirit — to be pleased at the
idea. All her life long she had been
accustomed to regard this family with

172

THE AVE MARIA.

something of traditional reverence ;
and she believed that they centred in
themselves and their connections • all
that was of social or conventional
importance, with whatsoever was
aristocratic, ancestral, or dignified in
the neighborhood. In her wider knowl-
edge of the world, she knew this to be
a weakness ; but she was not insensible
to its value, nor indisposed to affix it
as a halo to that young hero who
had, separately and individually, how-
ever, captivated her imagination and
won her heart.

"But," continued Miss Tabitha,
"though it is an honor which you
could not have expected, and though
the young gentleman himself is all that
might be looked for in his father's son,
such a marriage is impossible."

Leonora looked at her aunt half in
surprise, half in amusement.

"I think," she said, "there are two
excellent reasons which make it very
possible indeed. One is that he, Mr.
James Cortlandt Bretherton, has asked
me in marriage; and the other is that
I, Leonora Chandler, have made up
my mind to consent."

"It would be a miserable match for
a Bretherton!" retorted Miss Tabitha.

"Jim thinks otherwise."

"Oh, no matter what he thinks! It
is just a young man's fancy, w^hich
he will be very likely to get over;
and his people can not in their hearts
approve of such an alliance."

"I should think," said Leonora, "that
the Brethertons, of all people, could
afford once in a while to please them-
selves. They are not on their social
promotion, nor anxious to support
a fictitious gentility by advantageous
marriages."

She spoke with some heat, and with
a certain unconscious pride in the
connection.

" No matter what you say, Leonora,"
observed Aunt Tabitha, an angry light
coming into her faded eyes and a grow-

ing asperity into her tone, "I consider
that it was a great misfortune for
young Mr. Bretherton ever to have seen
3^ou. On that very first day you began
with your airs and graces to attract
him. I saw it all, and noticed how you
gradually led him on, and played off
Lord Aylward against him. You made
up your mind from the very first to
secure him."

Leonora was astounded at the
accusation, and felt both sore and
aggrieved, though she could not help
laughing, too.

"Why, aunt," she cried, "you are
crediting me with a sort of second-sight
and a whole lot of clever scheming, of
which I assure you I am quite innocent !
It was altogether by chance that Jim
and I fell in love with each other."

Tabitha, conscious of her own
injustice, stung by remorse at the
unhappiness she w^as to cause these
two unoffending young people, and
goaded by the persecution of Eben
Knox into a harshness wholly foreign
to her character, now lashed herself
into genuine anger. After the manner
of weak natures, she hurled bitter
words and utterly undeserved taunts
at the head of her niece, to whom
hitherto she had been uniform^ kind
and considerate. In fact, as Leonora
remembered her, she had ever been
prim and precise of speech, strict and
somewhat finical as to the proprieties,
but never in the slightest degree harsh
or abusive.

"You have acted," said the aunt,
" as a shameless coquette, luring on this
young gentleman, whom 3'ou knew to
be wealthy and to be in every respect
your social superior. Upon the evening
of the Marriage Tableaux, by disposing
of Lord Aylward just in time, 3'ou
so contrived as to set all Millbrook
talking about you and young Mr.
Bretherton. He was aware of the
conclusions that would be drawn. He
has a high sense of honor, and, carried

THE AVE MARIA.

173

away by the impulse of the moment,
he made j'ou an offer of marriage."

Leonora bent her head as a flower
might in a biting l)last, and her cheek
reddened as if she had received a blow ;
for in this fierce invective was much
that was particularly abhorrent to her
delicate and refined nature. A vague
alarm seized upon her. What if this
suggestion thrown out bj' her aunt
were, in a measure at least, true ! What
if, in the generous ardor of his nature
and his chivalrous regard for his old
playmate, Jim Bretherton had thrown
himself into the breach! It would have
been, she thought, highly characteristic.
Nevertheless, there were certain words
and glances employed by the whilom
Marquis de Beauregard which could
scared}' have been simulated. There
was an ardor which never had its
origin in anj' generosity, however
exalted. She recalled them now for her
comfort. A woman's intuition is not
readily deceived ; and she knew that
then, and on various other occasions,
Jim Bretherton had sought her society
and had spoken as he did from the one
supreme motive of genuine affection.

In this proud consciousness, therefore,
she raised her head and regarded Aunt
Tabitha steadily, while the latter said :

"You need not sit glowering at
me. I am telling the plain truth, with
which everyone in Milllirook will agree.
Your own common-sense ought to tell
you that a young gentleman of his
exceptional advantages should make
a brilliant match."

"He is the best judge of that himself,"
Ivconora replied coldly; "jind I do not
think we need discuss the subject any
further."

Miss Tabitha, taken aback by this
rejoinder, sat and watched her niece
with eager, furtive eyes. Then, suddenly
lowering her voice to a whisper, find
speaking with a rapid, agitated utter-
ance, she changed the form of attack.

"If you persist in accepting this offer«

of marriage," she went on, "you will
bring disgrace upon an honorable
name; you will raise a scandal that
will set the whole country talking; you
will drag the dead out of their graves
and bring misfortune upon us all."

Leonora gazed anxiously at her
aunt, fearing that possibly her mind
had become unsettled. She remembered
other vague hints which the old lady
had dropped upon this subject, for
which she appeared to have a veritable
mania. The pinched, haggard face,
however, while it betokened indeed
distress and anxiety, gave no hint of
insanity.

Like a sudden ray of light, there
came to the girl the memory of the
visit of Eben Knox and the reflections
which Mary Jane had made thereon.
The handmaiden, with the almost
preternatural sagacity of her class in
penetrating mysteries, had declared that
Miss Tabitha was "scared" of the
manager, and always looked half dead
when he had been at the Cottage.

It at once occurred to Leonora, who
was endowed with singularly clear
perceptions, that Eben Knox must be
in some way the cause of her aunt's
singular behavior. It seemed probable
that he was in possession of some
knowledge which in her aunt's opinion
could not be made public without
disastrous results. The dark secret — if
secret there was — must unquestionably
be connected with the sinister master of
the mill. The doubt remained, of course,
whether it was really of such tragic
import, or whether Eben Knox had
been playing upon a woman's fears.

If he had not — if Miss Tabitha spoke
truth, and if her objections to the
match did not, after all, lie in her
exaggerated and servile respect for the
Brethertons, then Leonora felt that it
behooved her to be careful lest, in the
sunlight of her own happiness, she
should cast a dark shadow across her
lover's path. She felt for the first time

174

THE AVE MARIA

the responsibility so often attached to
that deepest mystery of Hfe, loving and
being loved. And now for evermore,
for good or for evil, another person-
ality, another destiny, was woven
inextricably into the warp and woof
of her own existence.

"Aunt Tabitha," she said at last, "I
wish you would speak plainly once for
all. Far better for everyone if yotj had
so spoken long before. These enigmat-
ical sayhigs may mean much or they
may mean nothing at all."

"Oh," groaned Miss Tabitha, "I can
not tell you any more than this — that
you will save untold misery if you will
only give up the idea of marrying Mr.
Bretherton and— and— "

She paused . It required some courage
to broach again that subject which
Leonora had declared to be hateful, and
which would be more hateful than ever
in view of her present happiness.

"The easiest way out of all our
troubles — would — would be," she fal-
tered, "to marry Eben Knox."

" Marry Eben Knox,— that detestable
man!" cried Leonora. "How can you
speak of such a thing, aunt ! ' '

" He loves you," argued Miss Tabitha,
feebly; "he has spent his whole life in
amassing wealth for you. He will
make any sacrifice for your sake,— live
anywhere, do anything you please."

Leonora shuddered as the figure of
the manager rose before her in contrast
to that other figure.

"I told you once before, aunt," she
said, "that I hated to think he had
dared to love me, to pursue me with his
odious attentions. His wealth tempts
me no more than the dust upon the
road. I would rather earn my own
living all the days of my life. One thing
is certain — that, whatever I do or leave
undone, I will never marry Eben Knox ! "

Miss Tabitha, looking at the girl's
clear, strong face, and noting the
resolution there, broke down into a
passion of weeping. She murmured

words, half- supplicatory, half- accusa-
tory, with a manner and in a tone
which were almost senile ; for it seemed
as if in the course of that afternoon she
had suddenly grown aged. The sixty
odd years which she had hitherto
worn so gracefully had suddenly closed
about her, as that Nessus garment
of the fable. In her own pain and
bewilderment, and smarting yet with
a sense of injury from her aunt's
unjust accusations, Leonora was, never-
theless, filled with the deepest pity at
sight of that frail, worn form, and the
face so lined and seamed by distress
and terror.

" Before I take any step in the matter,
Aunt Tabitha," she said, as soon as
the old woman's grief had somewhat
subsided, "it is only fair that I should
know what this secret really is."

"No, no!" cried her aunt, terror-
stricken at the very idea. "You can
not know, — you must never know 1
It is to prevent that secret from ever
being known that I bid you give up
the one man and marry the other."

In the abject fear with which the
notion of Leonora's learning the secret
had inspired her, Tabitha seemed as
if she would have fallen to the floor.
Leonora, observing her tottering,
replaced her securely in the chair,
propping her up with cushions and
putting a footstool to her feet. All
other thoughts were swallowed up in a
measureless compassion for this forlorn
old woman who had been, after her
fashion, a mother to Leonora's youth.
"Never mind now!" she said, in
a voice with which she might have
addressed a frightened child. "You
shall tell me just what you please;
and for the rest, we shall see what
can be done."

There was a strength about the girl
which somehow inspired the miserable
aunt. It was the strength of character
and resolution, and likewise that force
which is frequently seen in the pure of

THE AVE MARIA.

175

heart, as if in a literal sense they see
God, and are thus sustained in the
most cruel emergencies.

Tabitha, soothed and comforted,
peered at her niece out of dim, wistful,
faded ej-es ; and of her own accord she
returned to the subject.

"Do you love him very much?" she
inquired.

"I don't think it would be possible
to love him a little," Leonora answered
graVely.

"Then," moaned the aunt, "you will
never be able to give him up ; and when
I think of the living and the dead, it
almost drives me crazy."

"Aunt Tabitha," said Leonora, "if it
is really necessary, I shall be able to
give him up."

"And, oh," wailed the spinster, "it
is such a pity! I wish — oh, I wish
that young Mr. Bretherton had never
come home from England, or at least
that he had never seen you!"

"Whatever happens," Leonora said in
alow voice, "I shall never wish that."

"But what is the use — what is the
use, when to have seen and known him
will only make you both miserable?"

Leonora did not answer. She had
her own thoughts upon this matter,
and just then they "lay too deep for
words." She tried, indeed, to lead the
subject away into other channels; but
long silences fell between them, when
it was evident that the thoughts of
both were busy with the one engross-
ing topic.

Just Ijefore Ijedtinie, Leonora, laying a
hand upon each of her aunt's shoulders
and looking in her face, asked :

"You are sure, aunt, that all these
fears of yours are not exaggerated and
that my marriage with — with 3'oung
Mr. Bretherton will really cause injury
to him and to his famil3'?"

"Yes, yes, I am sure!" Tabitha
answered, with a strained, hurried
eagerness.

Leonora said no more, but, with a

(juick movement of pity, stooped and
kissed her aunt.

Next day, at breakfast, she announced
that she was going over to the convent
to make a three days' retreat, and that
her aunt need not be anxious in the
meantime. She also dispatched a note
to Jim Bretherton, briefly stating her
intention ; and he, though regretting the
delay, thought her action perfectly
natural before coming to an important
decision.

(To be continued.)

The New Play at Oberammergau.

BY THOMAS WALSH.

AS the Bavarian Highlands are to
be throughout this summer the
resort of many American tourists, per-
haps some of these and their friends
at home may be interested in the
particulars of the Kreuzschule, or "The
School of the Cross," which is the
production in the great Passion Play
Theatre at Oberammergau. There are
to be altogether eighteen performances
of the sacred drama, the first having
taken place on June 4, the last being
announced for September 17.

The Kreuzschule, or "David and
Christ," was first acted in the year
1S25, and once again in 1875, when
it was witnessed by the German
Emperor Friedrich Wilhelm. This year,
however, the drama will be presented
in a new version, which has been
published by the villagers of Oberam-
mergau, and will shortly appear in
an English translation. It is the work
of the gifted poet. Canon Joseph
Hecker, Preacher to the Court of
Munich, and has proved to be a pro-
duction of high artistic merit. The
music accompanying the drama — the
choruses in Greek style, the psalms
and commentaries— has been composed
by I'rofessor Wilhelm MuUer of Munich,

176

THE AVE MARIA

and is" said to be of extreme beauty.

The play itself consists of seven acts,
dealing with the triumphs and sorrows
of David the King. After the grand
overture, the leader of the chorus— one
of the most impressive personages of
the Oberammergau stage — delivers the
prologue. Attired in white and gold,
he represents a high-priest of the divine
revelation during the interval between
the first promise of Christ's act of
redemption and its fulfilment on Mount
Calvary. The prologue traces the
growth and waning light of prophecy,
and indicates the fashion in which
David foreshadowed the life of Christ.
After this the curtain of the middle
stage opens upon the first tableau,
which represents the birth of Christ.
There are nine of these tableaux, with
hymns and commentaries ; and in them
will be used the same costumes and
scenic effects as in the last Passion Play.

The seven acts of the Kreuzschule
deal with the early life of David :
his anointing by the Prophet Samuel ;
the war with the Philistines and his
combat and triumph over Goliath ;
the persecutions of the jealous King
Saul ; the defeat of the ' Israelites at
Gilboa; the tragic deaths of Saul and
Jonathan, and David's march upon
Jerusalem ; the rebellion of Absalom ;
David's flight from Jerusalem, and his
triumphant return.

The nine tableaux represent respec-
tively : the birth of Christ, His baptism.
His victory over the temptation of
the devil, His escape from stoning by
the Jews, His entry into Jerusalem,
the Last Supper, the Carrying of the
Cross, and the Crucifixion.

From this scenario it will be seen
that this season's visitors to Oberam-
mergau will witness in the Kreuzschule
all the principal and salient features of
the Passion Play : the same tableaux,
the same actors and choristers, amid
the same impressive surroundings of
the Ijeautiful Bavarian mountains.

The Blessing of Church Bells.

AUNIQUE liturgical function, the
impressiveness of which is doubt-
less enhanced by the comparative
infrequency of its occurrence, is the
blessing of a church bell. As summer
is the season usually chosen for the
ceremony, and as the process of the
benediction is perhaps less familiar to
the rank and file of Catholics than
are most other liturgical rites, a brief
description thereof may impress our
readers as not untimely.

It may be well to premise that the
use of bells in Catholic churches dates
back, at least, to the sixth century. St.
Gregory of Tours, who died in 595,
tells us that there were bells in his
church; and Benedict XIV., one of the
most learned Popes, has written thus
on the subject: "This much alone is
certain — that bells were used in the
West earlier than in the East ; and that
the first mention of them is found in
the Hfe of St. Columbanus (the great
Irish Apostle of the Franks), where the
saint and his monks are described as
rising about midnight, at the sound of
the church bell, and repairing to the
church for prayer." As St. Columbanus
was born about 566, it will be seen
that there is strong ground for believ-
ing that the Church of St. Patrick in
Ireland was among the first, if not
the very first, to introduce the bell into
her religious service. The antiquiirian
O'Curry, indeed, assures us that St.
Patrick himself not onl}^ erected but
cast bells. One of these is still preserved
in Belfast, kept in a case or shrine of
brass, enriched with gems and with
gold and silver filigree. It is called
Clog-an-eadhachta Phatraic, or the
bell of St. Patrick's Will.

As for the blessing of the bell, a
function reserved for bishops, or for
priests specifically named by them for
the purpose, it is often called the

THE AVE* MARIA.

177

bell's baptism. The reason is simple
enough. It is not, of course, that any
sacrament is administered, as only
reasonable beings may receive sacra-
ments; but the ceremonies which go
to constitute the full liturgical blessing
are somewhat analogous to those of
baptism. The bell to be blessed has, for
instance, a godfather and godmother,
who are commonly those who have
contributed most generously to its
purchase, and who usually give it a
saint's name to distinguish it from
others, and to place it in some fashion
under the saint's protection. Much as
a catechumen, it is admitted to the
ranks of the faithful.

After the name has been given, the
Ijell is washed with a mixture of salt
and water just blessed, and then con-
secrated with the holy oils of the
Church, to designate the Holy Spirit
penetrating the hearts of the faithful
whom the bell is henceforward to call
to worship. One of the prayers recited
during this part of the ceremony is to
the effect that "as often as the faithful
hear it sound, they ma3' experience an
increase of devotion in their hearts;
that, as they hearken to its summons
to assemble here, they may be freed
from the temptation of the Evil One,
and follow the blessed teaching of the
Christian Faith. Finally, that as its
sweet tones fall upon our ears, faith
and hojie and love may grow strong
in our hearts."

Having made, with the holy oil for
the sick, seven crosses outside the bell,
and four with chrism inside, saying each
time, " Mjiy this signal be blessed and
consecrated, O Lord, in the name of the
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy
Ghost. In honor of St. N. Peace be to
thee," — ihe bishop takes off his mitre
and prays as follows:

O almighty and eternal God, who before

the ark of the covenant didst lij- the sound of

. trumpets cause to fall down the stone walls

which surrounded the arm^' of the enemy, do

Thou pour down a heavenly blessing upon this
bell : that before its sound may be driven far away
the fiery darts of the enemy, the striking of
thunderbolts, the fall of stones, the ruin of
tempests ; so that when they are asked in the
prophet's words, " What ailed thee, O sea, that
thou didst flee?" they may answer in their
retreating movement, with the Jordan stream :
"At the presence of the Lord the earth was
moved ; at the presence of the God of Jacob, who
turned the rock into pools of water, and the
stonj-, hill into fountains of water." Not to us,
therefore, O Lord, not to us, but to Thy Name
give glory for Thy mercy Sake; that when the
present vessel is touched, like the other vessels
of the altar, with sacred chrism, anointed with
holy oil, whoever assemble at its sound may lie
free from all temptations of the enemy, and «ver
follow the teaching of Catholic faith. Through
our Lord, etc.

The interior of the bell is next
incensed, the thurible being placed
underneath it, so that it may be in
some sort impregnated with the
fragrant perfumes. The Church would
have us understand thereby that those
who hear the bell's tones should spread
around them the "sweet odor of Jesus
Christ." The prayer which follows the
incensing is, like that already quoted,
so typical of the congruity always
notable in liturgical rites that we give
it entire:

O Almighty Ruler, Christ, as when, having
taken our flesh. Thou wert sleeping in the ship
and a sudden storm disturbed the sea, which
was instantly allayed upon Thy waking and
giving a word of connnand, do Thou graciously
help the wants of Thy people. Spread over this
bell the dew of the Holy Spirit, that the enemy
of all good may ever flee before its sound ; the
Christian people be invited to profess their faith;
the hostile army be scared away; and Thy people,
in obedience to its call, be strengthened in the
Lord; and may the Holy Spirit, charmed as
by David's harp, come down from on high.
And as when Samuel was ofl'ering up a sucking
lanib as a holocaust to the king of the eternal
empire, the thunder of the skies drove back
the crowd of his assailants, so, whilst the
sound of this vessel travels through the clouds,
may the bands of angels save the assembly
of Thy Church; may Thy eternal protection
preserve the fruits, the minds and bodies ol'
.those who believe in Thee. Through Thee, O
Christ Jesus, who with the Father, etc.

178

THE AYE MARIA.

Finally, the bishop, with the god-
father and godmother, rings the bell,
causing three strokes, as if to give it
its mission, — a great and noble mis-
sion, mentioned in these verses :
Laudo Deum vcrum, populum toco, congrcgo

clerum,
Defunctos ploro, fugo fulmina, festa decoro.

"My function is to praise God, to call
the people, to convoke the clergy, to
bewail the dead, to ward off lightning,
to enhance the solemnity of feasts."
. Another Latin hexameter, often used
as an inscription for a church bell, has
been translated :

I call the living, I bewail the dead,

I dispel the thunder that broods o'erhead.

Yet another version, by an oldtime
rhymester, runs :

To call the fold to church in time,

We chime.
When joy and mirth are on the wing,

We ring.
When men lament a departed soul,
We toll.

The bell is the voice of God and the
voice of man. " It is suspended," saj'S a
modern French writer, "this messenger
from on high, above our heads at
the entrance of the temple which it
dominates, with the office of trans-
mitting to earth the orders of heaven.
Interpreter of the divine will, it invites
to prayer, announces the preaching of
the Gospel, sounds the prelude of the
Sacrifice, intones the canticle of praise
and adoration. Oh, how it stirs up
souls when, suddenly breaking the
silence of creation, it throws its power-
ful voice over towns and villages ! For
it has tones for everybody, and in its
unique voice each one finds what suits
him best. It resounds in the ear of the
sinner as a warning and a threat; yet
while it awakens remorse in the soul of
the guilty, it fills the hearts of the just

with joy and consolation The voice

of God, the bell is likewise the voice
of man, of the Christian people whose
homage and whose vows it carries up

to heaven In this harmonious concert

one seems to hear the united voices of
a whole parish, gathered together on
Sunday morning to celebrate the holy
mysteries and sing the praises of the
Lord."*

The intimate association of the church
bell with all the joys and sorrows of
Catholic life has often been dwelt
upon, but seldom more effectively than
by Bishop Higgins, of the diocese of
Rockhampton, Australia, on the occa-
sion of the blessing, a few months ago,
of a new bell for his cathedral. The
Bishop said in part:

When the happy bride conies in gladness to
this cathedral on her bright marriage day, to
assume the responsibilities of the marriage state,
and to give to her future husband the pledge
of the undivided aifections of her young heart
and the unswerving feality of her life, a joyous
peal will ring out, announcing that two lives
have been made one and two hearts made happy
through the blessing of God and the efficacy of
a great sacrament. Again, when the press of
declining years comes to be felt, when sorrow
has disturbed the happiness of the Christian
home and the shadow of the grave overcasts
the bright path of life; when the sick or the
infirm are lying on that bed from which they
are not destined to rise again ; when the
mistakes of the past, the doubts of the present,
the uncertainty of the future, and the terrors of
God's judgment are crowding in on the dis-
tracted brain, the solemn toll of your cathedral
bell will go forth to all the parish, supplicating
a prayer for a brother or sister in the agony of
dissolution. And, lastly, when the dreaded issue
does come, when the departing soul has taken
its flight from the casement of the body, and when
tlie lifeless remains are carried to the cathedral
or conve^'cd in mournful silence to their last
resting-place in your cemetery, the tones of your
cathedral bell will ring out in solemn dirge:
Pliingo defunctos — 1 bewail the dead. I lament
that another member of the flock has been called
to his account; and I implore the charity of your
prayers in his behalf, remembering that "it is a
holy and a wholesome thought to praj- for the
dead, that they may be loosed from their sins."

Thus the voice of your bell will, like the A-oice of
your guardian angel, mingle with your joys and
your sorrows, ever seeking to temper the gaiety
of the one and the despondency of the other by
the wholesome reminder that both came from

* Mgr. Freppel.

THE AVE MARIA.

179

God, or are permitted by Him, and that they
should be received with the equanimity of mind
which is always begotten of our faith in the
inspired words of St. Paul : " Everything worketh
unto good for those who love God." Allow me,
then, in conclusion, to ask you to recognize the
important part which your cathedral bell is
destined to play in the guidance of your future
footsteps, in reminding j-ou of your various
religious duties and urging you to fulfil them.
Allow me, in the second place, to impress upon you
the importance of hearkening to its monitory
voice, which will alwa3'S excercise so direct an
influence over the great issue of this life, the
salvation of our souls.

Religion in Russia.

"npHE religion of the Russians,"
1 says a recent traveller,* "is really
a revelation of medieval devotion ; and
in the great ceremonies, the processions,
the pilgrimages, we see a picture of
what faith was in Western Europe at
the time of Peter the Hermit."

How far this dictum is true would
be difficult to say; for, although the
outward practices of religion play a
great part in the life and thoughts
of the people, and are observed with
the utmost care, a living, vivifying
faith seems absent from their hearts.
A visit to one of the great centres of
pilgrimage will perhaps give an insight
into the place which religion, as repre-
sented by the Orthodox (State) Church,
occupies in the Russian social S3'stem.

After Kiev, Moscow is considered the
most holy city in Russia; it is said
to contain over a thousand churches,
besides chapels and shrines innumer-
able. The sacred miraculous images
are numerous, and are regarded with
great veneration by the people. The
moist famous of all is the celebrated
Iberian Virgin, a copy, executed in
1648, of a much older image preserved
in Mount Atlas. No good Orthodox

• Luigi Villari, " Russia under the Great
Shadow." 1905.

Russian ever passes it without doffing
his hat and crossing himself, and eveiy
day large numbers of people enter
the chapel to pray before the sacred
picture. Whenever the Tsar comes to
Moscow, before entering the Kremlin
he visits this shrine. One may see
the most important people in the
land doing homage there and kissing
the icon, — generals in full uniform,
councillors of State, noblemen and
noblewomen of the highest rank,
wealthy merchants, besides crowds of
humbler folk.

The Virgin's figure is adorned with
a crown of brilliants and quantities of
pearls and precious stones, including
some of great size; the remainder of
the picture being covered with the
usual silver plaques. Every day it is
taken from the chapel and placed in a
large closed coach drawn by six black
horses, four abreast and two in front.
Inside, opposite the image, sit two
priests in ftiU vestments. Priests and
coachmen and footmen are alwa3'S
Ijareheaded, whatever the weather. It
is carried to the houses of people who
are dangerously sick (provided they
can pay the fee of fifty roubles, about
twenty dollars), or to hallow by its
presence the ceremony of inaugurating
new buildings. When the coach drives
past, ijeople prostrate themselves before
it, touching the ground with their fore-
heads. The icon is a source of large
income to the church, not only through
the fees paid when it is sent for, but
also through the offerings of those who
worship at the shrine.

The Russian clergy are divided into
two classes: the white or secular,
and the black or regular clergy. The
white clergy are permitted, or rather
compelled, to marry before ordination;
but if their wife should die, they can
not remarry. The attitude of the
Russian peasant toward the village
priest is not one of respect and esteem.
Too often the priest is indifferent to

180

THE AVE MARIA.

the moral and material condition of his
flock ; he is wretchedly poor, and must
add to the insufficient income afforded
by the glebe lands by the fees he charges
for all his services. For these there
is no fixed tariff, and the bargaining
which results does not conduce to his
popularity.

The black clergy, the monks, enjoy
the monopoly of all ecclesiastical
preferment; the episcopate is recruited
from their ranks exclusively. They are
bound to celibacy, have no missions,
and possess great wealth; for they'
own land and receive enormous sums
as offerings from the faithful.

The most interesting of Russian
monasteries are the lavry of Kiev and
Troitsa. A lavra is a monastery which
is also the residence of a metropolitan,
and includes an ecclesiastical seminary.
Most of the great monasteries have
the appearance of fortresses. That of
Kiev, with its white -walled buildings
and gilded domes, is on the outskirts
of the city. A massive, vaulted gateway
leads into the monaster^' enclosure;
immediately beyond, opens out a vast
courtyard, surrounded by a number
of buildings — churches and chapels,
schools and colleges, printing presses,
the residences of ecclesiastics, and inns.

At the time of the great festivals
(July 15 and August 15) many of the
poorer pilgrims camp out in this
enclosure, and are fed free of charge;
but the monastery derives a consid-
erable income from the entertainment
of pilgrims of the higher class. Many
ladies of rank and fashion and men of
high position make pilgrimages to Kiev
as a religious duty. Peasants will
tramp hundreds or thousands of miles
on foot to visit the famous shrines; for
Kiev is now one of the chief pilgrimages
of the world, and its popularity is
increasing, the number of pilgrims
amounting to over a million per annum.

There are several churches in the
lavra, of which the principal is the

Cathedral of the Assumption, a most
imposing structure, with an elaborate
facade and seven domes, some gilded,
others painted blue and adorned with
gold stars. The interior is very rich
and gorgeous; it is full of valuable
reliquaries and icons, the most highly
venerated of these, representing Our
Lady with the Divine Child, being of
genuine Byzantine workmanship. The
chief attraction of Kiev, however, and
the goal of all the pilgrims, are the
subterranean grottoes, or catacombs,
where, in a series of niches carved out of
the rock, repose the bodies of various
saints who have lived and died in the
monastery.

The lavra of Troitsa is chiefly remark-
able for its collection of jewels and
precious ornaments, many of which
adorn the images and shrines of the
saints. There are such quantities of
these treasures, travellers inform us,
that their value can hardly be realized ;
whole boxes are filled with precious
stones, embroideries are covered with
costly pearls, and the number of gold
and silver vessels is enormous.

"The national character of the so-
called Orthodox faith has been confirmed
by the fact that throughout Russia's
history nearl}^ all her wars have been
waged against enemies belonging to a
different faith — Mohammedan Tartars
and Turks, Lutheran Germans and
Swedes, Catholic Poles and pagan
tribes. The three great monasteries
of Moscow, Kiev and Troitsa were
rall3'ing points for the nation in its
wars ; they were the repositories of the
national standards as well as of the
sacred images and relics. This, to some
extent, explains the hold which the
church has on the popular mind, and
at the same time the feeling of horror
with which the average Russian regards
apostasy from the Orthodox Church.
It is almost equivalent to betrayal of
one's country, and is punished with
all the severity of the law."

THE AVE MARlA.

181

'The Stone of La Salette.

MOST Catholics are aware of the
apparition of the Blessed Virgin,
on September 19, 184.6, to a little boy
and girl, Maximin Giraud and Melanie
Calvat, shepherds of La Salette. The
children related their threefold vision,
and the facts soon became the subject
of public interest and edification.

Ecclesiastical authority is always
prudently slow in admitting visions
or extraordinary apparitions. So the
Bishop of Grenoble, Mgr. de Bruillard
(in whose diocese La Salette lies), per-
mitted a whole year to go by before
taking measures to assure himself of the
truth of the repeated and unvarying
declarations of the little shepherds.

On this memorable occasion, the
Bishop intended making, incognito, a
private inc(uir}' as to what had occurred
a year previoush'. He was accom-
panied by his secretary and a friend,
an eminent artist. After a personal
and private interview with the favored
children, he and his secretary visited,
on the mountain, the scene of the
apparition.

The painter in the meantime took the
likenesses of the young shepherds. His
sketch being finished, he joined the
episcopal party ; and, before leaving the
place with them, he stooped down to
gather some wild flowers as a souvenir.
As he did so, his heel struck a stone
that was half buried in the mossy
ground. When he picked it up, the
Bishop exclaimed :

"Well, here is our friend, Monsieur G.,
who is reputed to be something of an
esprit fort, actually taking away with
him a stone as a relic, — perchance a
holy relic! "

The artist made no reply to this
teasing, but put the stone in his pocket.
On arriving at his home in Grenoble,
he took water and a brush and clean.sed
the stone of the adhering earth and

moss. To his great astonishment, he
perceived on its surface, to the left, a
large S, and beside it a draped figure
of the Blessed Virgin crowned with
a diadem, and kneeling before a cross
surmounted by something like a heart
in the midst of flames.

The painter's first thought was that
he must be dreaming or in a state
of hallucination. Summoning several
members of his family to examine the
signs on the stone, he found, however,
that all saw what he saw. He subse-
quently showed the stone to many
fellow-artists and friends, and all agreed
that the figures were not due to human
handicraft, but were a marvel of nature.
Bishops, archbishops, magistrates and
connoisseurs examined the stone, and
all pronounced it a rare curiosity.

The newspapers were not slow in
describing it. A picture of the stone
was shown to King Louis Philippe, who
ordered the Procureur du Roi (Attorney
General) and several mineralogists to
scrutinize the find, and send him a
report after examination. All were
unanimous in declaring the stone a
marvellous work of nature.

Charles Albert, king of Piedmont, for
whom Monsieur Jules G. had painted
portraits and other pictures, offered a
large sum of money for the Stone of
La Salette; but the artist refused to
part with it, saying that he looked
upon it as a sacred relic and wished
to bequeath it to his children.

It is the son-in-law of Monsieur Jules
G., himself an eminent painter, who
vouches for the truth of the foregoing
statement.

It would not have sufficed, in order
to bring out and impress on us the
idea that God is man, had His Mother
been an ordinary person. A mother
without a home in the Church, without
dignity, without gifts, would have been,
as far as the defence of the Incarnation
goes, no mother at all. — Newman.

182

THE AYE MARIA.

Notes and Remarks.

Not long ago the Dean of Westminster
delivered a series of sermons on Inspi-
ration, and about the same time the
Bishop of Birmingham was preaching
on Miracles. In view of the indispu-
table fact that both Anglican divines
were simply availing themselves of that
cardinal Protestant privilege, "private
interpretation" or "private judgment,"
one fails to see why either of them
should be accused of heterodoxy. Yet
accused they were, as witness this
resolution :

That the Council of the Church Association
deplores the mischievous activity with which
certain dignitaries of the Church of England are
busily trying to disseminate broadcast among
uninstructed or half- educated -people (who are
obviously incompetent to discriminate 6r to
judge of such matters) their various conflicting
theories, put forth with rash and reckless heed-
lessness, as to the alleged human origin and
fallibility of God's Word written, and the unreality
of certain of the miracles of Scripture ; and they
greatly regret that the bishops do not appear
to be taking steps to counteract such rational-
istic utterances, or to exclude from the ministry
of the Church of England persons who thus
wantonly distract and distress the minds of
the weaker brethren, and are fast destroying
among the young all reverence for the Sacred
.Scriptures, and enfeebling that fear of God which
is the beginning of all true wisdom.

If this plea of the Church Association
council is available for anything, it
avails to prove the absolute correct-
ness of Rome in excommunicating the
original so-called Reformers who were
guilty of much the same "mischievous
activity" as the Dean and the Bishop
above - mentioned.

One of the problems confronting a
good many parents about this season
of the year is the impatience of boy-
hood, the undue eagerness on the part
of their adolescent sons to enjoy the
privileges and even assume the respon-
sibilities of manhood. The average
twentieth -century boy of fifteen or

sixteen is in altogether too great a
hurry to become a man. He is inclined
to chafe at the idea of continued
dependence on his parents, resents the
plan of his any longer attending school
or college, chafes at the salutary disci-
pline to which such attendance subjects
him, and not infrequently becomes
importunate in his appeals to be
allowed 'to strike out for himself,' and
partially at least earn his own living.
Exceptional cases apart, the worst
service the well-to-do father can render
such a boy is to accede to his request —
to allow him to act as his own imma-
ture judgment dictates. Youths of
sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen impera-
tively need protection against them-
selves; and, as the law considers them
infants until they attain the age of
twenty-one, they may well await that
epoch before judging themselves eman-
cipated from parental control.

In our day and countrj', the father
who is both able and willing to give
his son the advantage of a liberal
education will as a rule be making no
mistake if he disregards the bo5''s disin-
clination and insists upon his attending
the secondary school, academy, college,
or university. Nine times out of ten, if
not always, the son, when his manhood
really dawns, will be grateful for the
paternal firmness which kept him from
pursuing the foolish fancies and unripe
likings of earlier years.

A wrong impression conveyed by
reviewers of "Model Factories and
Villages" is removed, we are glad to
notice, by the author himself in a letter
to the Athenseum. Mr. Meakin writes:

I should not like it to be inferred . . . that I
was in any way opposed to trades unions,
whether in America or elsewhere. Personallj', I
believe that they are rich in possibilities, and
might .Wilder wise guidance do even more good
than they have done, with fewer mistakes. It is
their development on right lines that I advocate :
in the promotion and guarantee of efficiency in
the worker, so that they may be able to secure

THE AYE MARlAw

183

ihe highest possible return for labor under the
best conditions. He is no true friend who fails to
warn them of the evil of curbing the efficient or
stirring up strife where mutual co-operation
would produce so much better results. There is
no reason why any worker should not join in the
general movement for improving his or her class.

Strife between laborers and employers
is likely to continue until the latter
come to share the conviction of Mr.
Meakin — that trades unions are here
to stay, and that mutual co-operation
is not only wise but imperative.

From "Scottish Reminiscences," by
Sir Archibald Geikie, we learn that the
Catholic Faith, which once prevailed
universally over Scotland, still keeps
a foothold on some of the islands, .
particularly Barra, Benbecula and
South Uist, and in certain districts of
the mainland. In Eigg about half of
the population is still. Catholic, the
other half being divided between the
Established and Free Churches. Sir
Archibald says that in the West High-
lands there seems to be little or no
antagonism between Catholics and
Protestants. Of the Scottish priests
our author speaks highly, referring to
them as men of superior education,
broad sympathies, and polished man-
ners. Sir Archibald has sojourned in
every part of North Britain, and for
sixty years has mingled with all classes
of its inhabitants. He will be remem-
bered as an eminent geologist. •

Of late years temperance workers, as
well as the majority of medical men,
have given more than a little credence
to the theory that the addiction to
alcoholic stimulants, originally a habit
reformable by an effort of the will,
becomis in its ultimate development a
disease over which the will has practi-
cally little, if any, control. . The i)hysical
rather than the moral treatment of
confirmed drunkards has been a dis-
tinctive feature of the total abstinence

movement during the past decade.
The number and variety of the "cures"
alleged to be effective in destroying the
appetite for strong drink can leave
small doubt that, though many of them
are probably worthless, some few at
least are genuine remedies. The evidence
adduced in favor of several, indeed, is
sufficient to overcome the most rooted
incredulity. In this connection there
is much of interest in the following
paragraph from a popular magazine :

There is but one sure cure for the drinking
disease or habit, and that is the simplest of all.
The cure consists in eating fruits. That will cure
the worst case of inebriety that ever afflicted a
person. The two tastes are at deadlj' enmity
with each other, and there is no room for both
of them in the same human constitution. One
will certainly destroy the other.

The reader who is familiar with the
comparative records, for sobriety, of
the Northern and Southern European
nations may discover in the foregoing
statement one reason why the fruit-
eating populations of the South are so
much more temperate. In the mean-
time, eating fruit is commendable on
other grounds than its effectiveness as
a cure for the drinking evil, and the
habit is accordingly well worth while
encouraging.

While "the most remarkable and
deliberate insult ever flung at a repre-
sentative body in this city," is possibly
an overcolored characterization of the
failure of the New York papers to give
any adequate account of the Catholic
educational meeting recently held in
Carnegie Hall, the most moderate of
men will perforce admit that this neglect
on the part of the metropolitan press
was notable enough to provoke com-
ment, and indefensible enough to justify
indignant censure. The percentage of
Catholics in the population of New
York is sufficientl}' large, and the pro-
portion of Catholics among the readers
and advertisers who patronize the daily
papers sufiiciently great, to warrant the

184

THE AVE MARIA.

press committee of the meeting in ques-
tion in believing that the report sent to
the different journals would be accepted,
at least in condensed form, as legitimate
and interesting news. That it was
practically ignored by the generality
of the dailies, and minimized almost
to the vanishing point by the few who
mentioned the matter at all, is a
genuine grievance ; and Catholics of the
metropolis, and be3'ond, have every
right to resent it.

The elementary principle of contracts,
do ut des, should suffice to point out
the proper solution of the difficulty.
Let Catholic advertisers and readers
withdraw their patronage from the
discriminating sheets. An easily aroused
commotion in the business office of the
average New York daity will speedily
modify the action of the city editor of
the paper. There is no journal in New
York strong enough deliberately to
antagonize by far the largest body oi
Christians within its limits — if the said
body will assert itself as it legitimately
may, and, in the present case, certainly
should.

The system of wireless telegraphy
invented by the Rev. Joseph Murgas, of
the diocese of Scranton, has been tested
by expert telegraphers, and, though
not entirely perfected, pronounced a
complete success. Musical notes are
employed to represent the dots and
dashes of the Morse system. It is
claimed that the new system can be
operated with much less power than is
required by those now in use. According
to press dispatches, the first message
sent over the wire — between Wilkes-
barre and Scranton, Pa., — by Father
Murgas was this, "Thank God for His
blessings! "

tions, and in individual lives, as a more
than sufficient warrant for the most
j^essimistic views concerning the coun-
try's future, others are hailing the public
condemnation of such scandals, their
investigation, and the punishment of the
criminals involved, as the best possible
reason for optimism. There is probably
exaggeration on both sides. Given
Augean stables at all, the herculean
task of cleansing them is, of course,
to be encouraged and applauded ; but
their very existence, in the first place,
presupposes a condition that by no
stretch of the imagination can be styled
admirable. And it is an unwarrantable
assumption to hold that all periods in
the republic's life have been as corrupt,
as full of "graft" and peculation, as is
the present one.

In the "Roman News" of a recent
issue of the Annales Catboliques, we
find the interesting statement that
"among the private audiences given
by the Holy Father last month was
that of a Hollandish writer and critic,
Mr. Denis O'Donovay, with whom the
Pope discussed the Catholic situation
in Australia, and more particularly
in Queensland, to which colony Mr.
O'Donovay has often been sent on
special missions." The item would be
less notable, perhaps, if the last syllable
of the writer's name were written
"van" instead of "vay," and if his
nationality were given as Irish instead
of Dutch. But the O would still need
to be done away with.

While one class of Americans are
pointing to the daily increasing stock of
scandals in the government service, in
city administrations, in large corpora-

The quasi-unanimity with which the .
American press has emphasized the
sacrifice made by Mr. Root in giving
up a very remunerative law practice
in order to accept the secretaryship of
State with its relatively insignificant
salary of eight thousand dollars, is
illuminative as to the average pub-
licist's ideals. From the tenor of the

THE AVE MARIA.

185

newspaper comments on the incident,
one would imagine that Our Lord's
interrogation, "What doth it profit a
man if he gain the whole world and
suffer the loss of his own soul ? "
has been superseded by this twentieth-
century inquiry, "Of what avail are
posts of honor, influence, and public
utility, if enormous salaries are not
attached thereto ? " In any case, our
press' moralizing on the subject would
seem to justify the application to
Americans of Newman's estimate of
Englishmen :

Contemplate the objects of this people's praise,
survey their standards, ponder their ideas and
judgments, and then tell me whether it is not
most evident, from their very notion of the
desirable and the excellent, that greatness and
goodness and sanctity and sublimity and truth
are unknown to them ; and that they not only
do not pursue, but do not even admire, those
high attributes of the Divine Nature. This is
what I am insisting on, — not what they actually
do or what they are, but what they revere, what
they adore, what their gods are. Their god is
mammon. 1 do not mean to say that all seek
to be wealthy, but that all bow down before
wealth. Wealth is that to which the multitude
of men pay an instinctive homage. They measure
happiness by wealth, and by wealth they measure
respectability. Numljcrs, I say, there are who
never dream that they shall ever be rich them-
selves, but who still at the sight of wealth feel
an involuntary reverence and awe, just as if a
rich man must be a good man.

Now that the prolonged strike of the
Chicago teamsters has been terminated,
the average Chicago citizen probably
rejoices that the abuse and taunts of
a number of his city's papers did not
goad Mayor Dunne into calling upon
the Governor of Illinois for the assist-
ance of the State militia in putting an
end to the trouble. Regrettable as is
the financial loss to employers and
strikers, still more deplorable as is
the loss of life incidental to the crisis,
one need not be a very sagacious
philosopher to understand that the
fidvent of the troops into the streets of
Chicago would almost certainly have

resulted in a far more grievous loss of
both kinds. It is cheap criticism to
denounce as pusillanimity the conserv-
ative action of a cool-headed public
man in an important civic crisis, — and
there were a goodly number of cheap
critic's in the Western metropolis during
June and July.

Renewed efforts are being made to
promote the beatification of the Ven-
erable Father Gonsalvo Silveira, S. J.,
the proto - missionary and martyr of
Southern Africa in the sixteenth century.
The Hon. A. Wilmot, acting Governor
of Mozambique, who has the Cause
greatly at heart, and has done more,
perhaps, than any one else to revive
interest in it, expresses the hope that
within three years from this time
Father Silveira will be canonically
decreed a martyr, and that his beatifi-
cation will take place. All the bishops
of Southern Africa have petitioned the
Holy See to this eflFect.

We are often asked for information to
refute calumnies against the clergy and
laity of Mexico, on whose ignorance,
bigotry, etc., a certain class of Protes-
tant journals still continue to harp, in
spite of all that has been written in
praise and defence of the Mexicans by
authors and travellers like Mr. Charles
Lummis and Mr. F. R. Guernsey, both
of whom are non-Catholics. Our corre-
spondents arc again referred to these
writers. The latter, in a communication
to the Boston Herald from Morelia,
the capital of Michoacan, says:

As in all strongly Catholic towns in Mexico,
there is general courtesy Politeness, considera-
tion for one's fellows, results, one must think,
from leisure, from a habit of reverence, and a
good heart. I have noticed in all the so-called
clerical towns how well-bred are the people, and
how kindly their ways with the stranger within
their gates. We may bring here new creeds, new
formulas, but we shall never he able to improve
otj the fine old manners inherited from generations
of devout people trained to obedience and reverence.

Our Lady's Rival Blossoms. .

BY UNCLE AUSTIN.

IN the sarden of Heaven, one day long ago,

As Our Lady, with angels surrounded.
Passed down through briglit alleys where, row
upon row,

The fairest of flowers abounded.
Each bloom bent its head with a tremulous thrill

Of love and of worship beseeming.
And two of their number set forth with good-will

Their claims to the Virgin's esteeming.

Said the Lily : " 1 think you'll agree I'm most blest;

For, like her, of all flowers I'm purest." —
" Nay, nay ! " said the Rose: " it is love that's the
test;

And, like her, of men's love I'm the surest."
Then each held its peace ; for Our Lady returned.

And, full gently the blossoms detaching.
Laid them both on her breast; and, lol neither
then yearned

For success in its rival o'ermatching.

The Little Hungarians.

BY MRS MARY E. MANNIX.

XIV. — A Day in the Desert.

IKE (the station master at
Dos Arboles) did not trouble
himself to tell the strangers that
the empty shacks toward which
they were being directed had been
vacated by the death of their former
residents. Among some Indian tribes
it is the custom to burn everything
belonging to those who die, even the
wigwams in which they had lived.
Probably it would not have made any
difference if he had told them this ; but
he was a very kind-hearted man, and
did not wish to alarm the little ones
unnecessarily. He saw from the first
that their lines were cast in hard places.

There were two shacks quite close
together; and in a few moments a fat
boy arrived carrying two mattresses.
He was the saloon-keeper's assistant,
a good-natured fellow. He also brought
pillows and blankets. And the poor,
tired children were soon enjoying a
refreshing sleep.

At early dawn they awoke and sat
up, amazed at the beauty of the sky,
which seemed to touch the tops of the
far-away mountains. Steffan was not
there. They arose, and hand in hand
walked over to a group of dwellings
lying close together. The backs of these
brush -houses were toward them. As
they neared the front, they saw that
they were occupied by Indians boiling
their morning coffee. Louis and Rose
were not afraid, though they had never
been so close to Indians before. Both
men and women smiled on them very
pleasantly; but the little children, shy
and bright -eyed, shrank away.

A brackish well stood at some dis-
tance, a bucket and gourd on a large
stone near it.

"Shall we take a drink?" asked
Louis, as Rose peered over the edge of
the well, which was not deep.

She hesitated. At that moment a
young man attired in red shirt and
overalls came out from a shack near by,
which stood a little apart from the
others. He seemed entirely different
from the dirty, if kindly, groups they
had just been observing. His large, intel-
ligent eyes beamed kindly upon them.

"Drink if you wish, youngsters," he
said in excellent English. "The water
has just been drawn, and the gourd .
is a new one."

So saying he filled the gourd and
presented it to Rose, who drank eagerly.
Louis did the same.

THE AYE MARIA.

187

"You are the show people?" asked
the young Indian.

"Yes," answered the boy.

"From the East?"

"From Pennsylvania."

"I have lived there. I went to the
Carlisle school."

"You!" exclaimed Louis.

"Yes, I," answered the Indian, with
an amused smile.

"How long?"

"Four years."

"Did you like it?"

"Very much."

"Then, why— why— "

"Why am'l here?"

"Yes," faltered Louis.

"Because I like it better."

"Better than CarHsle?"

"It is a free life. It is my own, — I
belong to myself here."

"What do you do? How do you
earn your living?"

" Oh, I work a few days on the road —
or over near the foothills — on ranches !
Then I loaf a few weeks. And I am
happy."

Louis looked mystified.

"You can't understand it?" asked
the Indian.

"No," replied the boy.
. "And 3'ou? Pike said last night that
you go about singing and playing.
Bah! I would hate that, — making
myself a show!"

"So do we."

"Why, then — oh, but you must!
Your father takes you."

"Yes," rejoined Louis.

"And you will always live here?"
asked Rose.

"Always, I hope," said the young
man. "I am an Indian."

"But it is such a dull, dreary place!"
said Louis.

"To me it is the grandest place in
the world."

"So terribly' warm!"

"I love the heat."

"And no trees."

"I can always go to them, if I want
them. The railroad will take me
anywhere."

"But what do you eat?" inquired
Louis.

"What white people eat. Before the
railroads came, the Indians did not live
as they do now. They ate roots and
beans. You see that tree?"

"Yes," said Louis. It was one of
two, solitary and conspicuous in that
arid region.

"It is the honey mesquite. Sometimes
it grows forty feet high. The beans
are good. They dry them for winter,
and make flour out of them. We have
other beans too. We have roots that
we broil over live coals; they taste
something like meat. You see the
cactus plants all about?"

"Yes," said Louis.

"The fruit of some — the prickly pear —
is delicious. Its juice is good to drink.
On yonder lake there is a kind of fly,
and the Indians gather the grubs which
are cast up on the shore. They grind
them in a mortar and make a delicious
bread of it."

Louis made a gesture of disgust. The
Indian laughed.

" Why is it worse than eating meat ? "
he asked.

"Perhaps it isn't worse," rejoined the
boy; "but it seems so."

"Insects, reptiles, chuckawallas, — all
are very good," continued the Indian,
teasingly. "Chuckawalla,— that's my
name, — my Indian name."

"What does it mean?"

"It means lizard. They gave it to
me because I could take such long, quick
steps without making the least noise."

"Can you do it yet?" asked Rose,
timidly.

"See if I can," said the Indian, gliding
rapidly past them, and then returning
after he had covered a few yards.

" Fine ! " exclaimed Louis. " You look
as though you are walking on the air,
and' you do not make a sound."

188

THE AVE MARIA.

"They called me Sam at Carlisle,
but I like Chuckawalla better," said
the Indian.

"Do you live b}- yourself in there?"
asked Rose.

"Yes; but soon I shall be married —
to a young girl who was also at the
Carlisle school."

"Is she here now?" asked Louis. "I
would like to see her."

"No," replied Chuckawalla. "She is
cooking over at one of the ranches.
When she has a hundred dollars we
shall marry."

It seemed to the brother and sister
that the proper thing would have been
for the prospective husband to earn
the money to set up housekeeping ; but
they did not say so.

"You see," continued Chuckawalla,
divining their thoughts, "she wants to
build a wooden house to live in, and
I am going to let her do it. She is
very nice. Do you want to look in
my shack?"

"Yes," said the children.

"Isn't it pretty fair?" remarked the
Indian, drawing aside two canvas cur-
tains that hung in front of the entrance.
It was larger than any they had seen,
had a board floor, and was very clean.

"Yes, it is nice," said Louis.

Just then Steffan stepped up.

"You're a fine specimen of an Indian,"
he said. "Can you dance?"

"No," answered Chuckawalla, tersely.

"Eat snakes?"

"This is my house," said the Indian.
"Go out of it!"

Steffan was taken aback.

The Indian's eyes flashed ; he seemed
transformed into the savage whom
Louis had often read of but never seen.
Then his glance fell upon the children.

"I won't hurt you on account of
these," he said; pointing to Loviis and
Rose. "They can't be yours: they're
too fine."

"They are mine," rejoined Steffan, as
he edged away.

"Come now, youngsters, or you'll be
kidnapped. This buck would cut you
up and eat you in five minutes."

"They know better," said the Indian.
"They're not in the least afraid of me,
but you are."

He made a gesture as if to strike
Steffan, who hurried away. The children
followed, casting backward glances.
Chuckawalla flashed smiles upon them
as far as he could see them. But the
morning, which had looked so fair,
seemed dull and hot now ; the sun
was beaming fiercely down upon the
earth; the sky began to look brassy.

"This is a beastly place ! " said Steffan,
as he strode toward the station. "I
wish we could get out of it on the
morning train. What were you saying
to that Indian brute?"

"Oh, not much!" answered Louis, a
little sullenly.

He had anticipated some further
acquaintance with Chuckawalla, whom
he had found interesting; but he felt
now that he would not be allowed to
speak to him again. For the first time
since Steffan had had them in his power,
the boy felt like making an effort to
get away from him. The life they
were obliged to lead was becoming
intolerable, and he fancied that Rose
grew thinner every day.

"Did you say anything about not
being my kids?" asked Steffan.

"No, we did not," rejilied Louis.

"See here!" cried the man. "I can
have 3'ou two put in an orphan asylum
any time I like. So behave your-
selves, and don't peach. I've staked a
good deal on doing well in California
this winter, and I depend on you to
help me." Then, changing his tone,
he added: "If we do all right, you
can go back in the spring, if you
want to ; but don't you dare saj' a
word while you're with me, or I'll
fix you!"

Sadly and slowly they went in to
breakfast. The morning seemed endless ;

THE AVE MARIA.

189

but about three o'clock the train passed
again; making a break in the dull, hot
hours. Several cowboys alighted, and
presently more began to arrive on
horseback. Large tables with food and
drink were set out in the back-room
of the saloon. By six o'clock the place
was full.

When the rough, coarse, profane men
saw the little musicians, now attired
in their troubadour costume, each and
all had a kindly word for them. Beer
flowed freel}', and oaths were scattered
thickly ; but when the perfonnance
began, the children found an attentive
and admiring audience. There was no
need to pass the hat around : coins
were showered upon the stage, and at
midnight Steffan found himself richer
by fifty dollars.

Tired and sleepy, the children once
more sought their refuge of the night
before. At four o'clock they were
roused by Steffan. Hurriedly packing
their belongings, they snatched a bite
of breakfast, and when the train arrived
were ready to go. Louis was glad to
see that Steffan handed a couple of
silver dollars to Mrs. Pike. All bade
them a friendlj' good-bye, wished them
luck, and in a few moments they were
again traversing the desert.

" We'll be in California to-night,"
said Steffan.

(To be continued.)

August.

In the old Roman days the month of
August was called Sextilus, and was
the sixth month of the year. It had
onl\' twentj'-nine days, but when Julius
C.X'sar reformed the calendar he added
one more. The Emperor Augustus
gave the month his own name; and,
regarrling it as a lucky period for
him, stole a day from February and
added it to August, making the number
thirty-one.

Gem Lore.

II. — Emeralds.

The lovely green gem called the
emerald is especially associated with
the memory of our Blessed Lord ; for
early legends connected with the Holy
Grail— the cup used at the Last Supper-
declared that it was formed of a perfect
emerald of great size. The Holy Grail,
as many of our young people must be
aware, was sought by the Knights of
King Arthur's Round Table ; but, as it
was invisible to the eyes of all save
those who had kept their lives and
thoughts free from the slightest stain,
only one or two ever gazed upon the
precious relic, whose brilliance was so
dazzling that it shone in the dark like
a small sun.

Another tradition concerning the
emerald points to as great a contrast
with the foregoing as can well be
imagined. It is said that the foul and
cruel Emperor Nero witnessed the
bloody scenes in the arena through
an eyeglass made of an emerald, and
declared that the green light added to
his pleasure when the Christian martyrs
were thrown to the lions.

Before the Spaniards went to South
America, it was supposed that Egypt
and Burmah contained the only emerald
mines of any size in the world ; but
the conquerors of Peru set the imagina-
tions of all Europe aflame with their
wonderful tales of the green gems they
had found, and with the specimens they
took home to prove their words.

The favorite goddess of the Peruvians
was Esmerelda, who was supposed to
have her home inside an emerald as
large as an ostrich egg; and hundred-
weights of similar stones were placed
at her feet by the credulous worshipers.
These gems natural!}' fell into the
hands of the conquerors of the land,
and many of them found their way
to Europe.

190

THE AVE MARIA.

It is almost impossible to find a
perfect emerald, and this has given rise
to the saying, "As rare as an emerald
without a flaw." When first taken from
the mines, emeralds are brittle, but
become hard by exposure to the air.
The most desired ones are of a dark
green color, and are usually set in
connection with diamonds, — an arrange-
ment which is thought to add to their
brilliancy.

The emerald is said to have a benefi-
cient effect upon the eyesight, and it is
well known that professional cutters
of this stone are seldom troubled with
faults of vision. This doubtless arises
from the fact that green is of all colors
the most soothing to the eyes.

As far back as history goes we read
of the emerald; and it is mentioned
in the Bible: "Emerald, purple, and
embroidered work, fine linen, agate
and coral."

Oriental nations venerate as well as
love this stone ; but, singularly enough,
they are in the habit of mutilating
fine specimens by carving them or
engraving upon them. Sometimes they
string them on wire and use them as
nose ornaments.

The ancients dedicated the emerald to
Mercury, the swift-footed. They believed
that if a serpent gazed upon one, it
was at once stricken blind. They also
had an idea that it would reveal the
inconstancy of lovers by changing its
color.

There are two theories advanced to
account for the bestowal upon Ireland
of the name "Emerald Isle." Between
these you may choose as suits you best.
Some say that when Henry II. became
possessed, as jjart of his dominion, of
the island of Erin, Pope Adrian sent
him a fine emerald ring, along with his
congratulations. But I prefer to think
that beautiful Ireland owes its familiar
name to the green verdure which has
made it the Emerald Isle of the Sea.
The emerald should surely be the gem

adopted by the sons and daughters
of St. Patrick.

There is no precious stone more
easily counterfeited than the emerald,
and man^' travellers have been deceived
by a peculiar species of green jasper
which successfully imitates the genuine
gem. The famous green emerald pillars
of Tyre were probabl}^ jasper, if not
common green glass.

There are several historical emeralds
worthy of mention here. There was, for
instance, the stone in the ring belong-
ing to Polycrates of Samos. The jealous
Amasis, King of Egypt, induced him
to throw it into the sea, as a sacrifice
to the gods; but the next day it was
found in the stomach of a fish in the
palace kitchen. Amasis became alarmed,
and would have nothing more to do
with the rival he had tried to despoil.
Polycrates lost his good fortune with
his ring, and soon after met with a
terrible death.

There was in the crown of the
Blessed Virgin in the cathedral of
Toledo, in Spain, a most magnificent
emerald; but one day a marshal of
victorious France, while being shown
the treasures of the building, coolly
twisted the gem out of its setting and
put it in his pocket.

Napoleon the Great was very fond
of this species of stone, and wore a
ring with an emerald setting that was
taken from the tomb of Charlemagne.

A Noble Palace and Park.

Versailles, the most magnificent of
the world's palaces, has surrounding
it what used to be, and probably still
is, the largest of the world's parks.
Two hundred millions of dollars were
expended on buildings and grounds.
The park is fifty miles in circumference.
Versailles is situated twelve miles out
of Paris, and is unused at present
except as a sho^yplace.

THE AVE MARIA
With Authors and Publishers.

191

— A literary journal of some reputation in a
review of the recently published " Letters of St.
Catherine of Siena" remarks that she "committed
many miracles." It might have been added that
the Saint also perpetrated many good works and
was addicted to numerous virtues.

— "The Blessed Virgin and All the Company of
the Saints" is the surprising title of a new book
for Anglican readers, from the pen of a Church
of England dignitary. We learn that this work
contains little or nothing which would he likely
to jar on Catholic susceptibilities.

— The August number of Chamber's Journal
contains an article, with several facsimiles, on
"Shakespeare's Autographs," by Mr. W. Roberts.
It deals chronologicallj' with all the various
autographs which have any sort of claim to
rank as genuine.

— Messrs. Bell have issued a cheaper edition of
Abbot Gasqnet's learned work, "The Eve of the
Reformation." It makes a handsome volume of
more than four hundred pages, well printed and
bound. An excellent index enhances the value of
this book, which should be in every library
worthy of the name.

— We learn that the new series of handbooks
for Catholic priests and students, to be issued
by Longmans, Green & Co., will be called "The
Westminster Library." "The Holy Eucharist,"
by Bishop Hedley ; "The Catholic Calendar,"
by Father Thurston, S. J.; "The Holy Scriptures:
their Origin, Authority, and Interpretation," by
Dr. Barry, will t)e among the earliest volumes.

— In what is, typographically, a model pam-
phlet of fifty-three pages, John T. Creagh treats of
" Bishop Doanc vs. The Catholic Church, in the
Matter of Remarriages after Divorce." Part of
the work has already appeared in the Catholic
World; but even those who have read that part
will unfeignedly enjoy this fuller and more com-
pletely triumphant refutation of Bishop Doane's
ill-advised charges. The Protestant prelate is
clearly shown to have "demonstrated his igno-
rance of Catholic law and life and theology."
It is to be devoutly hoped that every reader of
the Bishop's article in the North American Review
may have, and embrace, the opportunity of
leisurely perusing this excellent argument.

— Bishop Spalding has said that "a genuine
book is a mirror in which we behold our proper
countenance." In "The Christian Maiden," a
creditable translation from the German of the
Rev, Matthias von Bremscheid, O. M. Cap., by
memliers of the young ladies' sodality. Holy

Trinity Church, Boston, the reader will find a
veritable treasury of ennobling thoughts — a true
image of the beauty of soul which every Child
of Mary should reflect. This booklet is well
published by the Angel Guardian I'ress.

— Many practical counsels and wise hints for
fathers and mothers concerning the training and
education of their children will be found in a
pamphlet entitled "Talks with Parents," by the
Rev. D. V. Phalen. The subjects touched upon
are all of importance, and the style of the writer
is simple and direct. We hope this brochure may
have many readers. Printed by the McAlpiije
Publishing Co., Halifax, N. S.

— From the Carmelite Convent, Boston, we
have received a little book of meditations which
breathes the spirit of prayer. "The Cenacle" is
the title of this aid to a retreat in preparation
for Pentecost. It is so arranged, however, as to
be helpful and inspiring at any time. The work is
a translation from the French ; and that it has
been well received by religious everywhere is
evident from the fact that there are translations
also in German, French, Flemish and Italian.

— Many readers will be interested to know that
the translation — the first to be made in English —
of St. Thomas' great work, the "Sumnia Contra
Gentiles," undertaken by the Rev. Joseph Rickaby,
S. J., and to be issued soon by Messrs. Burns &
Gates, is not a mere compendium. Although some
chapters have been shortened by the omission of
arguments invalidated by modern discoveries in
science, "special care has been taken that the
brain of the book and all its characteristic
features shall be preserved." The "Summa Contra
Gentiles" is a cyclopjcdia of philosophy and
theology as taught by St. Thomas Aquinas; its
object is to show that the Christian Faith is
not in conflict with reason.

— "What text- books of history would you
recommend ?" is a question frequently asked of us.
Alas! good text-books by Catholic authors are
few and far between, and most others are par-
tisan. Fortunately, the restricted use of such
books in teaching or stud_ying is far less general
nowadays than it used to be. Good reference
works, of which there are many, should be
familiar to Catholic teachers and students, —
especially, of course, to those attending cour.ses
in secular institutions. We will mention a few
useful books: Janssen's "Historj-," Parson's
"Studies" and "Lies and Errors of History,"
Dom Gasquct's "Eve of the Reformation," etc.,
Montaleinbcrt's " Mf)nk,s of the West," Newman's
historical essays, Gairdner's historical works, Dr.

192

THE AVE MARIA

Shahan's "Middle Ages," etc., Lingard's History
of England ; Summer School Essays, Vols. I. and
II., Pastor's "History of the Popes," "Christian
Schools and Scholars." Birrell's historical essays,
" Literary, Scientific and Political Views of Dr.
Brownson. " This list might be extended
indefinitely. Works like the "Cambridge Modern
History" and "The Historians' History " should
not be used without books of rebuttal on the
same shelf ; better, on the shelf below, — nearer to
hand. The best refutation of the errors and
extravagances of historical writers, Catholic or
non-Catholic, by the way, is often to be found
in reviews and magazines. It remains to be said
that every careful student should have an index
of his own. One need not be the possessor of a
book to know its general contents. Nowadays
most historical works are provided with an ade-
quate index, thus immediately putting the student
on the track of desired information. Another
point for young students to remember is that
the titles of many books convey no idea of the
richness of their contents. "The Eve of the
Reformation," for instance, besides illuminative
itudies on subjects like Erasmus, "The Printed
English Bible," etc., contains a great amount
of miscellaneous lore. "Christian Schools and
Scholars," too, is a mine of information for
which one might search in vain elsewhere, at
least among books printed in English. A surprise
is in store for young students who will examine
the general index of Dr. Brownson's writings.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books wilt
appear at the head, older ones being dropped out
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may he sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
titatcs will be imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad.
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

" The Cenacle." C4 cts.

"The Christian Maiden." Rev. Matthias von

Bremscheid, (). M. Cap. 50 cts.
"Elizabeth Seton, Her Life and Work." Agnes

Sadlier. $1, net.
" Daughters of the Paith." Eliza O'B. Lummis.

$1.25.

"The Tragedy of Fothcringay." Mrs. Maxwell
Scott. $1, net.

"A Gleaner's Sheaf." 30 cts., net.

" A Story of Fifty Years." $1, net.

'Tlie Kidiugdale Boys." David Beanie, S. J.

$1.85, net.
' Bv What .\uthority?" Robert Hugh Benson.

$1,60, net.
'Historical Criticism and the Old Testament."

Pere J. M. Lagrange, O. P $1, mt.
'Divorce. A Domestic Tragedy of Modern

France." Paul Bourget. $1.50.
' Wandewana's Prophecy and Fragments in

Verse." Eliza L. Mulcahy. $1, net.
'Nciti's on Christian Doctrine." Most Rev.

Edward Bagshawe, D. D. $1.35, net.
'The House of Cards." John Heigh. $1.50.
' The Transplanting of Tessie." Mary T. Wagga-

man. 60 cts.
'The Sacrifice ot the Mass." Very Rev. Alex.

McDonald, D. D. 60 cts., net.
'The Knowableness of God." Rev. Matthew

Schumacher, C. S. C. 50 cts.
'The Blessed Virgin in the Nineteenth Century;

Apparitions, Revelations, Graces." Bernard

St. John. $1.75, net.
'The Redemptorists at Annapolis." $2.
'The Imitation of Christ." Sir Francis R. Cruise.

30 cts.
' The House of God and Other Addresses and

Studies." Very Rev. Thomas J. Shahan, D. D.

$1.50, net.
'Nut- Brown Joan." Marion Ames Taggart.

$1.50.
'Beyond Chance ot Change." Sara Andrew

Shafer. $1.50.
'Vigils with Jesus." Rev. John Whelan. 40 cts.
'The Lodestar." Sidney R. Kennedy. $1.50.

Obituary.

Remember tbem that arc in bands. — Heb., xiii, 3.

Rev. Thomas Kiukead, of the archdiocese of
New York ; Rev. Denis Sullivan, archdiocese of
Boston; and Rev. Alphonsus Hild, CSS. R.

Brother Eberliard, of the Franciscan Brothers.

Mother Teresa (Dolphin), of the Order of Mt.
Carmel ; Sisters Wigbcrta, Jerome, and Claudiye,
Sisters of the Holy Cross; Sister M. Bridget,
Sisters of St. Joseph.

Mr. E. W. Nash, of Omaha, Neb.; Mrs. Margaret
Green, New York; Miss Mary Loughran and
Mrs. Mary Haverty, Brooklyn, N. Y.; Mr. Joseph
Zeppersfeld, St. Louis, Mo.;. Mrs. Henry Ditter,
N<'-th Yakima, Washington; Mr. James Casey,
Scranton, Pa.; Mrs. Margaret Lennon, Circleville,
Ohio; Mr. John Helton, Belmont, England; and
Mr. J. P. Ingcnhutt, Minneapolis, Minn.

Requiescant in pace I

HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUHC, I., 48.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, AUGUST 12, 1905.

NO. 7.

[Published every Saturday. Copyright: Rev. D. E. Hudson, CSC]

Young Roses.

BY MARION HUIS.

I HAVE a secret in my heart
I long, my dear, to share with thine,

If I could find a tongue apart.
Not all of earth, nor quite divine.

I seek a language sweet and soft,
No lip but mine has ever known.

Since all our phrases, used too oft,
Have lost the magic once their own.

Such music must the summer airs
Sigh to the lily's soul when first.

Half conscious of the charm she wears,
She quits the sheath where she was nursed.

And shyly stands in morning's ray,

Sweet in triumphal purity ;
So let the flowers I send to-day

My fondest dream's announcement be.

'Our Lady's Island" and Its Founder.

BY J. B. CULLE.N.

APPILY, the spirit of Gaelic
Revival which has latteriy
(„|| taken so remarkable a hold
on the enthusiasm of the
Irish race all over the world — wherever
the Gael has found a home — is not
without effect in creating a deep and
salutary interest in the study of the
religious history of the mother- land,
its literature, its antiquities and sacred
traditions. It is investing many storied
scenes scattered throughout the old
country with a fascination which is

rapidly spreading among literary stu-
dents and others, all anxious to
gather something concerning the buried
past, the forgotten story of the ruined
memorials which stand like silent wit-
nesses of the Faith amid the grassy
graveyards of Holy Ireland. To this
influence we may, in great measure,
attribute the zeal and interest with
which so many scholars are devoting
themselves to the study of the ancient
annals, and bringing to light the fuller
history of many of those sacred shrines,
whose origin came to be quite for-
gotten, but to whose crumbling walls
traditional veneration, throughout the
silent centuries, has fondly clung. After
the glorious heritage of Faith, Ireland
possesses no more precious heirlooms
than those ivied ruins, round which
so many traditions of her fidelity and
sufferings are entwined.

One of these venerable sanctuaries —
"The Shrine of Our Lady's Island," in
the county Wexford, — one of the oldest
in the old land, is the subject of the
present sketch. Beyond the conjectures
which its name suggests, and the
popular veneration with which suc-
ceeding generations have regarded the
spot, little in the waj^ of its authentic
history has been known, or, at least so
far, been written of.

The scene of this pilgrimaj
situated in the Barony of
Wexford, some ten mile^
county town. It is one
not the onl3' one, of the sjj^
of our Blessed Lady who^

194

THE AYE MARIA.

and traditions extend back almost to
the days of St. Patrick himself. The
situation of the spot is particularly
beautiful. Embosomed in the waters
of a tideless lake, the little island, with
its singular group of ruins, is one of
the most picturesque places of the kind
in the country. The immediate sur-
roundings of the locality lend many
historic attractions to the scene; for
it was in this district that the Norman
invaders first set foothold in Ireland,
marking their progress, as they pushed
their conquests farther and farther, by
the erection of those feudal castles
which still abound in this part of
the country. These military structures
form so distinctive a feature in the
landscape of South Wexford that the
district may well be styled the Castile
of Ireland.

The Lake of Togher — for so it was
called in former days — is about three
miles in length, its lesser breadth
being about half a mile. It contains
two small islets— Inish and " Our Lady's
Island." The latter comprises some
twelve acres, and is connected with the
mainland by a narrow causeway, — the
pilgrim path of olden times, leading to
the much frequented shrine, the ruins of
which still exist in the little cemetery,
where many generations coveted to
sleep their last beneath the hallowed
shadows of "Mary's Chapel."

The shrine of Our Lady's Island dates
from the earlier part of the sixth
century ; its founder, St. Abban, being
one of the most remarkable saints of
the ancient Irish Church. Through the
apostolic labors of this holy man it
was that the southeastern district of
Ireland received Christianity. He is
still venerated as the Celtic patron of
South Wexford.

St. Abban was born about the year
441. His father was King of Leinster,
his mother a princess of Ulster — or
Dalriadia, as it was then called. When
the child was old enough to leave his

mother's arms, he delighted in being
brought to the church; and later on,
when he could go there alone, the little
boy would often be seen at the foot of
the altar rapt in prayer, as the annalist
quaintly tells us, quasi senex — "like an
old man."

As Abban grew in years, parents and
friends alike marvelled at the holiness,
purity, and perfection that shone in his
character. The nobles of his father's
court, little dreaming of what God had
designed, often expressed their admira-
tion of the boy, and looked forward
hopefully to the time when Abban
would assume the sceptre and crown
of his royal race. In the annals of the
early saints we seldom read of so
manifest a vocation to the religious
life at so tender an age; for we are
informed that Abban was but twelve
years old when he renounced his claim
to his inheritance and presented himself
for admission at the monastery door
of Begerin Island. It is needless to say
the venerable abbot, his uncle, who had
already predicted the future glory of the
saint, received the boy with open arms.

Begerin held at that time a foremost
place among the schools of Ireland.
Situated on the seaboard, its monas-
tery counted on its rolls many scholars
from the opposite shores of Britain and
the northern parts of the Continent.
The chronicles of these far-off times
tell us that, so great was the fame of
Ibar's school that within the limited
area of the island — onlj' some three and
twenty acres — it housed as many as
three thousand students! Among this
vast assemblage, so remarkable was
Abban's progress in the attainment of
religious and secular knowledge, and so
high his reputation for sanctity, that
his biographers describe him as a "star
of unrivalled brilliancy." On the death
of Ibar, in the year 500, Abban was
unaniinously chosen to succeed his
venerable kinsman in the abbacy of
the monastery.

THE AVE MARIA.

195

Thrice during his career as a member
of the community of Begerin, we are
told, Abban visited Rome; and it was
on the occasion of his third pilgrimage
to the Eternal City that he received
episcopal consecration, and was com-
missioned on his return to Ireland to
preach and instruct wheresoever he
willed over the whole island. Hitherto
his labors had been restricted to the
administration of the monastery and
school over which he presided.

In fulfilment of the mission entrusted
to him, St. Abban, on his homeward
journey, did not direct his course, as
on former occasions, to the coast of
his native territory. On the contrary',
we find he landed on the very opposite
side of Ireland, on the shores of Galway.
Here he founded three monasteries in
the Plain of Trindi. From Connaught
he directed his steps toward South
Munster, where he established nine
religious houses, chiefly in the present
counties of Cork and Kerry. The next
scenes of the ' saint's labors were the
districts of Fermyn (Fermoy) and Ely
O'Fogarty, North Munster. In this
latter territory Abban garnered an
abundant harvest of souls. Fain wohld
he have spent his remaining days
among this grateful people ; nay, in the
midst of them he even longed to find
the "place of his resurrection." One day,
when this desire took more than usual
possession of his soul, it is told that
his Guardian Spirit in a vision appeared
to him and said: "Thy wish may not
be fulfilled ; for in thy native Leinster
God has ordained thou shalt find thy
everlasting sleep. Therefore shalt thou
depart hence."

With a heart full of sorrow, he
soon afterward bade farewell to his
faithful flock — who were loathe to let
him go,— and proceeded to the plains
of North Meath, where he built a cell
long known as Kill-Abbain. But not
even here was he to rest; for when
his work was completed, the angel's

voice was heard once more, bidding
him to depart. "Proceed," the angel
said, "to the territory of Ky-Kisellagh ;
and in the place where at sundown
you shall hear the Vesper songs of
prayer, there shall your resurrection
be. From that abode you shall go
forth to found many more monasteries,
for your years have yet long to run."
In obedience to the heavenly admoni-
tion, Abban, with some chosen disciples,
again moved on, journeying over hill
and valley, until one evening he reached
a spot, almost central in the present
county of Wexford, where the air seemed
suddenly filled with the music of
heavenly choirs. At once the sainted
pilgrim fell upon his knees, saying, "At
last here shall I rest ! " This spot, where
St. Abban built his first monastery in
the county Wexford, was subsequently
called Maghemuidhe, or "The Plain of
Prayer." It became the parent house
of the seven monasteries which he
founded in his native kingdom of
Kinsellagh. Nevertheless, although it
was to be the place of his resurrection,
and the grassy sward of its cemetery
contains the relics of St. Abban, Magher-
nuidhe never attained the lasting
celebrity which through all the centuries
clung to the monasteries of New Ross
and of Our Lady's Island. In these
alone, of his many foundations in the
present county Wexford, may we say
that tradition has preserved the name
of St. Abban. They were known respec-
tively in the days of their founder as
Ros-mic-Truin and Fionmagh.

The former became his Magnum
Monasterium, beside the waters of the
River Barrow. From the advantages
of its situation, there soon grew up
around it a town, which in the Middle
Ages came to be one of the most
flourishing centres of commerce in
Ireland — the present New Ross. The
island sanctuary of the saint, first called
Fionmagh, or the "Field of Light,"
lay some thirty miles distant, in the

196

THE AVE MARIA.

south of Kinsellagh. Both monasteries
were dedicated to the Blessed Virgin,—
which dedication is preserved to the
present day in the nomenclature of the
parishes in which they existed.

From his successive visits to the
great centre of Eternal Truth during
a period fraught with such eventful
circumstances in the history of the
Church, we may not marvel that our
Irish saint became inflamed with
enthusiasm to spread still more among
his native race a fuller knowledge of
the doctrines and teachings of the
Faith, to the elucidation of which the
Fathers of the Church were then so
strenuously devoting their labors. In
referring to the work which crowned
the latter part of St. Abban's life—
when he forsook the cloister for a
career of missionary activity, — w^e can
not fail to regard him as a zealous
promoter, a hardy pioneer, of devotion
to the Blessed Mother of God among
the people of Ireland. Under the special
blessing of Divine Providence, the pres-
ervation of the Faith is mainly due
to the devotion to our Blessed Lady
which our people were, thus taught,
in those early times, to foster in their
hearts and homes, and hand on as a
treasured inheritance to their posterity.
In the records left us of St. Abban's
life, all the annalists agree as to the
extraordinary length of days vouch-
safed him by Almighty God. Like many
others of the Irish saints, he was
forewarned of the time of his death.
Full of hope in the happiness that
awaited him, he began, as his end drew
nigh, ardently to prepare for his ever-
lasting pilgrimage. His last years were
spent in the Great Monastery he had
founded beside the River Barrow. Here
he set everything in order; and, having
appointed his successor, the venerable
abbot bade farewell to his beloved flock.
He then withdrew to Maghernuidhe —
"The Place of his Resurrection." Sum-
moning the guardians of his several

monasteries, he gave them his parting
instructions, and told them the date
of his death. After a life favored by
extraordinary miracles, and fruitful of
many blessings to the venerable Church
of which he was so bright an ornament,
St. Abban entered into his reward on
the 27th of October, probably in the
year 567, at an age far exceeding a
hundred years. His last resting-place is
now the village of Adamstown.

Of this great saint, one of the most
illustrious in the long calendar of
Ireland, scarcely more than the name
is generally known. The change of
language, and the consequent change
of local names, served to obliterate his
memory in almost all the places of which
at one time he was the honored patron.

But to return to the story of Our
Lady's Island. In the annals of Father
Colgan, the ecclesiastical historian of
Ireland, we are told that St. Abban's
monastery of Lough Togher was styled
Fionmagh, as previously stated ; but,
from its special dedication to the
Blessed Virgin, its original name was
soon forgotten, and the sacred spot
came henceforward, and in after centu-
ries, to be known as Our Lady's Island.

August 15, the festival of our Blessed
Lady's Assumption, is the feast-day, or
"pattern," of the island. This fact is
very remarkable, from the historical
coincidence of its dedication with the
time in which St. Abban lived. It was
one of the four Byzantine festivals ; and,
till the twelfth century, only those four
were kept with solemn observances.
The Assumption is the most ancient
festival of Our Lady, according to Alban
Butler and other writers ; and thus
was observed in the East and West
before the sixth century. The original
name of the feast was the Dormitio, or
"Sleep of the Blessed Virgin."

Readers acquainted with the monastic
records of Ireland are aware that the
early monasteries of the country were
of Columban institution, — that is, their

THE AVE MARIA.

197

inmates followed the Rule of St. Patrick
and St. Columba, the more complete
and practical development of which is
accredited to the latter saint. About
the eleventh century the successors of
the early Irish monks, in conformity
with the wishes of the Church, adopted
the constitutions laid down by St.
Augustin for the guidance of religious,
assuming the title of " Regular Canons."
Hence it was that in the records of
the Middle Ages the monastery of Our
Lady's Island is referred to as a house
of the Austin Canons.

Doubtless from the days of its saintly
founder, the shrine was venerated on
account of its special sanctity, and
the miraculous favors granted there
through the intercession of the Mother
of God. Its celebrity, however, reached
the zenith of its sacred fame as a
pilgrimage - place in mediaeval times.
In those days, it is recorded, votaries
thronged from all parts, even from
lands far beyond the seas, to pay the
tribute of their devotion at the famous
Irish shrine of the Madonna. Notwith-
standing the troubles of the Reforma-
tion, pilgrimages continued to be made
to it without interruption till the time
of Cromwell. In 1649, this ruthless
conqueror, in an unexpected attack,
wrought havoc and desolation on the
scene consecrated by so many hallowed
traditions. At the hands of his soldiers,
many of the religious and the faithful
people are said to have suffered death
at the point of the sword.

Tradition has it that this sacrilegious
event took place on a Sunday, during
the celebration of the divine mysteries.
Taken unawares, the terrified congre-
gation tried to escape; but communi-
cation between the island and the
mainland was cut off bj' the assailants.
With remarkable presence of mind, as
the story is related, the little acolyte
who was attending the priest at Mass
hastily snatched the crucifix and con-
secrated vessels from the altar, and.

passing through the sacristy, rushed
to the shore, where he cast the sacred
treasures into the lake, that they might
be saved from profanation. For his
heroic effort the boy received the crown
of martyrdom ; for just as he had
completed his task he was perceived
1)y the soldiery and shot dead.*

Despite the ruin that befell the island
sanctuary, and the dispersing of its
religious who had so long guarded the
shrine of Our Lady, the vandalism of
Cromwell did not put an end to the
pilgrimage. Amidst weal and woe the
Irish heart lovingly clung to the spot
consecrated by the penance and prayer
of so many generations. For more than
a hundred years after its destruction,
the roofless and crumbling chapel con-
tinued to be visited on Our Lady's
festivals by crowds of devout clients,
coming still to offer their homage and
seek the intercession of Mary at her
desolate altar. The Penal Laws, pro-
hibiting pilgrimages in general, had but
little effect in this part of Ireland, but
seem only to have enhanced the attrac-
tion of the shrine of Our Lady's Island.
Year after year pilgrims continued to
frequent it with increasing devotion, if
increase were possible. The severity of
the penitential exercises performed by
the faithful on those occasions may
well recall the fervor and self-denial of
the primitive Christians.

The following extract from an
unpublished manuscript lying before me,
dated 1684, is interesting. The writer,
by no means favorable in his comments
upon Catholicity, and is supposed to
have been a veteran of Cromwell's army,
refers to the pilgrimage as follows:

" In the Lough of Togher is an island

* A few years ago in a season of unusual
drought, when the waters of the lake hatl fallen
very low, a crucifix of ancient workmanship
was found on the beach by some children at
play. The relic was at once brought to the
])arish priest, who had it admirably restored.
It may now be seen on the altar of Our Lady in
the parochial church on th? niftipland c'ose bjr,

198

THE AVE' MARIA.

called Our Lady's Island, containing
about twelve acres of land, in former
times of ignorance highly esteemed and
accompted holy. And to this day the
natives (persons of honor as well as
others) in aboundance from remote
parts of the kingdom doe with great
devotion goe on pilgrimages thither,
and there goe barefooted round the

island, in the water But some great

sinners goe on their knees in the water,
and some that are greater sinners yett
goe round the island three times. This
I have seen, as alsoe I have seen persons
of noe mean degree leave their hose and
shoes in Wexford and goe barefooted
in dirty weather to this island, which
is eight miles (distant). And having
done their pennance, make their offering
in the chappell and return to Wexford in
the same posture. This aboundance ol
people (not the wisest) doe every year
towards the end of summer; but the
chiefest and most meritorious time is
between the two Lady Days, August
15 and September 8."
^ This custom lasted down to almost

a century ago, when the practice oi
making public pilgrimages was generally
abandoned in Ireland. Among the
faithiul of the island parish the vene-
ration of Our Lady of the Assumption,
however, has never waned. The 15th oi
August is yearly celebrated as a festival
of special devotion, when the site ot
the olden shrine is reverently visited in
solemn procession. A beautiful Gothic
church now raises its tapering spire
amid the mainland village, on the
borders of the lake. Through the zeal
of the present pastor, a votive altar
was erected on the point of the island,
in commemoration of the Jubilee of the
Holy Year, 1900. Above it stands a
beautiful figure of the Assumption, thus
perpetuating the glorious prerogative
of the Mother of God, which St. Abban
proclaimed and preached on this self-
same scene almost fourteen hundred
years ago.

The Spot of Dreams.

BY GABRIEL FRANCIS POWERS.

eREAT joy and great trepidation
were upon the school of Conrad
the painter, in the old city by the
Rhine. His pupils were to furnish
designs for one of the cathedral win-
dows— an honor above words, where
only artists of note competed, — and it
was clearly stated, that the cartoon
accepted must equal theirs in beauty
and dignity. High ran the fire of
emulation, and hot and long were the
discussions at night in the inns where
the apprentice painters congregated.

Conrad numbered among his scholars
almost all the art -promise of the
country ; and now Julius, now Otto,
now Albert was the name applauded.
Had you asked Conrad himself, he
would have told you, with clear eyes
that had no guile in them, that he
hoped the boy Hans would get the
window; adding, with religious discre-
tion, that the prize must, however, go
always to the best. Among the fellow-
students there was a doubt whether
Hans would compete at all. They were
accustomed to look upon him as a
child, and a child he certainly was at
heart. How could he expect — he who
was nothing but a dreamer — to measure
himself with them, the designers, the
anatomists, the profoundly versed in
composition? The attempt could be
only idle. True, argued another, he
would certainly fail ; but his love for
Holy Mary was likely to lead him to
the attempt where she was to be the
subject, even if strength to achieve
should be wanting.

Hans passed by their open-air tables
as they spoke, — a rather tall youth,
slender, with the soft hair of childhood
touching ear and neck under the round
brown cap. He smiled, greeting them,
but would not sit. Often he had said

THE AYE MARIA.

199

he did not like their tankards; and
they had answered, mocking, he was
not past the taste of milk. Better
than the platz he loved the long, lone
country roads in the twihght, the lines
of poplars against the fading rose,
the delicate breeze that scarcely spoke.
There was, at the edge of the woods, a
chapel dedicated to the Queen of Angels,
and here he came almost every night,
bringing wild flowers in his hands. Then
he would lie on his back in the grass
outside the sanctuary, and wait for
the stars to appear. That was Hans'
wooing, — the Blessed Virgin Mary and
God's stars. No wonder Conrad said
the lad had the soul of a poet.

Yet Hans made large demands upon
his master's patience. He was dreamy,
he was unpractical; he had a great
way of saying to all demands: "To-
morrow." That very day he had said
it again. The designs were coming in
fast, and Conrad had turned to the
boy sharply and asked for his.

"To-morrow, sir," stammered the
culprit.

" I would swear you have not even
begun it!"

" I had not the idea."

"The idea, you son of mischief, when
you have the shape of the window and
know you must fill that simple shape
with an Assumption ! What more idea
would you like to have?"

" I would like much, sir, to have an
idea of the Assumption."

The wizened old teacher lifted hands
in despair. .\nd Hans, much perturbed,
betook himself to the saying of Hail
Marys. It was the only fount of
inspiration he had never known to fail.

He was sad as he lay down that
night in the grass behind the chapel.
But the wild -apple boughs swayed
gently above him; between them the
sister stars pierced into the velvet blue,
and the crescent moon stole silvery into
view at the last .glow of the horizon.
Ere he knew it, tney had lulled him to

sleep. And then the boy Hans had an
extraordinary dream.

He was lying in the selfsame spot,
made fresh and beautiful in springtime,
at the selfsame gloaming hour; and
into that mysterious twilight scene,
where the trail of red had been, grew
a wondrous clear color like the mist
and flame of opal. A Woman with a
face of joy unspeakable stood in the
glory ; while, at the edge of the light,
angelic forms wheeled round her; from
the shadowy meadow ascended incense
of countless flowers, — Hans had never
guessed how the generous spot ran
over with them ; and the pulses of viols,
beating in some rare melody, cadenced a
song the sense of which he understood,
though it was only the inarticulate
throbbing of stringed instruments
swelling to one grand choral : Assumpta
est Maria in caelum : gaudent angeli,
laudantes benedicunt Dominum !

Hans awakened through excess of
happiness, and went stumbling home,
half blind, half dazed. The road was
intensely still, the heavens powdered
with stars. He took a tallow dip and
scratched a design — a mere blot with
web-like lines. How he hated to do
it! How impossible it would be for
him ever to paint what he had seen!
How his hand would deflower it!
But she had given it to him, and so
he must do his best.

On the morrow he did not go abroad.
All that day, all the next, he worked
in his little bare room, scarce taking
food, unconscious if there was still
any material world around him. All
he knew was that he had seen in sleep,
smiling upon him, a face he could
wait for until he should be dead.
Strange perfumes crossed the air as he
labored, — the flowers, he thought, of
that wondrous meadow. He smiled
pityingly at the pot of geraniums, the
pot of basil on his window-sill. The old
woman with whom the student lodged
wondered what strange thing the boy

200

THE AYE MARIA.

was trying to sing over his drawing in
that close-shut room. But he traced a
scroll at the base and wrote, feeling
some agony of denudation in the words:
Assumpta est. . . . He threw down the
pencil when he came to her name.

The design was placed upon Conrad's
easel the third day. The old man drew
his breath sharply when he saw it,
and looked about for the boy; but
Hans had fled. Days elapsed before he
returned ; and then it seemed to the
master he was sad, but neither spoke
of the cartoon. A week later one of
the judges meeting the painter on the
street congratulated him warmly.

Conrad's gladness had been ready long
before, and now beamed out of him.

"Ah! My Hans?" he chuckled.

"Nay, good master: Ludwig has it."

"Ludwig? Gott im himmel ! You
have given it to Ludwig?"

"It was closely contested. But we
do not like the yellow tone of Hans' ;
it admits too much light, and he
ignores some of the main laws of
glaziery. The whole figure would have
to be rehandled."

Conrad's head fell. He had not
thought of the leading himself. He
could well see how the lad would
overlook it. And Ludwig had got the
window. Loyally the old man tried
to be glad, to be impartial, but the
angry tears stung his eyes; for he
knew what quality of vision was in
the design of Hans the dreamer, and
Ludwig's natural tendency was toward
the painting of hams and melons.
Ludwig's cartoon was very careful,
even elaborate. From life, with much
correctness, he had drawn Katrina,
the innkeeper's daughter, in a blue dress
and with her plump chin upturned.
It was well composed and true to
nature. Conrad had seen Madonnas
done like this before. But even that
color-feat of the boy Hans' painting,
in the sweat of his brow, the mist
and fire of the opal for Saint Mary's

glory, — even that had told against
him. It admitted too much light.

Conrad called the lad to him softly,
and told him as one tells of a death.
He got no answer, and asked Hans
what he thought.

"Think, sir? I think it very natural.
The work in it is execrable. But I did
my best."

And with that he went back to paint
in the background of Conrad's "Holy
Family." Full soon he heard that the
prize had gone to Ludwig and his
stout wench in the fairing robe. It did
not affect him very much; his whole
soul had craved a share of work
and glory in that stupendous Gothic
structure he called in his heart's heart
the "spot of dreams"; but, since that
was denied him, he did not care who
was preferred. The sorrow that went
deepest with him — and it did go to
the core and the marrow — was that
his Lady had refused his service. If
she had had any pleasure in him, she
would have let him work for her.
He had thought that she indeed had
helped him in his trouble; but, if she
forsook him now, then he had been in
error from the first.

Lonely the boy wandered out to
the Chapel of Angels, but he found no
solace. His Lady and Mistress had
repulsed his love. He came in the
moonlight to the minster, where day by
day mallet and chisel rang, and joyous
workmen crowded the scaffoldings stark
in the blue. The flying arches sprang
upward ; everywhere the carven stone
blossomed into flower and figure; and
here, in the nether shadow, stood he,
Hans, who was an orphan, whom God
had made an artist, but who never
would have a share in that. " Perhaps,"
he said to himself, — "perhaps I am not
worthy to work for her." And so he
went home, with his head low and his
face white with pain in the moonlight.
After that the old town and the school
of Conrad saw the lad no more.

THE AVE MARIA.

201

Loud was the laughter when it
was found that this child of dreams
could be smitten with a jealousy of
success so intolerable and unforgiving
that it drove him from friends and
land. Conrad, who best knew the boy's
sensitiveness, could but agree that
disappointment and humiliation had
proved too much for him. At heart he
did not wonder that Hans would not
endure the seeing of Ludwig's subject
preferred. It was gall to his own soul.
But the years passed and no tidings
came from the wanderer.

Hans himself travelled on foot to
the Netherlands and France and Italy,
studying everywhere as he went. Once
and again he found a patron. Twice
he set firth as a pilgrim to the holy
spots of Palestine; and at length,
having won fame in the art -loving
communes of Italy, he decided that this
should be his home. From Bergamo a
letter went to Conrad the painter; it
brought no answer, and the writer
realized it must be too late. Then he
turned back resolutely to the painting
of Madonnas. By these Giovanni
d'Alemagna had his greatest fame;
though he was also an architect of no
mean acquirements, and his designs
were frequently prized above those of
native draughtsmen.

So his skill grew and grew; and to
everything he touched, a peculiar grace
of inimitable beauty was imparted. His
was the artistry of the soul and eye
and hand. And he had grown bluff and
jovial. But there was one subject he
could not speak of, and that was his
bojhood's "spot of dreams." Some-
times he would close his eyes and think
about it. He had built cathedrals
himself since that ; but there was one
from which, as a lad, he had been
excluded, and the old wound would not
heal. Travellers occasionally brought
him, in scraps, tales of the solemnity
and magnificence of that place.

One day the ineradicable desire of

land and tongue, the passion of home-
sickness often stifled, laid its spell
so potently upon the aged painter, he
undertook the long, difficult journey for
the first time. He could remember, as
he passed them smiling, the clear river,
the meadows breaking into strata of
blue blossom or whitening with lilies
of the valley. He could smile at the
recollection of the boy Hans, so simple,
so deadly in earnest, so tragic -full of
childish and unchildish sorrows. There
was the window in the grey, gabled
street, — no more geraniums or basil
at the sill, but still the window of
that most foolish, perhaps lovable boy.
There, shrunken surely and weather-
stained, the house where Conrad the
painter had lived and held his school.

And then the old man Giovanni
d'Alemagna— old as Conrad himself
by this time — picked out of his memory
the old way to the minster. Miles
away he had seen it: an arrow of
gold first, a steeple above the haze;
next a toy carving, gem-like upon the
city. Then at the walls he lost it. And
here he was at the door! His breast
tightened in the grip of that old, old
pain, smoothed almost into silence.
The moonlight seemed to have come
back over buttress and scaffoldings.
Strange how this caught his breath!
Strange how beneath the noble arch
his limbs seemed to weaken!

A canon hastening to Office paused
in the portal.

"You are weary, sir. Come within
and be seated."

"Not weary. This spot, not seen
since childhood, moves me."

"Ah, no wonder! Was it completed,—
the carvings, the stained glass?"

"Almost completed. I mind me, when
I left the city, the scholars of Conrad
were making a design."

' ' For a window ? You are keen of mem-
ory, sir. It is sixty years, if I err not."

"They pass quickly. Ludwig of
Bremen,— is his window set?"

202

THE AVE MARIA.

"Long since, — though, indeed, not
Ludwig's. His was so badly injured
in the firing it went perforce to the
ash-heap. And, as the poor youth died
soon after, Conrad pressed forward
another design. There was some trouble
about it at the time. I do not quite
recall the circumstances. The Conrad
school were a turbulent element, but
Conrad put it to them by vote. It is
a very beautiful window, whoever may
have been the author."

A bell hastened the speaker toward
the inner shadow, and the traveller
turned away. He had a dread and a
fear to enter. To-morrow perhaps, but
not to-night, — not with the old regret
so acute and so bitter on him. So
not even Ludwig had got it! Poor
Ludwig, dead at twenty ! Katrina must
have married some one else. How idly
he, Hans, could wonder about it ! How
dispassionately ! Much of the sharpness
of life must have lost its edge. And
Conrad had proposed a new cartoon!
Whose ? The old man's artistic honesty
was above false dealing or favoritism.
The scholar he commended would be
his best. There was Otto, whose color-
ing was so luminous; and Adolf, who
drew so very well. Were they dead too ?
How old he must be himself, if, of the
canon's predecessors, it was the grand-
sire knew the Conrad school !

The painter slept that night at a
hostelry where the old names evoked
no memories; but French merchants
with silk, and Flemish merchants with
goldware, made the house noisy.

The Angelus chimes, winging like
startled birds from the cathedral tower,
wakened the pilgrim at first blush of
morning. He rose more feeble than of
wont, aged perhaps with half a century
of memories thrust upon him, half a
century of changes weighting his mind.
He would go now, in the dawn of the
new day, fresh from slumber, and enter
bravely. Was he so sensitive still ?

It caught his breath, this silence, so

vast and solemn, where in the cool
hollows had echoed hammering and
the voices of masons. Yet how his soul
soared and expanded, to embrace at a
glance the whole wide genius of the
sjiot! Long he paused before he could
advance one step. The color was toned
already to a beginning of sober richness.
A new decoration, of which he had
never thought, was added in sculptured
tombs. Here, Herman, the bishop who
confirmed him. There, the great lady
whose charities had been a byword.
Yonder, the Count Palatine, the most
warlike man of his day. Were they all
dead ? The whole life of the splendid,
populous city lying in the aisles now,
or low before the altar, with its eflSgied
features worn by strangers' feet!

Tremulous and stunned, the old man
staggered forward. Why -was he left?
His course must be long finished, if
they had all completed theirs. Suddenly
the organ pealed forth in thunder and
gigantic flutings, swelled to an anthem,
glad, triumphant. The music lifted him,
bore him forward ; his heart beat faster.
Life must still be worth living, for he
still answered to the song of hope.

Then Giovanni d'Alemagna paused,
incredulous. Nothing had prepared him
for this. The stained glass in the
aisles was rich, subdued, tempering the
outer brilliance ; but in the eastern apse
shone out a window that was a flame.
The opal shafts of sunrise volleyed
through it, — a great golden window
stemming the flood of dawn behind it ;
and in the midst of it Mary Virgin,
ascending heavenward. She was so
beautiful, Hans, who had made her,
could recognize his dream.

Peace and Joy.

TIQHO works for God without surcease.
Though wearied ever, knoweth peace;
Whose time congenial tasks employ
For God, he knoweth peace and joy.

A. B.

THE AVE MARIA.

203

Julie de Chateaubriand.

(Madame de Farcy de Montaralon.)

BY LUCIE MORTON.

I.

DOUBTLESS, the mass of people
who have read that sublime
work, the "Genius of Christianity," are
ignorant of the motive which urged
Chateaubriand to write it. It was
when he was in exile in London that
he received the following letter, written
after her imprisonment at Rennes,
during the great Revolution in France,
by his sister Julie, of whose life we
propose to give a short sketch:

"Saint-Seryan, July 1,1798.

"Dear: — We have just lost the best
of mothers. I grieve to inform you of
this fatal blow. When you cease to be
the object of our solicitude, we shall
have ceased to live. If you knew how
many tears your errors had caused our
venerable mother to shed, how deplo-
rable those errors appear to all who
think and profess, not piety, but even
reason, — if you knew all this, perhaps
it would help to open your eyes, to
induce you to give up writing; and
if Heaven, moved by our prayers,
permitted us to meet again, you would
find in the midst of us all, the compara-
tive happiness one is allowed on earth.
You would give us that happiness;
for there is none for us, so long as you
are not with us and we have cause
to be anxious as to your fate."

The "errors" to which Julie alludes
were the open sentiments of irreligion
which Chateaubriand had indulged in
for some years, and the publication of
his sceptical work, the "Essai," when
he had apparently lost his faith. Filled
with remorse at having embittered the
last days of his mother's life, he could
put an end to his distress onh' by the
thought that he might make some
reparation for his first work by means

of a great religious one. This was
the origin of the "Genius of Christi-
anity." We quote the words written by
Chateaubriand himself, and appearing
as a preface to the first edition of his
magnificent work of reparation :

" My religious feelings have not always
been the same as they are to-day.
.\lthough I admitted the neces.sity of
religion and admired Christianity, I,
however, misjudged facts. Struck by
abuses that I saw in certain insti-
tutions, and the bad lives of some
who called themselves Christians, I fell
into sophism and declamation. I could
perhaps throw the blame of my fault
upon my youth, the frenzy of the times,
or the society I was in the habit
of frequenting; but I prefer to blame
myself alone. I can not excuse that
which is inexcusable. I will only de-
scribe the means adopted by a merciful
Providence to lead me back to my faith.
"My mother, after having been im-
prisoned, at the age of seventy -two,
in the cells where she saw so many of
her children perish, died at last on a
miserable pallet, to which the misfor-
tunes She had undergone had brought
her. The remembrance of my errors filled
her last days with great sorrow, and
before she died she charged my sister
to recall me to the religion in which I
had been brought up. My sister sent
me word of my mother's last message.
When the letter reached me from across
the seas, my sister herself lived no
longer! She also had died from the
effects of her imprisonment. The.se two
voices coming to me from the silence
of the grave — the dead interpreter of
the dead,— struck me forcibly. I became
a Christian. I admit that I did not ~^
submit ■ to any great supernatural '
light, — my conviction came from my
heart. 'I wept and believed.'"

Julie Agathe, third daughter of R6n6

d<; Chateaubriand, Comte de Combourg,
and Dame Pauline Bddee de la Bouetar-

204

THE AVE MARIA.

dais, was bom in the town of Saint-
Malo, in 1765. Both her parents
were excellent Christians, but of
very different characters. Monsieur de
Chateaubriand was a gloomy, taciturn
man, to outward appearances harsh
and unsympathetic; while his wife at
the beginning of her married life w^as
full of energy, amiability, and wit.
Clever and resourceful as she was,
the lonely life she was forced to lead
beside a man whose temperament was
so strangely antagonistic to her own,
little by little repressed the vivacity of
her nature, so that by the time her
youngest son, the famous writer, was
born, she was a reserved and rather
melancholy woman.

At the birth of her third daughter
Julie, however, her really affectionate
nature was as yet unchanged. Julie
was from her birth a most fascinating
and lovely little person; and although
she was much petted by her mother,
she was always sweet-tempered and
obedient; virtues that are somewhat
rare, as a rule, in very clever, precocious
children. Her beauty and engaging
manners were the delight of everyone
who saw her; and it is not to be
wondered at that Madame de Chateau-
briand openly showed her predilection
for her intelligent little daughter, and
that she was never tired of hearing
her praises sung.

Julie, from her babyhood, had always
taken great delight in her religion ; and
at the age of eleven made her First
Communion, being prepared for this
great event of her life by a community
of Ursuline nuns with whom she spent
six months. The rest of her education
was completed at home, where she
remained until she was eighteen years
old. At this time her beauty was really
remarkable; this, combined with her
brilliant wit and the cleverness of her
conversation, soon attracted a host
of admirers. She had a great gift for
poetry, while her passion for reading

was freely indulged in. She had also
a wonderfully quick and retentive
memory.

Shortly after her eighteenth birthday,
she married Monsieur Annibal Farcy
de Montavalon, a captain in Conde's
regiment, who admired not only the
remarkable beauty and talent of his wife
but her sweet and gentle disposition.
After the wedding, which took place at
the Chateau of Combourg, the young
couple went to live at Fougeres, a small
town in Brittany, where Julie's two
elder sisters, Madame de Marigny and
Madame de Ouebriac, were already
settled. It was certainly not the most
lively place for one accustomed to
be looked upon as the embodiment of
wit and entrain ; and, as Julie heartily
detested the country, she often made
excuses to go to Paris.

On one occasion, after having been
in indifferent health for some time,
she made the excuse of being under a
celebrated doctor, a pretext for staying
several months there, and persuaded
her sister Lucile to go with her. We
get a glimpse of her from her brother's
"Memoirs"; for Chateaubriand, hap-
pening to come to Paris about the
same time, stayed with his sister, and
he gives an account of her appearance
and fhe life she led, in the following
w^ords :

"When I saw my sister Julie again
in Paris, she was in all the pomp
of worldliness; she appeared covered
with those flowers, adorned with those
necklaces, veiled in those scented fabrics
which St. Clement forljade the early
Christian ladies. St. Basil wishes the
middle of the night to be for the solitary
what the morning is for others, so that
he may profit by the silence of nature.
Midnight was the hour at which Julie
went to parties, where her verses, which
she recited with marvellous euphony,
formed the principal attraction. Julie
was incomparably more handsome than
Lucile. She had soft blue eyes and

THE AVE MARIA.

205

dark hair, which she wore plaited
or in large waves. Her hands and
arras, models of whiteness and shape,
added, by their graceful movements,
something yet more charming to her
already charming figure. She was
brilliant, lively; laughed much but
without affectation, and when she
was merry showed teeth like pearls."

At this period of her life, Julie thought
of nothing but pleasure and enjoyment ;
and her influence over others was so
great that they were easily led by her
example into the indulgence of all sorts
of frivolity and luxury. We have hardly
any details of these first years of her
married life; but we know that in the
middle of the most fashionable and
empt3' career she began to experience a
feeling of dissatisfaction and ennui. At
first she paid no attention to these
feelings, but plunged deeper into gaiety
and dissipation.

During these years she had not
actually given up her religion, but she
had neglected it ; and when one day she
was seized with a sudden illness, and
endeavored to return to her early
impressions of faith, she realized with
horror that her mind, instead of being
filled with sentiments of piety, was
powerless to rest upon any subject but
poetry ; while her head was filled with
nothing but romances and novels. She
said to herself, in despair: "Perhaps I
am going to appear before Almighty
God very soon, and will have to render
an account of my life. What shall I
reply? Je nc sais que des vers I — 'I
know nothing but poetry ! ' " This
thought struck her so forcibly, and the
dissatisfied feelings she had before
experienced increased to such an extent,
that she very soon began to get more
and more disgusted with the fashion-
able life she was leading.

Madame de Farcy had not one of
those characters that recoil from diffi-
culties : she had a noble and generous "
soul, and was determined that her

repentance should not be half-hearted.
She gave herself up entirely to changing
her life. Those who had the happiness of
knowing her intimately were witnesses
of the sacrifices she made, and of the
graces and spiritual consolation sent
her for her courageous self-immolation.
After having accomplished certain pain-
ful and humiliating sacrifices, for which
she felt beforehand an almost insur-
mountable repugnance, she found herself,
much to her surprise, asking herself, at
the time she performed them, why she
did not feel the repugnance any longer.

Among the occupations that she had
loved most passionately, were reading
and writing poetry; she had devoted
the greater part of her life to literary
works, many of which showed signs
of genius. She now began to have
anxieties and scruples on this point, —
scruples that can be understood only
by those who know the attachment
an author feels for his work when he
is convinced of its real merit.

One day, when alone in the country —
a prey to these haunting thoughts, and
pursued by a secret uneasiness that she
was endeavoring to stifle in her heart, —
she was walking feverishly through the
woods near her home, disputing with
the grace working in her soul, and
trying to defend her own position. She
argued to herself: "Writing poetry is
no crime. It attacks neither religion
nor morals. I can write poetry and
serve God at the same time."

Still, in spite of her reasoning, she
found it impossible to secure peace
of mind. She felt she could never be
happy, and that something within her
was urging her to sacrifice a taste
which had governed her to such an
extent that, to indulge in it, she had
neglected everyone of her duties. After
fighting with herself for three days,
during which she passed through a
state of most cruel agitation, she made
up her mind to refuse nothing to God.
She went home, and, taking all her

206

THE AVE MARIA.

manuscripts and papers, threw them
into the fire ; not sparing even a certain
work which was ahnost completed, and
to which, she said, she clung with the
most ridiculous conceit.

From this day until the end of her life,
by quite a special grace bestowed upon
her in return for her generous sacrifice,
she never again, she declared, experi-
enced for a single moment the desire
of writing poetry. At the same time
she denied herself almost entirely the
pleasure of reading poems, and occu-
pied herself for the future with those
duties for which until then she had felt
the greatest distaste; astonishing her-
self at being able almost to forget, as
it were, the things which formerly she
thought she could never live without.

There are one or two of her letters —
written to friends whom she tried to
influence before she made this last great
sacrifice — which reveal the fact that,
although she thought of very little
else than poetry and worldly things, she
had moments when the early teaching
of her childhood was not quite for-
gotten. To a friend who found great
difficulty in confession she wrote:

" When I prepare myself for confession,
after having examined my conscience,
I try to find a verse, or a few words
in the Psalms or elsewhere, upon which
I can meditate ; or, if I do not find this,
I spend the time before entering the
confessional in begging Our Lord to
make me really sorry for my sins. I
repeat to myself over and over again :
'O my God, touch my heart!' .\fter
this I go directly to confession, and
I feel that I am as well prepared as
if I had felt my heart filled with the
greatest sorrow. You think j'ou are
not really sorry for your sins because
you do not feel a great sorrow. You
want to shed tears, and exi^erience a
great feeling of grief; and then you
think that your repentance is more real,
and you feel much pleased with your-
self; but perhaps God is not pleased."

Later she wrote to the same person:

" Like you, I could not make up my
mind to go to Holy Communion after
my general confession ; it took me more
than three days to decide, and then I
approached the altar in tears, not of
contrition but of fear. I felt in a
dreadful state of mind, and the only
thought that comforted me was that
I was acting from obedience. Well,
since that day I have received such
wonderful graces that I am absolutely
certain Almighty God has forgiven me."

The regular and wise rule which
Madame de Farcy drew up for herself,
after making the sacrifices we have
mentioned, was practised with severe
exactitude ; but, although she tried to
encourage others to lead a more perfect
life, she never advised, at first, anything
more than what was useful or abso-
lutely indispensable in order to avoid
evil.

"Once," says a friend of hers, "when
I refused to lend a certain person some
books, I remember feeling afraid of the
raillery this refusal would be sure to
bring upon me. But after Julie pointed
out that I could not possibly allow
others to read what I myself disap-
proved of, she told me that she also
had been much blamed and annoyed
by persons who had been accustomed
to borrow all kinds of books from her
library, and that she defended herself
with only this reply : 'iVo, / will not lend
my books any longer! ' And she repeated
these words over and over again, until
at last her resolution became so w'ell
known that people despaired of ever
making her change her mind."

" There is nothing else to be done than
to speak with firmness, in order to stop
this sort of persecution," said Madame
de Farcy. "If j^ou let your peace of
mind rest on the opinion of others,
3'ou will never be happy. Everyone
discussed me when I was in society ;
and, although I have left it, persons
still concern themselves about me. You

THE AVE MARIA.

207

will never be able to do good unless
3'ou know how to place yourself above
what people say ; besides this, you are
creating phantoms to frighten yourself
with. Perhaps people don't make such
fun of you as you imagine. And even if
they do treat you as a stupid, narrow-
minded woman, what does it matter?
Would you not be glad to suffer some-
thing for Almighty God and see yourself
treated like the saints, who thought
it an honor to suffer calumnies and
reproaches for their Divine Lord?"

(To be continued.)

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SADLIBR.

XXX. — Miss Taritha Has Visitors.

I URING those days of Leonora's
absence at the convent. Miss
Tabitha had visitors, the first of whom,
it may as well be stated at once, was
Jesse Craft. He had been prevented,
the daj' previous, from calling upon
his neighbor by the presence of Eben
Knox ; but he was bent on carrying out
his purpose. It was the first manoeuvre
in his war upon "pizon snakes."

It was a bright, beautiful day for the
season; and Miss Tabitha, arraying
herself in her fur -lined mantle and
bonnet with nodding plumes, went
forth to take a stroll about the garden.
Jesse Craft at once took advantage of
this circumstance. Talking in the open
air was much more in consonance with
his ordinary habits than mounting the
steps of the cottage and ringing at the
door bell. He thrust his head through
the gap between the sunflower stalks,
standing in the frosty air, withered and
as it were dismantled, bereft of their
midsummer glory, yet forever associated
with that romance of childhood which
had culminated in the love affair now
agitating all Millbrook.

"Good-day to you, Mi-stressTabithy! "

said Jesse Craft. "This is bright sort
of weather for the season, I reckon."

"Yes," answered Miss Tabitha, "it
is bright."

She spoke in an abstracted fashion,
as if she were scarcely heeding what
had been said; and for the first time
the old man noticed how much the
spinster had aged. Despite the bravery
of her bonnet, with its ribbons and
feathers, she appeared almost decrepit.

"There's been an east wind of late,"
Craft remarked, "and I guess it's
brought you a touch of rheumatics.''

"You're altogether mistaken!" said
Miss Tabitha, hastily. "I have never
had rheumatics in my life."

"You're powerful lucky, ma'am,"
responded Jesse "There's few reaches
your age or mine without a touch of
that complaint."

This mention o{ age was an offence
which caused Miss Tabitha to forget
for the moment all other grievances.
She glared at her neighbor, elevating
her nose, and tossing her head so that
the feathers in her bonnet danced.

" I came to wait on you yesterday,"
the old man resumed; "but you were
engaged."

"I had a visitor," Tabitha faltered,
remembering that grim personage and
his mission.

"So Mary Jane told me; and says I
to myself, 'One's enough at a time.'"

Miss Tabitha made no response, and
the old man continued :

"'Pears to me. Miss Tabithy, you're
low-sperited these latter days; and it
seems unnatural, too, jest when things
is lookin' up for Miss Lenora. 'Tain't
every girl could bring down sich big
game first shot."

Miss Tabitha made a brave effort to
assume her former lofty manner.

"Mr. Craft," she said, "you are
talking in riddles."

" Kiddles sich as most folks can guess.
I reckon the whole of Millbrook 's got
the answer by this time. Miss Lenora

208

THE AVE MARIA

played for high stakes and won. Yes,
siree, she's flattened out the whole of
Thomeycroft, beaten them all hollow.
It's jest this way, to my mind. The
young man come home cocksure of
himself He walks down street to Rose
Cottage, and he's struck all of a heap
at sight of Lenora. He's a bright
feller, son of a bright father, and he
knows a good thing when he sees it."

Miss Tabitha no longer had the
heart to resent her neighbor's reference
to the Governor's "luminosity." She
only gazed in a helpless, bewildered
fashion at the garrulous old man.

"He see'd at a glance," continued
Craft, "that girls like Lenora don't
grow on every bush. I guess he was
shot right through the heart that first
day. But he didn't give in. H^ played
round with his own feelin's, as you
might see a boy play with a kite
befoi-e he sends it' up. I suspicion,
anyhow, that he let the Britisher have
his fling, seein' that he was first in the
field, and badly hurt too. Once he was
carried off the field, then the Governor's
son went in to win."

While Jesse Craft thus sketched out,
graphically, as he had seen it, that little
drama of love and romance which
had centred about Rose Cottage, Miss
Tabitha still looked at him, painfully
conscious of those darker elements of
tragedy which had entered therein and
formed a fateful background. The old
man began to chuckle, as he resumed
his reflections :

"After that the fun began. 'Twas
as good as a play. Many a time I
laughed, settin' on them steps of mine,
when Lenora was talkin' to Bretherton
in the garden. My eyes! how she
sauced him once or twice out there!
She didn't waste no powder of that
kind on the other chap : she knew he'd
blow himself up all in good time. That
made me suspicion that Lenora was
hit herself. Womenfolk don't commonly
sauce a man unless there's something

to it; and it was natural, seein' that
the Governor's son is as clean and well
set up and handsome a young man as
there is from here to Californy."

Hapless Aunt Tabitha was only too
ready to agree with this statement.
In her eyes there was no one to equal
young Mr. Bretherton.

"He didn't mind her sauce any.
He gave back honey for vinegar every
time. He ain't bright for nothin'.
I reckon he could wheedle most any
woman, if he'd a mind to, with that
tongue of his and that powerful
winnin' way he's got."

"The Brethertons all have it," sighed
Miss Tabitha,— " from father to son, in
every generation. That's what I was
afraid of from the first."

"Well, there ain't no harm done.
Lenora played frost and snow; and,
except for that night she throwed him
the rose — nomination night it was — she
didn't never encourage him, until the
time of them picters up at the Manor.
After that 'twas all up with them both.
I says to myself: 'She can't ever play
the freezin' game no more. ' And as for
the young man — well, he didn't make
no bargain. 'Twas like General Grant's
terms to the South — unconditional
surrender. From that night on, I knew
they were booked for each other in the
log-book up yonder."

The old man's eyes sought the sky
and there was no conscious irreverence
in the familiar allusion. As Tabitha
did not speak, he went on:

"A beautiful thing, too; though I
recollect that, in the shortsighted way
of human critters, I tried to warn Miss
Lenora off, sayin' that a violet can't
live the life of a hollyhock, and more
of the same sort of tall speechifyin'.
Lenora jest smiled when I said that—
she's got the most tarnation fetchin'
smile I ever seen on a human face,— and
there was a deep down look in her
eyes, as if she'd a heap of fine thoughts
behind there. And my wamin' was

THE AVE MARIA.

209

jest about as much heeded as the wind's
whistlin'."

Tabitha was meanwhile absorbed
in her own thoughts, which were
certainly chaotic. At one moment she
was elated by the picture, which the
talkative old man conjured up, of Jim
Bretherton at her niece's feet, and she
had visions of a wedding which should
electrify Millbrook and set Thornej'-
croft wild with envy. She seemed to
see thereafter Leonora, the wife of one
Bretherton, the daughter-in-law of
another, the future mistress of the
Manor, dispensing a gracious hospi-
'.ality from her own house, — that
handsome house, a few miles distant
from Millbrook, which Jim Bretherton
had inherited, with a splendid property,
from his uncle.

The remembrance of this inheritance
set Miss Tabitha shuddering again, as
she remembered that it had come to
its present owner from Reverdy the
prodigal; and Reverdy had inherited
it in turn from his cousin, Evrard
Lennon. Oh, the pity of it all ! Oh, the
bitter crop which had resulted from
those wild oats which Reverdy, hand-
some, gaj' and generous, had sown !
Thorns and briars, which were proving
sore to many feet, had indeed grown up
from that evil sowing; while the wild,
undisciplined, if kindly and generous,
youth had merged, as is often the case,
into the unprincipled, unscrupulous
middle age of the dulled conscience and
the callous heart. One thing, however,
became clear to her bewildered mind —
that this talk about her niece and the
Governor's son must be stopped and
at once.

"You are altogether mistaken, Mr.
Craft," she said, when she realized that
the old man had come to a stop.
"Leonora can never marry young Mr.
Bretherton."

"What will you bet?" cried Jesse
Craft. "I'm willin' to put up my money
instanter."

"I never bet, "answered MissTabitha,
aggrieved at the suggestion, and eyeing
her neighbor coldly.

"'Tain't too late to begin," said
Jesse Craft; "and I'll lay ray bottom
dollar that that young man takes
Lenora for his wife within a twelve-
month. And I ain't often mistaken in
these matters, battered old hulk as
you see me."

"I tell you," declared Tabitha, "that
such a marriage is impossible. Apart
from my niece's preference altogether,
the young gentleman from the Manor
must remember that he is a Bretherton,
and marry accordingly."

"Fiddlesticks!" roared Jesse Craft,
"A Bretherton is a man like another.
He dies and is buried, which proves him
common clay. He eats and he drinks,
he loves and he marries; and if he
don't marry the woman he wants to,
he's a poor critter. What's the use of
his wealth and his big house, if he's
got to mate with a woman who has
naught but cash down to recommend
herT If a young feller's got to let a
rare piece of chiny like Lenora slip
through his hands because he's a
Bretherton, then I say it would be a
darned sight better for him if he'd been
some other man that could marry as
he likes."

In his angry vehemence, the old man
snatched off his ancient "plug-hat,"
only to draw it viciously down upon
his head again.

"Look at the Britisher!" he cried.
" He don't care a continental about
all that rubbish. He's man enough to
choose his own goods; and if the
Governor's son was the pesky sort of
feller you try to make him out, why,
he wouldn't be fit to blacken the
other's shoes."

At this Miss Tabitha flared up
indignantly, and burst into an angry
vindication of her young idol, in whom
just now she had centred all the
traditions of the past. She concluded,

210

THE AYE MARIA.

however, bj' declaring that her niece
would never consent.

"Won't she, though?" retorted Craft.
"Let me tell you, ma'am, that she
ain't far from consentin' at the present
moment. Mark my words, she's got a
head on her shoulders, and she knows
a good article when she sees one.
She ain't goin' to let a sweetheart of
that sort slip jest for beans."

"I think," said Tabitha, nervously,
"that it is a great deal more likely
Leonora will marry Mr. Kiiox."

"Marry Mr. Knox!" repeated the
old man, thrusting aside the sunflower
stalks with an energy which threatened
to leave another gap in the prim row.
" Marry a sarpent, if ever there was
one that riz up on two legs! Marry
a pizon snake out of the marshes! I'd
a tarnation sight sooner see Lenora
under the earth with the grass green
above her head."

He stopped, thinking possibly of that
other grave in the heart of the Green
Mountains, whereof he had spoken to
Lord Aylward.

"Mr. Knox," declared Miss Tabitha,
sententiously, "could give her a com-
fortable home."

"The other could do as much, I
reckon," sniffed the old man. "But
where does the sarpent propose to
locate a wife? Down thar?" — he
motioned, as he spoke, with his thumb
toward the mill-house.

"Not at all!" replied Miss Tabitha,
swelling with importance. "He would
permit ray niece to choose her own
dwelling, upon the Thorneycroft Road
or elsewhere — in Boston, in New York,
even in Europe."

" Is that so ? " said Jesse Craft,
ironically. "But wherever that house
may be, it will have one pestiferous
drawback. It will be inhabited by
vermin, infested by a pizon snake."

" Your epithets are vulgar and most
offensive," remonstrated Miss Tabitha.

"Be they? Well, if I was to let fly

and tell my innermost thoughts of that
thar manager, they'd be vulgarer still,
and don't j-ou forget it!"

"My niece is poor," Miss Tabitha
explained. "What I have dies with me.
It is necessary that she should marry
a man who is able to maintain her."

"I reckon the Governor's son can
do that. She ain't likely to come to
starvation in his company."

" I have told you," said Miss Tabitha,
vehemently, "and I tell you again, that
Leonora can never marry young Mr.
Bretherton."

"If that be so — and, mind you, I'm
far from believin' it,— what's the matter
with the other chap ? The Britisher's
a man, every inch of him; and he's
prepared to keep his wife, I calculate,
in first-rate style."

"Lord Aylward is also out of the
question," answered Miss Tabitha, not
without a secret gratification at being
enabled to dispose thus of a peer of the
British realm. "My niece declined to
receive his attentions, and the young
gentleman very properly withdrew."

"He didn't withdraw very far, and I
reckon Lenora could whistle him back
mighty quick, if she had a mind to."

Miss Tabitha glared, speechless, at
the intolerable vulgarity of the picture
thus presented to her imagination.

"So don't 3'ou try, Miss Tabithy, for
to work that racket. Don't you ever
go for to force Lenora into marryin'
the sarpent, whatever crotchet you've
got into your head. If such a thing
was to happen, Millbrook would drum
him out of the town, or tar and feather
him, sure as fate. Why, the mill itself
wouldn't be safe."

The old man's words and the accom-
panying gestures were so emphatic that
Tabitha was frightened. Millbrook's
jjublic sentiment, if once thoroughly
roused, might have disagreeable results.
It certainly would be most unpleasant
to face, and the poor lady felt as if
she were between two fires.

THE AYE MARIA.

211

Jesse Craft observed the agitation,
the fear, the helpless bewilderment in
the spinster's face ; and he added :

"Look here, Miss Tabithy! If Knox
has been tryin' to bulldoze you, or to
scare you in any way whatever, you
jest let me know. I'm here, and there's
one or two others along with me ; and
we'll make it tarnation hot for that
thar sarpent. I suspicion that he's got
hold of some piece of information that's
not for your welfare to be published."

The old man lowered his voice; and
Miss Tabitha turned a shade paler.

"What do you mean?" she cried.
"There is nothing in my life which I
should wish to conceal."

This was undeniably true, so far as
her own life was concerned ; but it
was most certainly an equivocation
as regarded that secret history of
another with which she had become
involved, and which had, so to say,
seared her conscience and her heart.

"Well," observed Jesse Craft, slowly,
suffering his eyes to wander at will over
the landscape — anywhere rather than
at Miss Tabitha, — "in my experience
of human nature, thar's many things
in the lives of folks that don't bear
publication. Sometimes thar's secrets
where they seems quite unlikely to be.
As often as not, they're terrifyin'
mostly to the imagination. Now, if
Knox has got hold of anything of the
kind, jest you remember that you've
got me and you've got the Britisher
and you've got the Governor's son, —
three men, I take it, that don't care a
continental about his secrets. We can
be trusted to keep secrets, and to make
the sarpent keep them too."

Her neighbor's perspicacity and his
near approach to the actual truth
frightened Miss Tabitha more than
anything that had yet been said, so
that great drops of cold ])erspiration
stood out upon her forehead. But she
felt withal a grain of comfort in the

(To be

assurance of the support in an emer-
gency of three such doughty champions.
Unhappily, it was, as she believed, an
emergency wherein they could not be
of much use.

At that juncture the garden gate
clicked, and, to Miss Tabitha's conster-
nation, there stood Lord Aylward.

"Don't," she whispered, casting an
imploring glance at Craft, — "don't say
a word to him! "

"About the secret?" queried the old
man, shrewdly.

"About anything."

"Well, I won't say a word instanter;
but I may as well fell you that this here
lord and I are engaged in a conspiracy —
yes, ma'am, a bony-fidy conspiracy, — a
war on pizon snakes."

So saying, he turned away, with a
wave of his hand and a cheery greeting
to Lord Aylward, who advanced to
where Miss Tabitha stood.

The feathers in the old lady's bonnet
shook, in her agitation; her hands
trembled, her lips quivered. But she
made a valiant effort to receive her
guest with due ceremony, and to con-
ceal her late emotion. She murmured
that any friend of the Brethertons,
and especially Lord Aylward, was
always welcome at Rose Cottage.
The young man was accustomed to
her formal manner, and had a very
friendly feeling toward the spinster.

It was not without emotion, indeed,
that Lord Aylward found himself thus
again in that little garden, and recalled
the brief but delightful moments which
he had spent in these calm and pastoral
precincts. Tabitha inquired if he would
prefer to go indoors. He negatived
the proposal; but, at his suggestion,
the spinster consented to take a chair
upon the porch. The young man found
her sadly altered since the afternoon
when he had first seen her seated there
in that selfsame spot, in the glory of
her best taffeta gown and lace shawl.

eoatiuued. )

212

THE AVE MARIA.

An Important though Tardy Service.

IT was high time for some competent
Catholic publicist to undertake a
refutation of the intemperate assertions
of the late Lord Acton, and to show
that, with all his learning, he lacked
the judicial quality so essential in the
historian. His unworthy and unfounded
accusation against St. Pius V. — that he
commissioned an assassin to take the
life of Queen Elizabeth — was indeed
refuted a year or so ago by the Bishop
of Limerick ; but in the London Tablet
of July 15 we find' the first adequate
notice, by a Catholic writer, of the
"Cambridge Modern History," of which
Lord Acton was the originator, and
with which the name of the distin-
guished professor of Modem History
in the University of Cambridge, with all
its authority, is forever associated.

The reviewer is the Rev. Herbert
Thurston, S. J. ; and it is to be hoped
that he will not lay aside his pen until
the last of the more striking examples
of the extravagance of the Cambridge
professor's anti- Roman bias has been
dealt with. It will be easy to show —
and this should have been done long
ago, but better late than not at all —
that Protestant as well as Catholic
historians, not less learned if less
renowned than the late Lord Acton, do
not share many of the views which he
propounded with so much confidence.

Three burning questions of history
are touched upon in Father Thurston's
article — Cardinal Wolsey's connection
with the divorce of Henry VIII., the
premeditation of the Massacre of St.
Bartholomew, and the connection of
the Pope with the plots to assassinate
Queen Elizabeth. In his introduction to
the discussion of these topics, Father
Thurston remarks:

When, on the appearance of each successive
volume of the "Cambridge Modern History,"
we hear regrets renewed that the accomplished

scholar with whom the scheme originated did not
live to superintend its progress and contribute to
its pages, a doubt may also arise whether the
work under its founder's sole direction would
have gained quite so much as is commonly
supposed. There would have been more unity
of purpose perhaps, but not necessarily a more
truthful presentment of the entangled past.
That judicial quality of mind which a period
of religious strife imperatively postulates in its
historian, does not seem to have been conspicu-
ously possessed by the late Lord Acton.

Decidedly not. It is a fortunate
circumstance that one question in
which a Pope is intimately concerned
was treated by Dr. Gairdner, though
a Protestant, rather than by Lord
Acton, whose anti -Roman bias is no
less evident in published articles than
in his letters to Miss Gladstone. If this
great Englishman had what is called
an open mind, evidence of the fact is
not abundant. It would seem that he
could never rid himself of the prejudices
which he imbibed from Dr. Dollinger.
The downward course of that unfort-
unate scholar — the beginning of his
opposition to the Papacy — was in so
small a thing, it is said, as Pius IX. 's
refusal to grant him a dispensation from
the obligation of reciting the Breviary.
It was with something like sternness,
we have been told, that the Pope said
to him : ' Your soul needs prayer more
than the Church needs your services.'
It was an evil day for Lord Acton
when he came under the influence of
Dr. DolHnger.

In our dealings with the souls of
other men, we are to take care how
we check, by severe requirement or
narrow caution, efforts which might
otherwise lead to a noble issue; and
still more how we withhold our admira-
tion from great excellences because they
are mingled with rough faults.— i?usA-/n.

There are few small things more
exasperating than the early bird with
the worm of conceit in his bill.

— Aldrich.

THE AVE MARIA.

213

Notes and Remarks.

It may be a long time before peace
is declared between Russia and Japan;
indeed the energy with which both
countries are prosecuting hostilities
would seem to indicate that nothing
save destruction is contemplated by
either side. On the other hand, the
presence in this country of Sergius
Witte, who is spoken of as Russia's
foremost diplomatist, and of Baron
Komura, a trusted and influential
statesman of Japan, and the further
fact that both of these representatives
speak admiringly, not only of the
United States, which held out the olive
branch, but of their foes, are in them-
selves an augury of peace, for the
conclusion of which all who appreciate
the horrors of war will offer earnest
prayers. It should not be forgotten
that in our day as well as in Biblical
times "alarms of war" are warnings,
and war itself the vengeance of God.

The published writings of Dr. Sterrett,
professor of philosophy in The George
Washington University, have won him
a high place among Protestant scholars
in this country. He ranks with men
like Dr. Briggs and Dr. Starbuck ; and,
like them, he makes open profession of
Christian doctrines which lesser lights
among sectarian divines are wont to
question or deny. There is much in Dr.
Sterrett's latest book ("The Freedom
of Authority: Essays in Apologetics")
to which, as Dr. Fox — in a review
of it contributed to the current Cath-
olic World — remarks, Catholics must
strongly demur ; but on the shibboleth,
"Back to the primitive Gospel," and on
the question of the adjustment between
science and religious idea. Dr. Sterrett
writes like a Catholic apologist. Let
us quote:

Vital, progressive, missionary, and educating
Christianity always has had, and always must

have, a body. It must be an organized body, with
polity, creed, and cult, — external, objective, secular,
if you will, in form, — a kingdom of heaven on
earth, not in heaven. It is not something invisible
and merely heavenly. To fault ecclesiastical
Christianity is to fault Christianity for living
rather than for dying among men ; for existing

to preserve, maintain, and transmit the Gospel

We can not return to primitive Christianity. We
can not Judaize ourselves, put ourselves into
the states of consciousness of the early disciples.
For better or worse, our consciousness is that
of the modern world, into which Greek and
Roman and Germanic elements have entered.

There is no call for any age-long religion to
abdicate its specific work at the bidding of the
scientific culture of any age. She can stand
boldly and firmly on the vantage-ground of
centuries of beneficent results. Only so far as
her interpretation of the religious life has become
interwoven with views of a less adequate scientific
description of the physical world, does she need
to readjust herself to the new views ; and then
not hastily, nor until the new scientific view is
firmly established.

In the case of a great many persons,
acquaintance with Christianity begins
at the sixteenth century; but Dr.
Sterrett is too well informed not to
know that the Catholic Church is the
only "age-long" form of Christianity.
Nor does one of his scholarship need to
be told that the sound conservatism for
which he contends is a characteristic
of Catholic apologists the world over.

The current issue of the American
Ecclesiastical Review contains a paper
of exceptional interest, not only to
priests and physicians whom it specifi-
cally concerns, but to the Catholic laity
as well. It is an account of Father
Ferreres' treatise on "The Symptoms of
Death as a Condition for Administering
the Last Sacraments." The Review
prefaces the treatise, a translation of
which it is publishing, with an introduc-
tion detailing its scope and conclusions.
The most salient of these^>«fl5irta^
that, for some time after
ordinarily held to be tl
there is "latent life." WeV
cases of sudden death,
latent life probably continued

214

THE AVE MARIA.

first symptoms of decomposition set in.
It may be assumed that, in the case
of those who die of a long sickness,
there is a remnant of life after apparent
death has set in: (a) for at least half
an hour, and probably (b) for a con-
siderablj' longer period." The practical
consequences are obvious. In the first
place, the Last Sacraments may and
should be administered as long as
there is a reasonable doubt, however
slight, as to whether a person is alive
or dead ; and this doubt may exist even
though the bystanders declare that
the patient has been dead for half an
hour. And, in the second place, prayers
for the dying may and should be con-
tinued even when the last sigh has
been heard or what was apparently
the last breath has been noticed.

It will strengthen one's belief in
Father Ferreres' conclusions to learn
that the Medico-Pharmaceutical Society
of SS. Cosmas and Damian, a learned
Catholic body of Barcelona, after a full
discussion of the subject, formulated
this proposition: "It may be accepted
as a general thesis that the death of a
person does not occur at the instant
judged, according to popular notions,
to be the last, but some time after."

The death of the Most Reverend Th.
Andrew Melizan, O. M. I., Archbishop
of Colombo, has plunged the island of
Ceylon into heartfelt mourning. Judg-
ing from the tributes of the secular press
of Ceylon, the deceased prelate was a
personality not less cordially admired
and esteemed by his non- Catholic
fellow-citizens than sincerely beloved by
his own flock. A strenuous missionary
priest from the age of twenty-four, he
was consecrated bishop when onl3^
thirty-five, and for the past quarter of a
century he expended himself in building
up the ecclesiastical, educational and
charitable institutions of Ceylon. Arch-
bishop Melizan was the tenth of sixteen
children bom to a worthy French

couple of Marseilles. Three of his nine
brothers entered, as he did, the religious
priesthood. The whole life of this dis-
tinguished missionary was singularly
beautiful and saintly; and his death
was so far pathetic that it occurred at
Toulouse, in his native France, instead
of at Colombo, the "home" where he
had hoped to pass away. Another
valiant soldier of the Cross has gradu-
ated into the ranks of the Church
Triumphant. R. I. P.

The only true learning, according to
a modern essayist, is to know better
that which we already know. No adult
Catholic needs to be informed that he
is under solemn obligation to avoid
giving scandal; but a great many do
not fully realize the extent of their
influence for good. As the greatest
stumbling-block to unbelievers is the
bad example of those whose conduct
is at variance with their creed, on the
other hand the example of those who
live up to their religion is its most
striking recommendation and its most
convincing defence. The editor of the
Northwest Review expresses on this
subject some excellent thoughts, which
deserve to be quoted in full. He says:

Non-Catholics arc sometimes sorely puzzled by
the actions of some of their neighbors who profess
to be Catholics. These non-Catholics may not be
good -living people themselves, they may under-
stand very little of the doctrines and practices of
the Catholic Church, but they know at least that
Catholics are expected to lead good lives. The
religion they profess requires this; and when a
Catholic falls short of what even those who
profess no religion attain, these latter are often
shocked.

There is, of course, a vast difference between
natural morality and the supernatural virtues
that the Christian aims to practise. This does
not mean that natural virtue is to be neglected,
or that its importance is lessened by the fact
that the Christian aims at something higher.
The practice of the natural virtues is a part of
the complete Christian life which all are bound
to attain, as far as possible.

Our Catholic people too often forget that
good may be accomplished by good example.

THE AVE MARIA.

215

We speak not here of avoiding bad example.
The Catholic who is unfaithful to the teaching
of his religion, who publicly disregards his
obligations as a Christian and as a citizen, is
the greatest stumbling-block to those outside
the Church. The3- point to him as a reason for
their attitude toward the Church; and, though
their reasoning is faulty, it is hard to give a
satisfactory replj' to it. One bad Catholic can
do more harm than a dozen bad non- Catholics.
They make no profession of being good : he
professes a religion that requires virtue, and
his example is the worst on that account.

But it is the ordinary Catholic who often fails
to grasp the opportunities that are within his
reach for doing good among his fellows. Perliaps
he is not aware of his influence, and he thinks
little of his power of good example over others.
Yet it is by the little acts of everyday life that
non -Catholics are impressed. The practice of
virtue because it is required is, of course, f)f the
first importance ; but the setting of good example
to others should not be forgotten.

The teachings of the Church may convince men
who ean be induced to consider them, but the
Church to-day is largely judged by the lives of
individual Catholics. Non-Catholics estimate her
power for good by what she has been able to do
with those who accept her teaching.

As an instance of how a categorical
conclusion may be drawn from insuf-
ficient premises, it is worth while to
quote, in juxtaposition, two news items
clipped the other da^' from exchanges
published as far apart as Paris and New
York. Says the Annales Catholiques :
" Pius X. has sent to the Czar an
autograph letter, in which he expressed
his great satisfaction at the invitation
addressed by Nicholas II. to the Cath-
olic bishops, requesting these prelates to
formulate their wishes as to measures
to be introduced in favor of the Church.
His Holiness also thanked the Czar for
the ukase according freedom of worship,
and stated his hope that a new era of
peace and tran((uillity for the Church
in Russia was about to open." To the
partisans of Russia in the present war,
that statement, taken by itself, would
probably prove "confirmation strong
as Holy Writ" of the Ijclief that
Pius X.'s sympathies are all on the

side of Russia. Yet an equally premature
conclusion, in the directly opposite
sense, might be deduced from this item
in the Literary Digest : " Pope Pius X.
has sent a personal letter to the Mikado
of Japan, conveying the thanks of the
Roman Church to Japan for the latter's
attitude toward the Roman Catholic
missionaries in Manchuria. The letter
has reference to territory where, when
Russia was in the ascendant, mission-
aries were made to feel acutely the
opposition of the Greek Church."

The real fact is, of course, that the
Sovereign Pontiff's attitude toward
both Japan and Russia is that of a
strict non-partisan, a friendly neutral
who admires the good and condemns
the bad on each side, and courteously
and gratefully acknowledges the favors
received from either power.

We have heard Catholic apologists of
the public schools condemn the Catholic
press for censuring the prevalence in
those schools of pedagogical fads and
the consecjuent neglect of educational
fundamentals, while our own parochial
schools are equally fond of the fads
referred to. The points of these critics
are not well taken. So long as Catholics
are obliged to support the public school
system, they have an indisputable right
to protest against the waste of their
money, whether or not their own chil-
dren are directly affected. As for the
statement that the purely ornamental
is as common in parochial as in public
schools, we believe it to be entirely
unwarranted. The fads are to be con-
demned wherever they be found, whether
in public grammar school. Brothers'
academy, or Sisters' convent.

Writing of the celebrated African
missionary and explorer, Mgr. Roy,
who gave up his mission work in 1896
to become superior-general of the Con-
gregation of the Holy Ghost, Mr. V.
Groflier observes: "The first time I

216

THE AYE MARIA.

had the honor of meeting the eminent
Bishop, his recent ascent of the African
Himalayas naturally furnished the
topic of conversation, and I of course
expatiated on the prowess that would
assuredly make him envied by all
mountain climbers. 'But I intend,' he
gravely assured me, 'to do better than
that.' — 'Really, Monseigneur, you desire
to mount higher than five thousand
metres [about 16,400 feet]?'— 'De-
cidedly.'—' In a balloon, I presume?'—
'No.' — 'May I, without indiscretion, ask
you where ? ' — ' You may.' — ' In Asia ? ' —
'No.' — 'In America?' — 'No.' — 'Well,
then, what ascent do you purpose
making, Monseigneur?' — 'To heaven,'
was the smiling reply."

Judging from the comments of the
secular press all over the country,
Charles J. Bonaparte appears to be
measuring up to the standard of a
thoroughly competent and very gener-
ally popular Secretary of War. While
nothing calling for the exercise of
especially statesmanlike qualities has
yet occurred in his department during
his brief sojourn in office, his public
utterances on several topics give
promise of a most satisfactory admin-
istration; and the manner in w^hich he
conducts the forthcoming investigation
of the recent gunboat disaster on the
Pacific coast will, we feel confident, con-
firm the common belief in his honesty,
ability, and exceptional efficiency as a
public servant. As a member of the
Cabinet, Mr. Bonaparte is where we
had long hoped to see him.

One of the most flourishing of the
numerous outlying missions in the
diocese of Fargo, North Dakota, is
a settlement of German Russians, all
devout Catholics, eighteen miles from
Mandan. The earnest piety of these
hardy pioneers, as well as the remark-
able prosperity of their colony, is
admired even by non - Catholics. The

newspaper published at Mandan, North
Dakota, pays the following tribute :

One hundred and twenty teams by actual
count, conveying on an average of five persons
to each team, represents the attendance at church
on Sunday last. This we are told is aljout the
average weekly attendance, but on special occa-
sions the attendance is much larger. We believe
there is no other community in the State of
North Dakota, of equal population, that can
begin to show as good a church attendance.
This may or may not explain the highly prosper-
ous condition of the people of this neighborhood,
but the fact stands out prominently that the
people in this vicinity are more prosperous than
most of the newly-settled portions of our State.
They have been favored with rains when other
sections suffered from drought; and when many
places complained of too much rain, this neigh-
borhood was blessed with about the correct
amount. Further, this settlement has never had
a crop failure since the first settlers located
there ; and from that day to this they have
been a very consistent church-going people.

It will be seen that "about the
correct amount of rain" is only one of
many temporal blessings which these
good settlers obtain through the inter-
cession of St. Anthony, to whom their
church is dedicated.

The late Mother-General of the Good
Shepherd nuns had attained the
venerable age of eighty -two years,
nearly sixty of which were passed in
religion. The development of the com-
munity under her wise and zealous
administration was remarkable: it
numbers at present upward of two
hundred and fifty establishments in
countries as far apart as India and
Ireland. During her term of office,
Mother Verger visited every one of
these houses, leaving to each another
memory like that of the holy foundress
of the Order, the Venerable Mother
Pelletier. A woman of extraordinary
energy and administrative ability.
Mother Verger was as much admired
by seculars as she was venerated and
beloved by her spiritual children. In the
chapel of the mother-house in Angers,
beside the tomb of Mother Pelletier, she
awaits the resurrection of the just.

The Legend of the Edelweiss.

BY GERTRUDE E. HEATH.

THERE came a friar to my cottage door,
And a tiny flower in his hand he bore;
It was plucked afar, from the snow and the ice, —
Men called it the beautiful edelweiss;
The purest blossom in all the land,
For it came straight down from Our Lady's hand.
Know you the legend ? The words are sweet ;
Listen, my children, while I repeat.
This is the story the good friar told.
As I drew him in from the wind and the cold.

Our Lady spins in the heart of the Sun :
White, white are the skeins that her hands have

spun;
For her lambs are pastured in Paradise,
Their eyes like the stars of the edelweiss.
Her hands grew weary, her wheel fell fast.
And a bit of the wool through the ether passed.
And so 1 found in the snow and the ice
This dainty bloom of the edelweiss.
Fresh and fair from Our Lady's hand,
O snow-white bloom from the mystic land!

Catholic Heroes of Land and Sea.

BY MAY MARGAKET FULLER.

v.— Don John of Austria.

ISCONSOLATE Belle, her
books open before her, gazed
idly out of the window. The
weather was warm, and she
was wishing that she had
prepared for the meeting in the
cool morning hours, as Bessie and
the boys had done. These early birds
had caught the worm, in this instance
represented by a long drive; and were
now bowling along some pleasant
countrj' road, with probably not one
compassionate thought for. their un-
happy sister.

"There! I'm not going to fuss over
this history any longer! " she exclaimed.
"I would rather do as I please than
win fifty prizes, and I do wish that
no one had ever heard of those old
heroes."

"Hear! hear!" cried a deep voice
from the doorway. "What a desperate
damsel!"

"Desperate is just the word. Captain
Morris. Won't you let me off with a
description of the battle of Lepanto?"

" What ! Not content even with
despising my prizes and abusing my
heroes ? Oh, yes, I heard all you said
just now! Well, being a generous old
fellow, I'll grant your wish; though I
shouldn't, for I have a piece of news
to tell when the meeting is over that
will make you smile."

"I knew you had another jolly plan.
You always do such lovely things!"

So Belle set to work with a will;
and before long the rest of the party
returned.

"We're going to disturb the venerable
ghost of Don John of Austria today,
are we not?" asked Captain Morris.

"It's been haunting me ever since
the last meeting," replied Frank. "I
didn't have any peace until I finished
my 'researches' this morning."

" After which it rattled its bones in my
neighborhood," added Belle. "Really,
we are a most afflicted family. But
Captain Morris has some good news
to tell us, so let us hurry Don John as
much as possible."

"The greatest deed of that hero's
life," said the Captain, "was the over-
throw of the Turks at Lepanto ; and as
I have made special arrangements with
a certain member of this party for a
description of the famous battle, she
may now begin."

218

THE AYE MARIA.

The "certain member" beamed upon
the company and began:

"The Turks, who for centuries had
been the bitter enemy of Christendom,
determined to gain the island of Cyprus,
which belonged to Venice. The Chris-
tian powers just as firmly opposed
them; and the Pope, St. Pius V.,
decided that the only chance of victory
lay in forming a league. So Spain,
Venice, and the Papal States combined
forces and sent a fleet to ,the Medi-
terranean. The Pope placed Don John
of Austria in command, presenting to
him the expedition's banner which
bore the figure of Our Lord, and
extending his benediction to all the
soldiers. At last they reached the Gulf
of Lepanto; and, at a signal, the
thousands of soldiers knelt to beg
God's blessing. Suddenly a cannon
was fired by the Turks. The Christians
responded, and for nearly six hours
the balls whizzed without a pause.
The Turks had many advantages over
the Christians in the number of ships
and soldiers; and, besides, they were
fighting in waters which they knew.
So fierce was the bombarding from the
Turkish fleet that some of the men on
Don John's ship grew fearful. He, how-
ever, rushed on deck with a crucifix, and,
pointing to the figure of Christ, said:
' Conquer His enemy ! For His sake keep
to your posts ! ' Again they showed
fear; and Cervantes, the author of
'Don Quixote,' who was wounded in
this battle, wanted to throw them
overboard ; but Don John stimulated
their courage by promising rewards and
complete freedom to the gallej' slaves,
if they won the battle. "When the day
was over, victory in the greatest
naval conflict of the century belonged
to the Christians.

" At the very moment the Turks
surrendered, the Pope, away off in his
palace in Rome, amazed his secretaries
by crying out to them: 'Let us give
thanks to God ! Our army is victorious ! '

There was wild rejoicing throughout
the Christian world; and, as a perpet-
ual thanksgiving, the Holy Father
established the feast of the Holy Rosary,
and added a new invocation to the
Litany of the Blessed Virgin: 'Help of
Christians, pray for us! ' "

"Now, Frank," said the Captain,
"see if you can imitate your sister's
brilliant recital in telling us of the
revolt of the Netherlands."

"Don John," began Frank, with un-
wonted vivacity, "was the brother of
Philip IL of Spain, whose last words
were that he wished he had been a lay-
brother, devoted to God in some relig-
ious Order, rather than ruler of the most
splendid empire in the world. Through
life this King was alwaj'S devoted to
the interests of the Catholic religion."

" He reigned during a very trying
time," observed the Captain; "and we
must remember when reading of those
days that whatever were Philip's faults,
his principles were right. It was his
duty, as a Catholic sovereign who
loved the ancient Faith founded by
Jesus Christ, to do all in his power
to prevent the false creed of Luther
and his followers from making inroads
into his dominions. The heresies did
find adherents in the Netherlands — a
portion of Philip's vast possessions, —
and he found it harder to reduce
the inhabitants to submission than
had his father, the Emperor Charles V. ;
for Philip's manners were not affable.
The Dutch were different in every way
from the Spanish, and began to clamor
for a stadtholder, or governor, chosen
from among themselves. But here,
Frank, you were to tell us all this."

" It's much easier to listen, thank
you!" replied that indolent lad; but
he was compelled to take his turn.

"Margaret of Parma, Philip's sister,
finally received the office," he said;
"but she was not equal to it, for the
country was in a state of turmoil.
The Protestants increased in numbers

THE AVE MARIA.

219

and openly insulted the Catholics. A
band of heretics, known as the ' Wild
Beggars' destroyed the statues and
sacred vessels in all the churches and
convents. At Antwerp, two days after
the celebration of the feast of the
Assumption, a furious mob desecrated
the magnificent cathedral, and then
passed on to murder the priests and
nuns in the towns near by. The 'Sea
Beggars ' were another division of these
rioters who plundered the churches in
the coast towns. Their banner bore the
words, 'Sooner Turkish than Popish.'
The Duchess of Parma was unable to
resist them, so she resigned her office."

"Who succeeded her, Bessie?" asked
Captain Morris.

" Requesens, a famous soldier and
statesman. He won the people's con-
fidence, and was very successful in
governing them. The Southern Dutch
in large numbers returned to the
Catholic Faith, and heresy was con-
fined to Holland and the surrounding
provinces. But in the midst of his
power, Requesens died."

" He was another Catholic hero,"
said the Captain. "And we should
also mention the son of Margaret of
Parma, Alexander Famese, a school-
mate of Don John. He was one of the
best generals of his time, and a brave
champion of Catholic rights."

"After the death of Requesens," con-
tinued Bessie, "the regiment with which
he had garrisoned the Netherlands
revolted. Only Requesens' wonderful
command had kept them in order; and
now that he was gone they reljelled,
for Philip had no money to pay them.
This mutiny is known as the 'Spanish
Fury.' While this was going on, and
the King was choosing a new stadt-
holder, the Protestant states drew up
the Pacification of Ghent, which united
the Netherlands against Spanish power.
But the Catholics in the south refused
to join, because the Prince of Orange,
leader of the Protestants, had openly

given up his Faith. Come, George, it's
time for j'ou to say something!"

"Well, it seems that Philip selected
as governor Don John, who travelled
to his post through France disguised
as a Moorish slave. His new subjects
received him kindly, but soon turned
against him when he wouldn't agree to
accept the Ghent treaty, which favored
the spread of heresy. The question
was finally decided in the battle of
Gembloux, in which Alexander Famese
and his troops helped Don John to
gain a victory. But even this triumph
didn't promise any further success;
and soon afterward the hero, ill and
disheartened, died. Alexander Farnese
succeeded to his office."

As George ceased speaking, Bessie and
Belle were discovered with their books
put away, impatient to hear the secret.

"It may not please you at all," said
the Captain.

"Oh, it will!" sang a chorus.

"Well, then, one of my friends has
offered me the use of his house boat
for the summer, and I hereby dedicate it
to the Studious Four for a clubhouse."
Don John's valiant deeds immedi-
ately subsided into the past, and four
enthusiastic souls began to live in the
future, beholding with enraptured eyes
delightful visions of their own happy
selves floating over bright, rippling
waters beneath summer skies.

Ancient Glass.

It used to be a modem boast that
the ancients had nothing deserving the
name of glass; that any substances
at all resembling it were mere clumsy
substitutes therefor. In Pompeii, how-
ever, buried by the ashes of Vesuvius
eighteen hundred years ago, excavators
broke into a room full of glass. There
was ground-glass, window-glass, cut-
glass, and colored glass of every variety.
So the boast proved untrue,

220

THE AYE MARIA

The Little Hungarians.

BY MRS. MARY E. MAKNIX.

XV. — A Halting Place.

When Louis and Rose first caught
sight of the high peaks of San Jacinto,
their train was winding like a serpent
through the Colorado desert. Yucca,
Spanish bayonets, and century plants,
set on the edge of this arid land,
appeared to rise, with all kinds of cacti,
from the heat, which was so palpable
that it seemed like a smoke ascending
from the hot, white earth. And then,
the desert passed, the pungent scent of
sagebrush still in their nostrils, they
began to come upon little patches
of vivid green, garden spots, flowery
places, cottages half hidden by vines,
which told them they were once more
nearing the haunts of civilization.

And still the peaks of San Jacinto
kept guard over all, with the dark
tamarack forests on their sides looking
so gloomy, so mysterious ; yet so cool,
so inviting. Here also were pines from
twenty to twenty -five feet in height,
and branching almost from the ground.
This is the home of the coulter pine,
which bears the largest cones in the
world, weighing sometimes ten or
twelve pounds. Here, too, are giant
oaks. But, at the great distance which
intervened, the different species of trees
seemed all alike, save for a shght
difference in coloring; and in the rose
of the evening sunset, they looked
incomparably lovely.

Steffan had been gleaning all the
information he could from the con-
ductor. The news he received, however,
was not encouraging. Strenuous laws
had recently been enacted by the
State Legislature regarding tramps and
vagabonds, said the conductor, with
a glance at the travel - stained trio;
they were likely to be arrested, not
only in Cecilia, the first town ahead of

them, but also in the adjacent towns.

"But we are neither tramps nor
vagabonds," protested Steffan. "We
earn our living in a decent, legitimate
way, and should not be prevented from
doing so. I call it rank tyranny."

"It may be that," rejoined the con-
ductor, again glancing compassionately
at the sad -eyed children at the other
end of the car. "But it seems to me it
is rather tyrannical and unjust to a
couple of kids like those over yonder,
to drag them round from place to place
as you are doing."

"I can do what I please with my
own," — said Steffan, angrily.

"I don't know about that," was the
response. "Not if you don't do what's
right. Mister, whether they are yours
or not."

"I'd like to get down into Mexico;
that's my objective point," continued
Steffan. "I'm told there's a harvest
to be gathered there."

" That country is full of musicians
already," said the conductor. " You
may, however, be able to give them
something different from their own.
Why don't you try to fall in with
some travelling troupe? You ought to
be able without any trouble, if your
children are as bright as you say."

"That's what I want to do," replied
Steffan, eagerly. "Think I'll have a
chance hereabouts ? "

"Don't know," said the conductor,
laconically. "Want to try your luck at
Cecilia? We'll be there in half an hour."

"Guess I will," said Steffan; and he
stepped forward to tell the children to
be ready.

As the Overland steamed out of
Cecilia, leaving them on the platform,
Steff'an, said :

"Look here, kids. Don't speak any
English from this time on. It pays
better when folks think we're foreigners
just come over. They like curiosities.
Go in and sit down in the station while
I look round,"

THE AVE MARIA.

221

They obeyed listlessly.

Steffan was not gone long.

"I've rented a tent," he said when
he returned. " It's cheaper. I guess
we'll just have to go up and down the
streets herd, playing and singing. I
don't know but what that will be the
best way to do, till we get to Mexico."

"Are we going to Mexico?" asked
Louis, in surprise.

"Oh, Mr. Steffan, couldn't we stay in
the United States?" said Louis. "I
am sure we shall never find Florian
in Mexico."

"Florian be hanged!" cried Steffan,
angriW. "Like as not, the fellow is
dead long ago. You'll never find him
in this world. Better make up your
minds to be as bright and cheerful as
you can ; and when we get to Mexico
we can join some troupe and make
lots of money. They don't know any-
thing about Hungarian music down
there, and they'll like it. We've got to
do something to get us out of this
hard luck."

"But," pleaded Louis, "we have
made a good deal of money, haven't
we? Where does it all go to?"

It was the truth. They had taken
in a considerable amount of money
since the day they left home. They
had been badly housed and fed, their
clothes were becoming ragged, yet there
seemed to be no rr\oney.

Louis was not aware that Steffan
was a gambler, staking every cent he
could appropriate on chances that were
nearly always against him. And if he
occasionally won, he would risk his
games over and over, always losing in
the end. But this took place in the
midnight hours, after the children had
gone to rest.

"Where does it all go to?" answered
Steffan. " I call that rich, — a few dimes
and nickels the days we perform, to
keep three persons ! And the days we're
travelling from one place to another,
when we're not earning anything? I

suppose you've forgotten all about
them. If I wasn't chained down by you
two kids, I could get a good berth in
a band any day of my life."

Then up spoke little Rose.

"Oh, do take it then, Mr. Steffan!"
she said. "Take it, and let us go.
We can go back,— can't we, Louis ? "

"Not if I know it," interposed Steffan
before Louis had time to reply. "\ou
won't catch me deserting you kids.
First thing you know, if I did, you'd
be put in the orphan asylum or reform
school. No, kids. Soon as we earn
enough to send you both back decently,
with twenty-two dollars to spare, as
you had when we started, I'll be willing
to send you back, but not before."

The threat of orphan asylum or
reform school was enough to quiet *
Rose. Louis thought it likely that if
he complained to the authorities, they
would release them from the power
of StefiFan; and he would have taken
steps to do this if it had not been for
the hope of finding his brother, — a
hope he could not abandon.

He had long had a picture in his
mind of what would take place. A
public square, perhaps a fountain —
though they had not seen either since
they left home, — a crowd gathered
about listening to the music, and
then suddenly a man stepping for-
ward from the throng — Florian, his
beloved brother! He never doubted
that he would recognize him at once.
Those features were imprinted on his
memory, — he could never forget them.
This hope it was that kept him alive.

"Come on," said Steffan, shouldering
his own luggage, and leaving the chil-
dren to carry theirs as best they could.

The tent was not far away, on the
outskirts of the little town. It had been
occupied by the men of a construction
camp, who expected to return to it in
a few days. It was comfortable and
clean, with appliances for cooking ; and
the children were pleased to find such

222

- THE AVE MARIA.

a refuge. Steflfan, who still had some
money, went over to the grocery and
got maLerials for a meal. There was
a mattress ou the floor of the tent,
and two cots besides.

"Get a bit of a nap," he said; "and
I'll take a few winks myself."

But the children found it too hot to
sleep, as the sun beat down fiercely on
the tent. Attiring themselves in their
Hungarian costumes, they went and sat
under a tree. When Steffan came out,
also in costume, they all set forth.

They were soon in the heart of the
small town, prettily surrounded by
flourishing gardens and small lemon
groves. The little children, daintily
dressed in afternoon garb, followed
them up and down the street; while
their mothers came to the doors with
small coin, which they graciously
deposited in Louis' cap.

When the trio had exhausted the resi-
dence portion of the town, they sought
the shop district, comprising only a
couple of blocks. Here they received
an ovation; but as they were about
to enter a confectioner^', where some-
ladies were seated taking ice-cream, a
policeman laid his hand on Steffan's
shoulder.

"See here, fellow," he said, not un-
kindly, "you'll have to get out of here,
or find some other way of making a
living. There's a law in Cecilia against
people of your kind. I'll give you till
the next train to make tracks for some
other place ; though I don't think you'll
find a town in this part of the State
where they'll allow you to stay."

"It's a shame!" answered Steffan.
"A man's got to live; and, if he isn't
a thief, he ought to be allowed to live
the best way he can, — the only way
he knows."

"Maybe so," said the policeman.
"But that's how we have it here, and
you've got to obey the law. Why don't
you hire the hall, if you want to give
an entertainment?"

"It doesn't pay to do that," said
Steffan. " Come, kids : we'll be moving.
What time does the next train pass?"

" The Overland ? "

"Anything that will take us nearer
Mexico."

"You mean Lower California. You'll
have to go way round and have a lot
of chink to reach Mexico proper."

"Yes, I guess that is what I mean,"
rejoined Steflfan, who was totally
ignorant of the geographical lines in
that part of the country. " I want to
get under the jurisdiction of Mexico."

"You do? Very well. You take the
Overland, then. That will land you in
Los Angeles; and from there you can
go down to San Diego, and you'll have
just seventeen miles more to travel
until you reach the boundary."

" Hard lines ! " said Steffan, motioning
the children to follow him.

Turning again to the policeman, he
asked :

"When can we get the train?"

"Not before to-morrow morning."

"All right! We'll have to wait, I
suppose," answered Steflfan. "It's too
bad a poor man can't' be allowed to
make an honest living," he grumbled,
as once more, with the children, he
sought the shelter of the tent.

( To be continued. )

Expensive Poetry.

Poetry has not generally a very great
market value, but the Venetians paid
for the following lines, written by
Marco San Nazaro and translated by
John Evedyn, the sum of six thousand
golden crowns, because of their eulogiz-
ing the Queen City of the Adriatic :

Neptune saw Venice in the Adria stand
Firm as a rock and all the sea command.
"Think'st thou, OJove," said he, "Rome's walla
excel ?
Or that proud cliif whence false Tarpeia fell ?
Grant Tiber best, view both, and you will say.
That men did those, gods these foundations lay."

THE AVE MARIA.
^ith Authors and Publishers.

223

—Under the heading "A Great Iniquity," Count
Tolstoi contributes to the London Times a
lengthy article on the Land Question. He declares
that Henry George was right, and predicts that
the Russian people will yet abolish landed
property.

— Biographies of Cardinals Newman, Manning
and Vaughan are announced by the English
press as in course of preparation, though the
Life most eagerly expected may not appear for
two or three years. It will be from the pen of
Mr. Wilfrid Ward, the biographer of Wiseman.
Father William H. Kent, of the Oblates of St.
Charles, is writing the new authorized Life of
Manning, which is promised for the end of the
year. It will be followed by the Life of Vaughan.
the author of which is not named.

—The action of the Sovereign Pontiff in con-
ferring the degree of Doctor of Sacred Theology
on the Rev. Herman J. Heuser, professor in St.
Charles' Seminary, Overbrook, Pa., and editor
of the American Ecclesiastical k'evicw and the'
Dolphin, will be hailed by the entire priesthood
of the United States with genuine satisfaction.
Few honorary distinctions nowadays are so
thoroughly merited as that which has come to
the scholarly, versatile and indefatigable teacher
and writer, whom innumerous friends had already
styled "Doctor" Heuser.

—The honor of a .seat in the Academic Franjaise .
has l)een awarded to M. Etienne Lamy, widely
known as a contributor to the tievae des Deux
Mondes, and at present editor of Le Corre-
spondant, the organ of what is known as the
progressive Catholic party in France. For many
years past he has been a valiant defender of the
rights of the Church against political opponents,
meriting to be called " the lay Nuncio " on account
of being a persona grata to the Vatican during
the last years of Leo XIII. M. Larny fills the
vacancy created by Guillaumc, the sculptor's,
death.

— A sentence worth quoting, indeed worthy of
being written in letters of gold for lasting remem-
brance, occurs in the concluding paragraph of
an extended book notice appearing in the London
Tablet for July 22. After bestowing generous
praise on a posthumous volume of privatelv
printed memoirs by James George Edwards,
M. A., formerly student of Christ Church, Oxford,
the reviewer remarks: "There is much in this
remarkable work with which a Catholic reader
can not agree. The author was not in a position
to understand and appreciate Catholic doctrines
and practices. ... At the same time, his language

elsewhere . . . makes it clear that his mistakes
arc not the result of narrow Protestant prejudice.
The false sentence is not due to any injustice in
the judge, but to the want of, satisfactory
evidence." We have no fondness for italics, but
here the use of them is demanded..

— The approaching seventh centenary of the
"conversion" of St. Francis of Assisi gives the
attriljute of timeliness to a brochure by Father
Pa.schal Robinson, O. P. M., — "The Teaching of
St. Francis of Assisi and its Latest Interpreters."
Containing the substance of two lectures recently
delivered before the Catholic Summer School, the
pamphlet is a distinctly interesting commentary
on the increasing volume of Franciscan literature.

— "The Pioneer Forecasters of Hurricanes," by
the Kev. Walter M. Drum, S. J., is an informative
pamphlet, in which tardy justice is meted out
to the Jesuit Fathers of the observatory of Bel^n,
in Havana. When the United States Weather
Bureau, shortly after the Spanish -American war,
established a branch office in Havana, the om-
niscient American reporter indulged as usual in
derogatory comments on the meteorological
methods previously obtaining in the city. The
present publication triumphantly demonstrates
that the critic "excogitated his facts," as often
happens.

—St. Paschal Baylon has justly been called "the
Saint of the Eucharist." Pope Leo XIII. in his
Apostolic Letter, Providentissimus Deus, declared
and constituted him "the special heavenly pro-
tector of all Eucharistic congresses and societies."
We cordially welcome an English Life of this
Saint ( adapted from the French of the Very Rev.
Father Louis-Antoine de Porrentruy), by Father
Oswald Staniforth, O. M. Cap. The little book
is interesting from cover to cover. It will un-
doubtedly increase the fire of Eucharistic love
in faithful hearts, and quicken the dying embers
in such as are lukewarm.

— In connection with a short biographical
sketch ( begun in our pages this week ) of
Chateaubriand's favorite sister, a reproachful
letter from whom, written after the death of
their mother, led to his conversion, the fol-
lowing estimate of the author of the "Genius
of Christianity," by Dr. William Barry, will be
read with interest. It occurs in an article, based
upon Mr. George Saintsbury's " History of Criti-
cism and Literary Taste in Europe," contributed
to the Quarterly Review :

To Chateaubriand our Professor is absolutely just — an
achievement far from casj* when we rellect on M. le
Vicortitc's "pose" in front of his looking-glass and tiiink
of him as the French Byron. He was, however, great in

224

THE AVE MARIA.

his day ; and is greater in ours, if we measure him by the
influence he has exerted on style, criticism, and even religion;
for he struck all these chords to effect, as a virtuoso indeed,
theatrically; yet we never know when the spirit will not
seize and ravish him out of affectation into the third heaven.
Dislike the man as we may, his "G^nie du Christianisme"
wins on us by its recognition of history ; by the range and
depth of insight which vindicate, not so much the Middle
Age, as Milton and all romance, from Neo-Classic prejudice:
and by its new language, instinct with life, colored,
sonorous, melancholy, the finest rhetoric ^ince Bossuet, in
a key more modem. " Les Martyrs" and the rest are
steeped in literary hues, but Nature is always striking in to
remind us of the unfathomable deeps, the infinite horizons,
until we learn that books are but pages in its all-encom-
passing volume. The artificial in trappings and gesture
remains; it is no longer the whole. If ever the "grand
style," which Matthew Arnold found so seldom, went with
judgment of writings and of literary ideas, it did so in
the magnificent braruras of this Breton Catholic. To all
succeeding Romantics he is ancestor; his rhythms are
echoed in George Sand, Gautier, and above all in Flaubert.
His flag was carried into battle by Victor Hugo. So late
as 1865 his not too friendly critic, Sainte-Beuve, declared
that he "was greater than any man of our age," but that
it was an age of decadence. "An Epicurean,*' he defined
him to be, "enhanced by the notion of honor, plumed
with imagination." So we may leave him, with " Ren£ "
and "Atala" to serve as models which, by their very form,
were destructive of Neo-Classic pedantry.

Admirers of Chateaubriand's masterpiece will
be gratified to know that by authorities like Dr.
Barry and Mr. Saintsbury the Breton author is
placed among the leading lights of literature.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reeding.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new pablications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
appear at the bead, older ones being dropped out
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may be sent to our OfRce or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will be imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad.
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

" The Saint of the Eucharist." Most Rev. Antoine

de Porrentruy. $1.10.
"TheCenacle." 54 cts.
"The Christian Maiden." Rev. Matthias von

Breinscheid, O. M. Cap. 50 cts.
" Elizabeth Seton, Her Life and Work." Agnes

Sadlier. $1, net.
"Daughters of the Faith." Eliza O'B. Lummis.

$1.25.
"The Tragedy of Fothefingay." Mrs. Maxwell

Scott. $1, net.
" A Gleaner's Sheaf." 30 cts., net.
"A Story of Fifty Years." $1, net.
"The Ridingdale Boys." David Bearne, S. J.

$1.85, net.

"The House of Cards." John Heigh. $1.50.
"By What Authority?" Robert Hugh Benson.

$1.60, net.
"Historical Criticism and the Old Testament."

PJre J. M. Lagrange, O. P $1, net.
"Divorce. A Domestic Tragedy of Modern

France." Paul Bourget. $1.50.
" Wandewana's Prophecy and Fragments in

Verse." Eliza L. Mulcahy. $1, net.
"Notes on Christian Doctrine." Most Rev.

Edward Bagshawe, D. D. $1.35, net.
"The Transplanting of Tessie." Mary T. Wagga-

man. 60 cts.
"The Sacrifice ot the Mass." Very Rev. Alex.

McDonald, D. D. 60 cts., net.
"The Knowableness of God." Rev. Matthew

Schumacher, C. S. C. 50 cts.
"The Blessed Virgin in the Nineteenth Century;

Apparitions, Revelations, Graces." Bernard

St. John. $1.75, net.
" The Redemptorists at Annapolis." $2.
" The Imitation of Christ." Sir Francis R. Cruise.

30 cts.
"The House of God and Other Addresses and

Studies." Very Rev. Thomas J. Shahan, D. D.

$1.50, net.
"Nut- Brown Joan." Marion Ames Taggart.

$1.50.
"Beyond Chance ot Change." Sara Andrew

Shafer. $1.50.
"Vigils with Jesus." Rev. John Whelan. 40 cts.
"The Catechist in the Infant School and in the

Nursery." Rev. L. Nolle, O. S. B. 60 cts., net.

Obituary.

Remember tbem that are in bands. — Heb.. liil, 3.
Rev. Charles Burns, of the diocese of Sacra-
mento ; and Rev. William Ollmert, C. S. C.

Brother Nicholas, of the Christian Brothers.

Sister M. Cecilia, of the Order of St. Dominic ;
Sister M. Rose (Crowley), Sisters of the Holy
Cross ; Sister M. Teresa, Sisters of Charity ; Sister
M. Charles, Sisters of the Incarnate Word ; and
Sister Leonie, Congregation of the Holy Ghost.

Mr. William Glass, of Sedalia, Mo. ; Mr. J. W.
Orme and Mr. Thomas Smith, Washington, D. C;
Mr. Richard Glceson, Galena, 111. ; Mrs. P. M.
Groome, Montreal, Canada; Mr. George Ather-
ton, St. Louis, Mo.; Mrs. Katherine Eichenlaub,
Chillicothe, Ohio; Mrs. John Larken, N. .\dams,
Mass. ; Mr. Michael Phelan, W. Becket, Mass. ;
Mrs. Anna Gilchrist, New York; Mr. Alfonse
Schraitt, Pittsburg, Pa.; Mr. C. W. Sullivan,
Torrington, Conn. ; and Mr. J. B. Emery,
Boston, Mass.

Requiescant in pace !

VOL. LXI.

HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS AHALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUKE, I., 48.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, AUGUST 19, 1905.

NO. 8.

[Published every Saturjay. Copyrighl : Kcv. D. E. Hudson, CSC]

Remember, Mother!

BY BRIA.N o'HIGGI.NS.

Julie de Chateaubriand.

( Madame de Farcy de Montavalon. )
BY LUCIE MORTON.

DEMEMBER, remember, O Virgin Mary!

That never in vain did the wanderer seek
Thy strength and comfort and holy guidance

When tempest-worn and spent and weak;
That never ascended the wail of anguish,

Commingled with sorrow's despairing moan.
From the noisome earth, through the clouds of
darkness,

Without finding balm at thy radiant throne.
II.
Remember, remember, O Virgin Mary !

And list to a voice that is weak and faint:
I have strayed far out on the sinful ocean

With its waves of passion beyond restraint;
And now, with a heart that is robed in anguish,

O Mother of Pity, to thee 1 come !
My eyes are dim with their ceaseless weeping.

My feet are weary, my hands are numb.
III.
Remember, remember, O Virgin Mary !

Through the deepening shadows 1 send my
plea:
Guide of the Wanderer, Hope of the Mourning,

Pray to the Child of thy heart for me,
That His tender grace may calm the waters

And pierce the gloom of the gathering night,
And lead me back to that Port of Beauty

Where His mercy shines with a fadeless light.

What shall bring you forward in
the narrow way, if you live in- the
world, but the thought and patronage
of Mary ? What shall sejil your senses,
what shall tranquillize j^our heart,
when sights and sounds of danger are
around you, but Mary? — Newman.

II.
S we have seen, it was not with-
out much noble self-sacrifice
p« on her part that Madame
» de Farcy arrived at the con-
quest of herself; and it is useful to
observe how circumstances, apparently
unimportant in themselves, contributed
to strengthen her faith, and at the
same time to lead her upward to
higher paths of holiness. "After I had
determined to lead a better life," she
narrates, "I was often very much per-
turbed over choosing my ribbons ; first
wanting to mortify myself and wear
blue, and then, not having the courage
to deny myself, taking the pink one,
which suited me so much better." After
sufi'ering many scruples on account of
what she called her terrible vanity, she
at last mentioned it to her confessor,
who at once forbade her to vex herself
over such trifles.

No sooner, indeed, had Jtdie begun to
experience the sweetness of her close
union with God, than she gave herself
up, with the full consent of her director,
to the practice of the most complete
self-sacrifice, and did all in her power
to show her friends the wisdom of her
choice. Very soon no one would have
recognized the elegant society lady
of former years. Dressed in a plain
black or brown dress of some woollen

226

THE AVE MARIA.

material, over which slie wore in winter
a cape of shabby fur, and in summer a
plain little one of black silk, such as was
then generally worn by maid-servants;
her boots cheap and clumsy ; her beauti-
ful hair dressed, not untidily, but in a
style that showed her utter disregard
for her own personal appearance, —
this brilliant woman, so admired in
the past for her exquisite taste in
dress, expiated at the age of thirty the
luxury and fastidious over-refinement
of her life at twenty.

By the constant and painful fasts and
mortifications she practised, she reduced
herself to a state of extreme emaciation ;
but she could never destroy the charm
of her personality or the sweetness and
fascination of her smile. To her friends
it seemed that, as her features became
more and more sharpened, her beauty
was only increased by her spiritual
happiness.

She had a wonderful control over
her affections, but toward her parents
and relatives she w^as always the same
joyous, unselfish creature. Her parents
idolized her, and could hardly bear her
to be separated from them. At home
she wore the same old clothes, and
practised, in spite of their tearful re-
monstrances, the same mortifications.
Her wonderful gift of eloquence, and
her fresh and sparkling wit were a
source of never -failing delight and
amusement to them. Qualities appar-
ently contradictory were found in
her character. She was frank and at
the same time prudent; reserved yet
ostensibly as open as the day; and
she combined the most solid common-
sense with an imagination extraordi-
narily vivid and poetic.

During the early part of her married
life, when she was entirely taken up
with her taste for literature, she had
seemed always perfectly devoid of any
business capacity ; and nothing was
more astonishing than the rare insight
she showed, after her conversion, into

the most complicated matters of law
and property. A certain lawyer, indeed,
at that time one of the leading jurists
of France, expressed his admiration for
her powers in no measured terms.

She had placed herself under the
spiritual direction of the Abbe Le
Forestier, who later on, during the
Revolution, was known as the "Father
of the Fatherless." In order to sustain
her fervor, perhaps indeed to moderate
it, he put her successively under the
care of two good and holy nuns, to
whom she confided all her aspirations,
and under whom she set herself piti-
lessly to renounce all that she felt
was in any way keeping her back
from greater union with Almighty God.
She repeated constantly to them : II faut
que je m'iteigne, — "I must extinguish
myself."

Strange as it may seem, instead of
repelling others by her austere and
penitential life, she began to exercise
an enormous influence over everyone
she met. What extraordinary changes
she was able to bring about \W the
hearts of others ! Those whose natures
were most selfish, most narrow, most
egoistical, seemed to melt in spite of
themselves, and to find that they were
being irresistibly led toward a higher
life. Julie admitted no obstacle in
her endeavors to help others; the
fascination of her character, the fire
and poetry of her mind, the warmth of
her feelings, and the tender seduction
of her words, were all employed in
the sole aim of gaining souls to God.
What did it matter whether the persons
were stupid, unattractive or vulgar?
It only made her more anxious to
help them.

Madame de Farcy had been married
in 1783, so that the years of public
peace had been short. Now the country
was full of disquieting rumors; and
the civil disturbances which were so
constantly taking place foretold, one
after another, the terrible upheaval

THE AVE MARIA.

227

that unhapp)"- France was about to
undergo.

Julie's early married life had been
most happy ; and if, even between the
best and dearest of friends, characters
and tastes are not always similar,
Monsieur de Farcy never lost his admi-
ration and respect for his charming
and gifted wife. Their union had been
blessed by the birth of a daughter, of
whom we shall have occasion to speak
later on.

When the Revolution broke out.
Monsieur de Farcy was obliged to fly
from France, on account of the part
he had taken for the King and the
Church; and while separated from her
husband, Julie used to reproach herself,
as though they were sins, with some
very small faults that she had been
careless in correcting. In order to
atone for what she called her "wicked-
ness," she occupied herself unceasingly
in accelerating his return. "He will be
surprised to find an obedient wife when
he comes back to me," she used humbly
to say to those who might have known
what she unjustly called her caprices."

After the land and furniture belonging
to her husband were sold, she left
Fougeres and settled at Rennes, in order
that her daughter might receive a good
education. At Rennes she visited every
day an old relative of her husband's,
who was dying of a particularly
horrible form of cancer; and she was
able to do much toward alleviating
the patient's sufferings.

It is not without some hesitation
that we reveal a part of her life, hidden
always from the world, and more to
be admired than imitated ; though she
persisted in practising it in spite of the
tearful entreaties and remonstrances
of her parents and her friends.

She waged a continual war against
herself, treating her body with the
greatest austerity, without regard to
her failing health. Frequently, during
the most bitterly cold nights in winter.

she lay upon the ground, clad only in
a hair-shirt. She fasted all the year
round, measuring carefully the small
amount of black bread and water she
allowed herself daily. Many times no
food passed her lips until late in the
afternoon, and then she always chose
the coarsest and that for which she felt
a distaste. Thinly clad, sleeping on a
hard bed, without curtains, and in a
draughty attic, she labored unceasingly
to mortify herself in every way possible.
She curtailed the flightf of her imagi-
nation; and, as a friend afterward
expressed it, "she tried to make her
outward appearance unattractive, with
as much art as a fashionable beauty
employs to adorn herself."

This unusual and extreme penitential
spirit is by no means to be copied ; for
these extraordinary means to acquire
holiness suit very few Christians. And
yet how many among the few go astray,
and take for the voice of Almighty God
that which is nothing but illusion and
the fruit of an excited and overheated
imagination! Such holy and admirable
severities of penance are consecrated
(let us boldly admit, in spite of the
ridicule of a century corrupted with
atheism and vice) by the approval of
the Church in all ages; but woe to
those who, even in the practice of pious
exercises, and in the light, apparently,
of the noblest motives, let themselves
be governed entirely by their own
self- will !

Madame de Farcy communicated
every day; and after the hours she
emploj'ed in supervising the education
of her daughter, divided the rest of her
time between prayer and good works.
She let no day pass without visiting
and relieving the poor and suffering.
She deprived herself of even the neces-
sities of life for the benefit of the
indigent ; often giving away the morsel
of bread she usually allowed herself,
or sharing with the poor the fuel she
ought to have burned in her own

228

THE AYE MARIA.

room. She even carried it to them
with her own hands.

Every Sunday she was accompanied
by her daughter when she went to
visit the sick, to whom she read some
spiritual book, afterward explaining its
meaning. She then inquired into, and
took the liveliest interests in, all their
joys and sorrows. She obtained occupa-
tion for those who were strong enough
to work, nursed others, and helped in
countless practical ways those who
were too weak or ill to do anything
for themselves.

"One day," her daughter Zoe relates,
"mamma told me that we were going
to see one of our relatives, who had
once been very well oflf but who was
now in a state of great destitution.
My curiosity was aroused by this
news, and I found the walk very long.
When I saw the ladder up which we
had to scramble in order to reach the
wretched abode where this woman
lived, I was almost in tears over the
misery that some human beings have
to endure. I was also wondering, as
we approached the door, whether I
must call the lady 'aunt' or 'cousin,'
when, to my consternation, a woman
covered with filthy rags, and with a
low and cunning face, and a manner
and tone of voice most offensive, got
up and came toward us. Her appear-
ance struck me dumb and everything
about her made me shudder. Such
was my curiosity, however, that I
watched her very narrowly all the
time she was speaking, to see if I could
discover, by any chance, some trace or
indication of good -breeding either in
her features or deportment. At the
end of half an hour I had still discov-
ered none, and when we rose to leave
I was quite vexed.

"The first question that I asked my
mother, when we were out into the
street again, was the name of this
strange relative of ours, and to which
side of the family she belonged. ' My

child,' she replied, 'that poor woman
is, like us, a daughter of Adam and
Eve, and we have fallen like her.'
Never before had my pride received
such a lesson."

Madame de Farcy, although possess-
ing so sweet a disposition, was not
always able to hide her irritation when
she was interrupted in her prayers.
"I, who loved receiving visitors," said
her daughter, "was often afraid that
they would be offended with her, and
one day I remarked very crossly that
I thought politeness was a part of
charity. Instead of being vexed with
me, my dear, good mother blamed
herself, and asked me to make her
a little sign in the future, if I ever
noticed that she was not perfectly
courteous to any one."

Although her time was so much taken
up with different works of charity,
Madame de Farcy did not neglect any
of her duties, and never forgot to think
about the future for her daughter.
She settled her many business affairs
with wonderful tact; and managed,
•after seeing all her husband's property
sold by the Revolutionists, to save a
small part of what had once been her
marriage -portion. The lucidity with
which she pressed her claim, and her
absolutely straightforward statement
of affairs, convinced the lawyers of her
rights, and they granted her a certain
sum of money.

Perhaps the greatest influence that
Madame de Farcy exercised was over
young girls. We will quote some of
the advice she gave them, as it may
perhaps help those v^^ho are in the
same position. To one, who reproached
herself for her inconstancy and tepidity
in the service of God, she wrote:

"Never allow j-ourself to omit your
usual prayers unless it is absolutely
nececGary; for example, on account of
illness "or to do some work of charity.
Never let discouragement, laziness or
dissipation conquer you. Do you think

THE AVE MARIA.

229

that this excuse, ' I don't feel inclined
to do it,' will avail you anything in
the eyes of Almighty God ? You would
not dream of making that excuse to
one whom you loved and respected
very much, would you ? Remember
that, however much you may feel dis-
inclined to pray, God will receive your
prayer with the kindness of a father,
when He sees that you are trying to
please Him."

To another, who found herself con-
strained and self-conscious when she
met her director in the world, she said :

"You must have a childlike confi-
dence in your confessor, and tell him
all that passes in your mind. Go to
confession regularly on the day fixed
for you, and even if you should feel
disinclined to do so. The most precious
graces are conferred on obedience
and regularity. When you meet your
confessor in the world, treat him with
the utmost frankness, and do not
indulge in affected airs of constraint."
To the same girl she wrote on
another occasion :

"Do not pay any attention to these
false ideas you have of avoiding possible
dangers by not going into society. Do
as your parents wish j'ou to do, accom-
pany them, and dress yourself as they
desire you to be dressed. It is very
meritorious so long as you obey them,
and avoid all thoughts of vanity and
self-love, accepting with sweetness all
the little humiliations j'ou may meet
within the world. Believe me, they are
gifts from Almighty God. A beautiful
face or a great talent might have caused
the loss of 3'our soul. When you notice
a person taking pleasure in your com-
pany, do not trj' to attract more
attention, but remain as you were,
perfectly simple and unaffected."

She warns her young friend to be
on her guard against a morbid taste
for solitude, and also gives her some
sensible advice about friendships:

" You are quite wrong about the need

you say you feel of being alone. Believe
me you are the worst companion for
yourself; for in these hours of solitude
the temper is verj' often soured, and
the imagination frequently carries one
away, so that one is led into indulging
in dangerous thoughts, or into wasting
one's time in idle dreaming. I am
certain that the friendship and com-
panionship of good girls is far better
for you ; and the unwillingness you
show to be with others is only a
sign of self-will and false virtue. But,
let me warn you, choose your friend in
this way : let her always be more pious
than yourself, and let your affection
for her be founded on true respect and
not on a sentimental love.

"It is always a sign of false humil-
ity to speak either disparagingly or
eulogistically ab.out oneself. One of
the most amiable social qualities is
to appear always more occupied with
others than with ourselves, endeavor-
ing to make them happy. Do not be
afraid of being under an obligation to
a friend ; only an ungenerous nature
feels that gratitude is humiliating. If
you enjoy doing little things for other
people, then let them do the same for
you; do not wound them by refusing
to accept trifling services from their
hands, or by appearing constrained and
awkward until you have returned at
once what little kindnesses they have
been able to perform for you. Society
has established a system of giving and
taking, but great tact is required to
do either delicatelj'.

"Give up the idea you have that you
are clever and witty ; and remember
that cleverness does not consist in
raillery, or in that ultra-smart jargon
which imposes upon the multitude.
Never read any book which has not
been approved of by a person whom
you know to be really pious and who
has a good judgment. Do not read a
great many spiritual books at the same
time. One book well meditated ujjoq

230

THE AVE MARIA.

will do 3-ou far more good than indis-
criminate reading. Try to avoid that
inconstancy of heart which makes you
change from one week to another.
You will never have peace of mind or
be sure of j-our salvation, if you allow
yourself to b; overcome by all these
scruples. Why should not that motive
which made you pray, do penance, or
obey yesterday, make you do the same
to-day? God is always the same; He
wants a heart not a head service.
For the poor, have always a great
compassion. Give what you can to
them; and when you are unable to
give any more, speak kindly to them
and interest yourself in their affairs."

The Revolution was now rampant
in France. Madame de Farcy was
arrested in 1793, and, with her sister
Lucile, imprisoned in the Convent of the
Good Shepherd at Rennes, which had
been seized and turned into a prison.
She remained there for over a year, and
was all the time a model of patience
and courage to the other prisoners.
When she heard their bitter complaints,
she used to try to console them, and
ask them to offer up their sufferings
in expiation of the sins which had
drawn down so terrible a punishment
on France.

"But, Madame," objected a lady to
whom she expressed this thought, "I
have never taken part in any of these
crimes. I have nothing to reproach
myself with." — "Ah, dear Mariette,"
Madame de Farcy replied, "God forbid
that I should ever imagine you capable
of even thinking of such things ! But I
am speaking of your own particular
sins. We can have no idea how the
least sin offends Almighty God. What
must it be when we remember the
mortal sins that have been committed
against Him ? These are the sins which
have drawn down upon us the just
and terrible anger of God."

All the prisoners, whatever their rank
or age, were the objects of her most

fervent tenderness. But, in persuading
others to lead a better life, she always
proposed to begin herself first, and
showed her zeal not by preaching but
by practising the virtues she upheld.
She was not content with bearing
patiently all the discomforts and in-
human treatment of the jailers, but
tried in every way to mortify herself
further. Being unable to say her prayers
with sufficient recollection in the com-
mon dormitory, she used to go, at four
o'clock in the morning, into an old
granary, which was almost in the open
air, and there she remained for hours
upon her knees. Nothing caused her any
distraction during these long hours,
unless she was asked to do something
for another; then she left at once and
flew to the side of the invalid. One lady
was very ill and obliged to take certain
baths. Madame de Farcy drew and
carried the water for them herself;
and this task, far beyond her strength,
undoubtedly shortened her life.

At the hour when all the prisoners
were accustomed to meet, she was the
life and soul of the company. Everyone
was charmed with her sweetness, her
wit, and her extreme good-nature; so
that even those who were the least
religiously^ inclined, and whom her
own austerities might have repelled,
never once said anything unkind. She
hardly ever appeared at meals, but ate
afterward what was left by the others,
or what they had rejected. Several
times she was discovered eating bread
that was stale and mouldy ; and when
her friends expressed their surprise that
she should eat what others had thrown
away, she said, simply: "This would
have been given to the poor, and I am
in their place for the time being."

The granarj-^ in which she passed so
many hours contained, by chance, a
small statue of the Blessed Virgin,
which had probably been overlooked
and thrown into a corner. Julie's joy
was great when she discovered it.

THE AVE MARIA.

231

She made a little oratory, and took
her companions there ; so that the days
consecrated specially to the service of
God, became for man}' amongst the pris-
oners real days of devotion and prayer.
During her imprisonment she had
managed to find a home for her little
daughter, and was occasionallj' able to
send her short notes. After her release,
she cultivated assiduously the child's
talents, and set herself to collect and
save the debris of her fortune. She still
continued her work for the poor; but
her delicate constitution was so under-
mined by the penance and privation
she had undergone, that her strength
rapidly decreased.

( Conclosion next week. )

Three Spinsters and a Younker.

BY EMILY HICKBY.

EC UN DA sa3's I may tell our
little story about Tertia and
the Younker, provided I am not
discursive, and provided I make
it smell of the sea. Conditions aflirma-
tive as well as negative, — the negative
more easily fulfilled than the other. I
will try not to be discursive, but I
really must tell how I came to want
to write it, and how Secunda came to
give me her gracious permission to do
so. And I must tell about all of us!
Hence mj' title.

But how am I to make it smell of the
sea? If it does, it will not smell of
a big, billowed sea, leaping on a rock-
bound coast ; but of a stretch of blue-
grey water, lapping to and from a long
stretch of sand ; a summer sea, with
bathers, and of course, therefore, with
bathing machines just above high
watermark ; a sea on which the rising
sun poured every day his golden glory ;
a sea where the moon made the water
laugh in lovely ripples; a sea that we
all loved; a sea, too, by which Tertia

would often take lonely rambles that
sometimes made Secunda and even me
a little anxious, though we only once
or so let her know it. After that
once we contented ourselves by walk-
ing along at the other side of the
sand-hills, and now and then going
cautiously nigh enough to see her, and
assuring ourselves that no harm was
coming to her. For, you see, it was
not in England that we were; if we
had been, perhaps we need not have
shadowed her in this way, because, as
Hamlet says, we are all mad there.
This went on for a week; then we
gave it up.

Tertia is the chit. Secunda is almost
old enough to be her mother, and I am
almost old enough to be Secunda's.
But that does not matter, says Tertia.
Secunda and I had gone in double
harness even before Secunda was quite
grown up; and before Tertia's frocks
came below her ankles, we were a team
of three, all free, equal and fraternal.
That's the way with modems. Secunda
and Tertia told me long ago in words,
and keep reminding me in various
ways, that I have got to be a modem.
They decreed that I was not to be an
old fogy ; and they have been guarding,
by jokes and chaff and sometimes
by severer things, the avenues and
approaches to Fogj'dom.

No, I was not to stoop ; nor was I to
get into habits such as elderly people
sometimes acquired, — people who had
no one who could venture on keeping
them up to the mark. And yet Secunda's
((uick eyes have always seen where
there was a risk of my becoming over-
tired ; and her hands have often saved
me from struggles with needlework that
was growing to be a trial. But I
am to have no difference made between
the treatment of that chit, Tertia, and
the treatment of me who need not say
no chit am I, by Secunda; and no
difference made by Tertia between the
reverence due to my grey hairs, whigh

232

THE AVE" MARIA.

are sparse, and that befitting Secunda's
red ones, which are abundant. Tertia
is a very nice chit, and we meant her
to have a good time of work and of
play, when in stepped the Younker.

I must go back a little to explain.
Secunda says she believes I am con-
structing my story so badly that no
self-respecting editor will ever print it.
Never mind ! If that be the case, it
must only lie in my desk.

Secunda and I first met at a Training
College. I had idled away a good
part of my life when my father died.
He had not liked to speak of his affairs
to mother and me; but in our quiet
talks together, wherein we sometimes
expressed to each other a certain little
anxiety about w^hat we called things
in general, it never occurred to us that
there might be cause for anxiety of
a very grave nature indeed; yet when
father died we found that there was
nothing for us to live on but a small
annuity of mother's, which she had
been used to call her little charity fund.
It seemed very bad to have to use it
for our own support instead of giving
it away; but we made it do for us
both while I was trained for elementary
teaching. I got a scholarship, however,
and things began to be somewhat
easier. Then I fell in with Secunda.
She was a very small creature, with
an outlook on life that was not so
bright as — owing mostly, we think, to
my mother — it afterward became.

Mother and I came into the posses-
sion of " the inheritance of our fathers "
soon after this. It was not for some
years, however, that Secunda received
the Faith from which her parents had
drifted away; but she always wanted
to come "home." Her love for us,
and her knowledge of our love for her,
kept her, I think, longer from taking
the final step than would otherwise
have been the case; for she feared she
might do it for our sakes rather than
fortsi own. If ever there lived any one

absolutely sincere, that one was she.
Secunda and I were in about the
same plight, so far as money went;
but, without counting the big privilege,
the greatest of all, I was infinitely
better off than she, seeing that I had
mother. My dear little mother loved
her as I did. If I were certain that
Secunda would not come in and look
over me, I would say that mother and
I could not help loving her, though
she has her faults. I have put that
in lest —

Before mother went where our love
and our prayers followed her for the
gifts of refreshment, light and peace,
Secunda had been living with us for
some time, and she and I had got work
at the same school. Then Tertia turned
up, — a tiny cousin of Secunda's. Her
father had been left w^ith the motherless
baby, and had managed somehow or
other to get her through her first two
years. Then he had a good chance, as
he thought, and was anxious to go
to Australia. He said it was mostly
for the child's sake. He asked Secunda
to take five hundred pounds of his,
with absolute control of it, and to
make a home for his little child. He
wished the child to be baptized and
brought up a Catholic, and he asked
mother to be her godmother. AH that
I knew at this time about Tertia's
father was that be was a cousin of
Secunda's. Before the matter of the
baptism came up, Secunda said to
mother and me:
"It will be dreadful to go."
"Dreadful to go!" said mother, and
I echoed her echo. "And where may
you be going. Miss Secunda?"

"To make a home for Jack's baby."
"And may I ask what Prima and I
have done to you, that you are ambi-
tious, if not of a motley coat (though I
am not sure the motley coat might not
be thrown in without extra charge),
at least of a lodging apart from us ?
Couldn't you and Babs manage to

THE AYE MARIA.

233

confine 3'our gigantic forms within the
limits of a bedroom and dressing room ?
I should imagine that a cot might get
itself into the dressing room — "

"Yes, and j-ou give up your room
and spoil your night's rest!" Secunda
interrupted, — and here I may say that
Secunda still sometimes interrupts.

" Prima and I can share a room,"
mother went on. "You and Babs are
to have the bedroom with the dress-
ing room. That's decided, and now
we need not talk about it any more.
We are all three going to be mothers
to Babs."

Mother had her way.

"Jack " sent home money from abroad
before very long. But soon afterward
there car.ie word of his death ; and
then his will came, and we learned
that he had already made a good
deal; and he had left it in equal
shares to Secunda, to his child, and to
me. Why this was, I could not tell.
It seemed a large sum of money to
us ; and of course I wanted- to give up
my portion, to which I could not see
that I had the remotest claim. But
Secunda said that Jack had always
looked on me as her sister, and I
could not say that I thought he was
wrong in this; and mother thought
it was all right.

As we were living together, things
were very easy to arrange; and so we
made our wills and left everj'thing to
Tertia, as we had begun to call little
Elizabeth. Reverend Mother and Sister
Margaret did not like our calling one
another by what thcj' called heathen
names ; so, when they were present, we
tried to say Monica and Frances. It
was mother who had called us Prima
and Secunda; and it was she, as we
told her, who was the guilty one in
first saying Tertia. But they were her
pet names for us, and I think the Holy
Father himself would not mind our
using them. And little mother is gone.
Besides, I have seen Father James' eye

twinkle when Reverend Mother said
something on the subject.

What about our future work ? It
was thought best that I, at all events,
should give up teaching, and so have
more time to be with mother and look
after baby Tertia. Secunda went on for
a year longer; for she loved teaching,
and had always said she should wish
to go on with it, even if she were
ever to be independent of it as a means
of livelihood.

But mother was called away almost
before we had begun to realize that
there was even a probability of her call's
coming for a long time yet, though we
knew she was far from strong. I am
not going to say anything of how w^e
felt when we had to live on without
her. I don't think either Secunda or I
should ever care to talk about that
in what other people might perhaps
one day read.

We held a council, and settled that we
would go and live in the country, —
the beautiful, open country, gorsy and
heather3-, and sandy -soily, near a
convent school where Tertia would go
by and b}', Secunda and I teaching her
in the meanwhile. But Secunda hatched
plots with our new Reverend Mother.
There were two schools at the convent
already, — the convent that stood in its
own grounds, not far from the great,
breezy common : there was a boarding-
school for gentlemen's daughters, and
a day-school for the children of people
living in the neighborhood. And nothing
would do for Secunda but to arrange
with Reverend Mother that there
should be an elementary school, which
Secunda was to set going, and for
which she was to train a couple
of Sisters. This kept Secunda as the
working-woman of the family. She had
always been vigorous and able to do
ever so much outside of her teaching.
Somehow, she has seemed to give more
time to Tertia than I, though she will
call me the "lady of leisure." And she

234

THE AVE MARIA.

takes the children for lovely Saturday
walks ; and she has got them to make
a museum, and she has helped in all
kinds of work, and pulled me along in a
sort of trailer to her mental bicycle.

Now I must hurry on, and say that
just as Tertia had grown up and was
making the home happier than ever, the
Younker appeared. Yes, the Younker
appeared ; and what are friends, not to
say relatives, weighed in the balance
with a Younker? No, I do not mean to
say that Tertia neglected us, or even
that we fancied she did. We have
always professed to scorn sentiment;
and, on the whole, probably have
scorned it. Anyway, our relations with
one another have been natural and
wholesome. We have never thought
of thinking ourselves slighted by one
another; and we have never hesitated
to give one another little knocks and
bangs when they have appeared to be
needful. Also, we have never hated
duty, nor wished to see it swept away
from the face of the earth, as some of
our emancipated friends tell us w^ould
be a thing to be desired for the extreme
betterment of the Race, with a big R.

No, Tertia did not neglect anybody
or anything. But the Younker was in
the foreground, that was all. And quite
right, too. They were both honest,
fearless sort of folk, and they had soon
found out that they loved each other;
and when they had found it out, they
had settled that they would marry
each other without any unnecessary-
delay. The Younker had a consider-
able holding not far from the country
place where we had settled down, and
Tertia's life in the future was to be
mostly life on a farm. Tertia was very
happy, and so were we ; and everything
was tending to the blissful termination
of the engagement, when one evening
Tertia came into the garden where
Secunda and I were doing a little bit
of weeding and tidying up, and said
quietly :

"I have broken my engagement with
Edward Young."

Secunda is not given to starting,
but she started then, and held herself
excused for having done so. And so
did I. We said together:

"O Tertia, why?"

She looked very white and unlike
herself as she took a hand of each of
us, — in our excitement we all forgot
those grubby gardening gloves. She
answered :

"I can not tell you, dear things! And
you must never ask me."

She stopped for a minute, and then
went on:

"I may live with you always, may
I not?"

"Always, always!" we exclaimed.

She kissed us both in a serious,
repressed fashion, and went on:

"And I am going to ask you some-
thing which will be hard for you to
do, — at least, to keep from doing. I
want you not to talk to any one about
it — not even to Father Dallas, — and
as little as ever you can help to each
other. I won't ask you to promise me,
but I know 3'ou can trust me ; and we
all love one another, and you love me
enough to try and do as I ask."

We cried together that night, Secunda
and I. We are not given to weeping,
but we wept then. And we did not
say one word about Tertia, nor mention
the Younker, nor in any way allude
to him.

No one at the convent ever made
any comment in our hearing; nor did
Father Dallas, though somehow we
gathered that he knew more than we
did. And if we were sorry that Tertia
felt that she could not tell us — or, rather,
that she must not tell us, — we could not
but be glad to think that the burden
was not quite so heavy as an absolute
sikiice would have made it. And it
did not matter about an3-body else —
any outsiders, I mean, — and what they
might think.

tHE AVE MARIA.

235

This was how we came to make a
run into France. Tertia was brave,
and she took up her study of different
things, and her gardening, and made
jests as of old, and went on long bicycle
rides. She never met the Younker, we
knew ; for he had gone, we heard, to
Norway. Secunda said one day:

" Prima, we are going to France.
We'll go to one of those plages on the
northeast coast. We must make her
take a little change. She has got hardly
a bit on her bones. This kind of thing
won't do."

Secunda did something between
shaking her head at Tertia's leanness,
and nodding it as a seal to her own
decision, or perhaps even in approval
thereof.

In a few days we were off, bicycles
and all. Secunda and Tertia had their
bicycles; therefore, when the luggage,
including Prima, was safely on the
omnibus that met their train to take
them to Dorn Plage, they rode on and
Prima followed. As I'm Prima, what's
the use of the third person ? I was
perched on the very top of the rather
ramshackle bus, which had to be
called by its full trisyllabic name by
my comrades and me. We were to
play the part of foreigners, though
foreigners we were not, nor ever could
be; for is it npt a well-known fact
that all nations, tribes and kindreds
are foreigners, saving and excepting
only the inhabitants of the United
Kingdom ?

The vehicle — does not the word smack
of a newspaper paragraph? — was
drawn by two fat horses unequally
yoked together, so far as size and
color went; one being big and white,
the other small and bay; but both,
as I have said, decidedly stout. There
would have been room enough for my
body on the driving seat beside the
cocher ; but there was a trunk in front,
which made it inconvenient for any
adult legs. So I mounted higher, though

Secunda and Tertia thought — or pre-
tended they thoiight — the proceeding
risky for one of my size. They left my
years out of the question. But they
both had climbed up with me, rather
protectively, as I thought, to be near
me should "anything have happened,"
whatever that might mean; and had
to climb down they said, in more senses
than one. Perhaps I was ungrateful.

There were glorious cornfields on
either side of the road, and here and
there the blue of the wild chicory,
whose beauty first kindled Mr. Oliver's
love for botany. And over the com
was blowing the life-giving and life-
sustaining wind that came up fresh
from the sea. Being away from the
driving seat, I was fain to content
m3'self w^ith my own company. Not
yet was the time — which indeed came
in due season — for my mind to be
enriched by Jean's information about
things in general, and Jean Maistre
in particular; and my imagination
kindled by his romances, his many
romances, of which Jean Maistre was
the hero; and my gratitude for his
kindly interest in me awakened by
his questions as to whether I was a
teacher (the profession, he was kind
enough to tell me, was quite a good
and honorable one, being one in which
it was possible to make money), or a
rentiere, as any one who did not earn
her living must be a rentiere. Here I
may say that my comrades are rude
enough to tell me that I am very
fond of talking to my neighbor at
table d'hote or elsewhere. But what
care I? As Tennyson says, "Let
them rave."

There was a halt in the village,
and a few friendly stares from the
natives thereof. As I had finished this
sentence, Secunda, to whom I had been
reading a little of my composition
aloud, remarked:

"It might be as well to say of what
countr3' they were natives."

236

THE AVE MARIA

"Why, I am sure I have indicated
that we were in France," I observed.
"You should be exact," resumed
Secunda, who was in one of her critical
moods. "You just now spoke of Jean's
kindly interest in you, when you know
perfectly well that it was the merest
curiosity."

"Is thy servant a schoolmarm?" I
answered.

After this Parthian shaft, I resumed
my MS. ; and, with a sort of chilling
politeness, I said :

"I believe it is I who am writing
this story."

"Yes, I believe it is," said Secunda.
"Gwon, there's a dear!"

But I did not "gwon," because
Tertia came in and carried off my
tormentor, and I was left in peace.

On went the omnibus, with still
those happy cornfields on either side,
and patches of beet and chicory, all
undivided by hedges or any kind of
landmark. Between them and the
road there were little ditches bordered
with yarrow; and in the little ditches
there w^ere sedges, standing up tall
and strong, bearing rich dark silky
tassels of brown. And still there
was the tawny gold of wheat, or
the paler gold of oats, touched here
and there with the brightness of the
chicory blue.

Less than half an hour's drive would
easily have brought the omnibus to
its destination, but Jean had man^^
stoppages. He had a parcel for one
chalet, and papers for another; while
at yet another there were queries to be
answered as to whether the omnibus
was or was not to meet the afternoon
train. And of course there were smiles
and bows and little compliments and
a little chaff here and there. All these
things took up time, and there was
time in plenty. Blissful no hurry ! Do
people who live in an atmosphere of
hurry know how delightful it is to
have plenty of time? But perhaps.

indeed, it is only the people who do
so live who thoroughly realize the joy
of occasionally having leisure, when
they go on their holidays. Nevertheless,
the wife of a well-known schoolmaster
once told me that her husband simply
could never enjoy a moment of time
unfilled. He always carried with him
the fuss-and-flurry atmosphere.

But Secunda would say that I am
getting into the atmosphere of a coming
homily ; so I had better stop. Only I
can not help recalling the lady who
once told me that she was so thankful
for the Central Railway, vulgo, the
Twopenny Tube, as she could now get
to her committees, etc., as soon as it
was possible to get to them. And
I heard her without any sympathy.
Besides, who knows how much savagely
faster we may one day go?

The end of the drive came at last,
as even an end unhurried must come;
and the omnibus turned for the very
last time, leaving at the right a grassy
path which we grew to know well
before we left the Plage. It led to a
little village, whose church tower I saw
every A&y from my bedroom window.
Then came the narrowed way, grad-
ually growing sandier and heavier till
the omnibus fairly crawled. We saw
the hotel of our destination straight in
front of us for some little time before
we attained thereto; its van -colored
tiles caught the light. On either side of
the drive there were small chalets, with
names which to us brutal (not brutal)
English folk seemed sentimental, more
or less. "A I'Avenue de la Plage" we
thought might be all very well; but
what of "Villa des Amis,' and others of
that ilk ? The bicyclists had arrived
some time before the "omnlbusites,"
and were waiting to assist, or offer to
assist, me in dismounting ; an atten-
tion which was, I liojje, politely, and
I know firmly, declined.

All three of us were, of course, fain
to run down to the sea before dinner;

THE AVE MARIA.

237

so we saw the luggage taken down
and went off through the little enclos-
ure in front, where there were tables
and chairs for the drinking of coffee.
This one enclosure was adorned by
a few poor transplanted firs, gradually
browning in decay; for no trees grew
there, sea -gods and wood -gods not
being in charity mutual. Down the
plank that lay on the sloping sand, off
the plank, on, on, as the width of the
low-tided beach revealed itself; down
to the very edge of the surf? Nay, for
there be little salt lakes and sweeps of
water that lie between them and the
isea, and there was not time to do
what by and by was done — take off
hosen and shoon, and walk or paddle
through the little depths. So we had
to content ourselves with the sight
and breath of the sea, and for the rest
wait and not long.

Our own little table at dinner. A
fight as to whether Prima or Secunda
was to have the seat fronting sea-
scape and sky-scape. Fight altruistic,
victor3- with Prima, but of course only
temporarily; battles won by Secunda
next day, and for a continuance. A
way Secunda has.

( Conclusiun next week. )

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SADI,IER.

As We Find Him.

BY THE REV. ARTHUR B. O'NEILL, C. S. C.

OOW shall we estimate the man we know?
What testimony give whene'er his name
Evokes in private groups unmeasured blame,
When acrid censure, dealing blow on blow,
Recounts his lapses of the long ago,

And swift-assenting voices loud proclaim

His lack of probity and truth and shame?
Shall we, because outnumbered, then forego
A protest frank? 'Twere cowardice most base.

If that our dealings with him bear not out
These diatribes,— to hold our peace, nor trace

His virtues which no candid foe may flout.
Though others deem our judgment sound or weak,
Of men, just as we fmd them, let us speak.

XXXI. — A Move in the Campaign.

DOW, in calling upon Miss Tabitha,
Lord Ayhvard had in view very
much the same purpose that had
actuated Jesse Craft. He had' heard,
on the golf links at Thorneycroft,
disquieting rumors which fitted in with
what Jesse had previously stated.
Miss Leonora's name had been coupled
there with that of the mill -manager.
In the stream of careless talk which
filled up the pauses of the game, one
of the 3'oung men had remarked that
it seemed as if Millbrook was going to
Ije treated to a surprise. It had been
led to expect, after the tableaux at the
Manor, that young Mr. Bretherton's
engagement would be announced to
Miss Tabitha's niece.

"Instead of which," the speaker con-
cluded, "it seems as if the fickle fair
one is about to bestow herself upon
Knox at the mill."

Aylward was secretl3' boiling with
indignation, both at the juxtaposition
of names and at the tone in which the
remarks were made. He stared hard
at the youth, in elaborate tennis
flannels, who had so delivered himself,
and who had been possibly aggrieved
upon some occasion by Leonora's
unconscious fashion of looking over
people's heads. The Englishman did
not see, however, that it would mend
matters for him to give utterance to
the angry retort which trembled upon
his lips. He was eminently .sensible,
and hence felt that such a procedure on
his part would simply give rise to
further talk. Nor was he precisely in a
position to affirm or to deny anj'thing.

A second speaker, toward whom
.Lord Aylward felt an instantaneous
glow of gratitude, declared that in

238

THE AVE MARIA.

his opinion it was an infernal shame
for so pretty a girl as Miss Chandler
to be yoked to a death's-head like
Knox. The matter was somewhat
hotly taken up ; and the general verdict
seemed to be that the elder Brethertons
had, of course, interfered to prevent
so undesirable a match for their son,
and that the young girl was consoling
herself ^with the manager.

Lord Aylward felt himself in an
exceedingly awkward position; but he
blurted out a few defiant sentences in
praise of Leonora, whom he pronounced
to be 'one of the most charming girls
he had ever met, far and away too
good for such a fellow as Knox.' He
also expressed his entire disbelief in
the rumor; and, though he did not
directly touch upon Jim Bretherton or
any member of the Bretherton house-
hold, he left a general impression upon
the minds of many that the status
of the affair was not at all as had
been stated.

After that the interest became general
in the "handicap match" for which
the Thorneycroft players were practis-
ing. A club from Boston was coming
up to contest a medal given by an
enthusiastic member.

Lord Aylward took far less than his
usual interest in the sport, and retired
from the links as soon as was prac-
ticable. He felt perturbed and uneasy.
He was indignant at the sentiments
he had heard expressed concerning
Leonora, and at the veiled laughter,
jest, and polite witticisms, which covered
a real bitterness. On his homeward
way, he mentally indulged in reflections
not too complimentar}' to the Thorney-
croft gentility, angrily muttering:

"They mistake the cackle of their bourg
For the murmur of the universe."

He was very anxious concerning the
alleged engagement of Leonora to Eben
Knox. He did not, of course, know
that the manager had pursued the
same tactics as on the occasion of the

election, and had circulated the report
as widely as possible, on the chance
that it might come true; while at the
same time terrorizing Aunt Tabitha,
and indirectly exerting an influence
upon Leonora herself. From what
Jesse Craft had said, Lord Aylward
was afraid that there might be more
in the rumor than merely the idle
surmises of local gossip. There might
be hidden away somewhere in the
domain of family mysteries a reason
sufficient to induce Leonora Chandler
to take this amazing step.

The young man thought it better,
however, to say nothing at all to Jim
Bretherton, who w^as awaiting with
ill - repressed impatience the close of
Leonora's retreat. The knowledge of
the girl's absence at the convent, indeed,
induced Lord Aylward to hazard a
visit to Miss Tabitha and the once
familiar precincts of Rose Cottage. The
adverse comments which he had heard
expressed at Thorneycroft against that
dwelling and its inmates had accentu-
ated both his love for Leonora and his
friendliness toward her aunt, and had
awakened that chivalric spirit which
slumbered in his somewhat ungainly
body. He had a vague idea, moreover,
that he might in some fashion or
other avert the impending catastrophe ;
though, in truth, he was not very clear
as to how he was to proceed in that
war upon "pizon snakes" which Jesse
Craft had so rashly declared, and so
confidently counted upon his assistance
in prosecuting.

Lord Aylward fancied that he might
possibly possess some influence with
Miss Tabitha, even as a friend of the
Brethertons; and that he might, at
least, learn from her the true state of
affairs, offer her his help, and in any
manner that might be suggested throw
himself into the breach. At the back
of it all was, perhaps, a vague hope
that if the match with Jim Bretherton
were proved to be an impossibility, he

THE AVE MARIA.

239

might be accepted as a substitute for
Eben Knox. If Jimmy still had the
faintest chance, he would, as he declared,
back him for everything he was worth ;
but if he had absolutely no chance,
then the young Britisher felt that he
would only too gladly re-enter the race
and fight to the death against that
other competitor.

Jesse Craft observed the approach of
Lord Aylward with gratification.

"Thar he comes!" he said to himself.
"And it's a move in the right direc-
tion,— the first mancEuvre in the war
in which him and me are engaged
agin 'pizon snakes.' I don't see yet
how far we can go ahead with that
campaign, but he may do something
toward talkin' Miss Tabithy over. He
has a mighty sensible way of talkin', if
he is a lord ; and not too many words
wasted, neither."

Lord Aylward was glad to find
himself once more in the garden, now
bereft of all its glory, as the vines upon
the house were denuded of their roses.
In the morning it had been sparkling
with hoar-frost and powdered with
soft, fine snow, which now, in the early
afternoon, had melted in the crisp,
frosty sunshine.

"I'm awfully glad to see you again,
don't you know, Miss Brown," Lord
Aylward observed, "and to be once
more at Rose Cottage!"

There was in this declaration a ring
of genuine sincerity and good -will,
which brought the tears to the eyes
of the poor lady, who had been so
harassed by conflicting emotions, and
plunged so unrelentingly into a chaos
of bewildering situations, wholly foreign
to her nature.

"I thank 3'ou most sincerely, Lord
Aylward!" Miss Tabitha said. "The
Cottage, humble though it is, opens its
doors very wide to its friends."

" It's an awfully jolly httle place ! "
Lord Aylward commented, partly
saying aloud what was really in his

thoughts, and partly gaining time. At
last he broke forth desperately: "I
suppose you know, Miss Tabitha, why
I have not been coming here so very
much of late?"

"I am sure you have very many
friends at the Manor and on the
Thomeycroft Road," Miss Tabitha
answered, enigmatically.

" Oh, it wasn't that, I assure you ! I'm
afraid I should only too willingly have
thrown most of them over for the
chance of coming here. The brief
glimpses I have had of the Cottage have
been almost my pleasantest impressions
of America. You are probably aware
that I found a very strong attrac-
tion in your niece's society. But Miss
Chandler wouldn't have anything to
say to me. She quite threw me over,
you know."

"My dear young gentleman," said
Miss Tabitha, earnestly, " I am sure
you are quite convinced by this time
that my niece has done you a real
service in discouraging your attentions.
I may say, though she is my relative,
that Leonora is a verj' pretty, amiable
girl ; and it was only natural that you
should be attracted, and, in a quiet
country-place like this, should lose your
head; but—"

Lord Aj'lward made a gesture. He
was, in truth, astonished to find so
much of shrewdness and worldly wis-
dom in Miss Tabitha, who appeared
the very impersonation of simplicity
and guilelessness. He knew that the
ordinary course of affairs would be
precisely as she had suggested ; but
Leonora, who was so different, he
thought, from other girls, made the
whole difference.

"You are mistaken," he said, gravely
and earnestly, — "quite mistaken. If I
had the ghost of a chance of succeeding,
I assure you that I should offer myself
over again just the same, and I should
be only too delighted if Miss Chandler
would look at me."

240

THE AVE MARIA

This was altogether inexplicj^ble to
Miss Tabitha, who thought that it was
only in fairy tales that men of rank
suffered themselves to be thus infatuated
with their social inferiors. She, there-
fore, despite the convincing sincerity of
this declaration, loftily waved it aside.

"You think so now," she said;
"but in the course of a few years
you will be very thankful that your
feelings did not lead you into any
extravagance. You owe it to yourself,
my lord, and to your distinguished
family — which I am told is second
only to royalty, — to make a suitable
alliance and to choose a wife in your
own immediate circle."

"By Jove, there isn't one of them
could hold a candle to Miss Leonora!"

"It is the way with young men!"
cried Miss Tabitha, as if her experience
had been both wide and comprehensive.
"And that is why I have endeavored
to discourage another attachment, if
I can call by so serious a name those
affairs of the heart in which wealthy
young gentlemen are apt to indulge."

"Are you referring," inquired Lord
Aylward, with some abruptness, "to
the affair between my friend Bretherton
and Miss Chandler?"

" Precisely, — though I should not
wish it mentioned that I had coupled
their names together. I have merely
done so on account of the foolish gossip
which arose from those very pretty
but unfortunate marriage tableaux
at the Manor. Two attractive young
people were thrown together in a
romantic setting, and Millljrook at
once jumped to a conclusion."

"Which is quite correct, so far as
my friend is concerned," declared Lord
Aylward ; " and I assure you that it was
solely the knowledge of his sentiments
which caused me to acquiesce with such
apparent readiness in Miss Chandler's
decision."

There was a note of soreness in his
voice, as though the subject were pain-

ful to him ; and Miss Tabitha, gazing
outward at distant Mount Holyoke,
glorified by the sunshine, wondered at
the strange fatality by which these two
men had fixed their affections upon her
niece. Either could have offered her a
brilliant and prosperous future. With
either she could have been, in a greater
or less degree, happy. Yet here was
the dark tangle of events intervening
to obscure the prospect. With this
thought came likewise that of Eben
Knox, who was probably watching
now from his corner window; and the
sight of the mill looming grimly against
the sky steeled her heart.

Lord Aylward, quite unconscious,
began that course of special pleading
which was his only conceivable means
of entering upon the warfare to which
he had pledged himself

"I was ass enough to fancy," he
resumed, "that Miss Chandler might
care for me. Now I know that her
preference has probably been bestowed
upon a better man. I'm quite sure that
if she consents to marr3' my friend,
they'll be awfully happy, don't you
know! They were just cut out for
each other."

Miss Tabitha's face was severe and
inscrutable.

"She'll have the best fellow in the
world for a husband," Lord Aylward
continued. "There's not another I've
ever met to match Jimmy Bretherton.
He's solid gold right through, and he's
awfully fond of her, as any fellow is
sure to be who knows her."

Miss Tabitha moistened her parched
lips, as a preliminary step to intro-
ducing her desire with regard to Eben
Knox. It must be owned that she
found it hard to descend to that level.
Since she and her niece had soared, as
it were, amongst the gods, it seemed
hard indeed to relegate themselves
once more to the ranks of the common
herd. She knew, moreover, that the
manager's personality could not from.

THE AVE MARIA.

241

any point of view be impressive to
Lord Aylv^'ard. Yet the greater evils
of that other alternative gave her a
factitious courage.

"I am sure it is very good of you,"
she said, with dignity, " to speak so
kindly of my niece, who is, after all, but
an obscure and penniless girl ; and also
to ascribe such sentiments in her regard
to 3'oung Mr. Bretherton. I assure you
it is a great honor that a Bretherton
of the Manor should have had such
flattering intentions. But I feel that
such a marriage is entirely out of the
question."

"And why, in the name of heaven?"
said Lord Aylward, impetuously. "Why
is it out of the question?"

"For one thing, because even if the
Governor and Mrs. Bretherton were to
approve, which is unlikely, / could not
approve of such a match. A Bretherton
of the Manor should form a suitable
alliance."

Despite his vexation. Lord Aylward
could not help laughing his hearty,
boyish laugh.

"One would think you were talking
of a reigning prince!" he exclaimed.

"The Bretherton family have stood
almost in that relation to Millbrook,"
Miss Tabitha declared, with majesty.

"Oh, that might have been the case a
century ago, or in the early Victorian
times, perhaps!" objected Lord Ayl-
ward. " But time has swept away most
of those cobwebs. Millbrook is essen-
tially democratic, even if it does retain
a pet weakness for the Brethertons.
Jimmjr himself is a democrat, and so am
I. Putting aside all that. Miss Tabitha,
there isn't a prince in the world too
good for Leonora. I don't believe any
fellow's good enough. Bretherton comes
the nearest, though. .\nd they're both
awfully strict Roman Catholics, and all
that sort of thing, don't you know! I
never was more astonished in my life
than when Jimm3' told me that he often
goes to confession. Fancy that! And

he gets up early in the morning. I
thought at first he was going fishing
or something, but he actually went
to church."

Miss Tabitha received this astounding
information in stony silence. In fact,
she tolerated the Catholicity of the
Brethertons only on the principle that
the king could do no wrong. She
waived that part of the subject, and
replied :

"I am sure young Mr. Bretherton
would make a perfect husband for any
woman. No one loves or admires him
more than I do. If he were my own
son, I could not feel more warmly
toward him. But that is all the more
reason why I should not permit him
to sacrifice, for a passing fancy, the
career that he may have before him."

Lord Aylward was annoyed at the
old woman's obstinacy, and at her
apparently cool disregard of her niece's
interest in favor of an outsider. It
seemed to him positively unnatural.
Of course he was unaware of the reasons
which lay behind it. Nor was he pre-
pared for that strange tenacity of
purpose which is sometimes observable
in weak characters.

Aunt Tabitha strengthened herself for
the final plunge, though she hesitated,
as it were, on the brink. With the
memory of that last interview with
Eben Knox still fresh in her mind, she
was only too anxious, once for all, to
proclaim to the world her own senti-
ments with regard to the manager, and
put a stop, if possible, to those other
complications which might prevent
her beautiful niece from making the
best of the situation and accepting
the inevitable.

" I have quite other views for my
niece," she declared emphatically. "It
has always been my wish that she
should marry a man of suitable
station— neither above nor below her,—
with suHicient wealth to secure her
future. Such a person is at hand. He

242

THE AYE MARIA.

has been devoted to her ever since she
was a girl at the convent. He loves
her to distraction, if you will pardon
the extravagance of the term."

Lord Aylward found nothing amiss
with the description which grated on
Miss Tabitha's Puritan sensibilities,
and was employed only to emphasize
her position. If Miss Tabitha had not
been harassed and w^orried out of
herself, she would have seriously ques-
tioned the propriety of using such
strong language to a young gentleman.
In fact, she felt that there had been
for some time past an almost indecorous
discussion of intimate feelings.

Aylward, on his part, thought the
term amazingly well applied, and could
quite understand how a fellow, seeing
Leonora in the delicate charm of
budding youth, had preserved a memory
of her ever afterward, and set her
apart in his imagination as a thing
"enskiedaud sainted." He bent eagerly
forward, however, to hear who the
man might be, refusing to believe that
Knox at the mill could ever have
harbored such a sentiment.

The chill sunshine of the wintry day
fell upon Miss Tabitha's cheek, which
had lost so much of its resemblance to
a pink, and the passing wind stirred
the feathers in her bonnet ; while she
nerved herself for the final effort, and
cleared her throat preparatory to that
announcement.

( To be continued. )

On the Assumption.

BY CIIARI.KS IIAXSON TOWNE.

UNTARNISHED thou, O Mary,

E'en by the kindly sod!
Lo! lily-pure as when thou cam'st,

Thou didst return to God !
The good earth knew thee not

Save for one little hour;
For God Himself it was who claimed

The sa4 world's whitest Flower!

A Poet's Praise.

IN the old dining -hall of the castle
of Aix-la-Chapelle, in the midst of
all the imperial pomp and magnificence,
Rudolph, ruler of the Holy Empire,
presided at the coronation feast. The
Count of Palatine brought forward
the dishes; the Elector of Bohemia
served the sparkling wine; all the
electors, seven in number, stood near
their royal master, each eager to
acquit himself of his particular function.

The people in joyous throngs crowded
the lofty galleries that surrounded
the hall, and the acclamations of the
multitude blended with the inspiriting
blasts of the trumpet. The general joy
was natural. At length, after a pro-
tracted series of deplorable struggles,
the long and sorrowful interregnum
was at an end. The sword would no
longer smite at haphazard, the weak
would have no further reason to fear,
the humble and peaceable would no
more become the prey of the mighty.

The Emperor took up his golden
goblet, and, casting around him a
benignant glance, began :

"This occasion is a brilliant one, and
this feast magnificent ; my heart is
enraptured therewith. But where is
the bard, who is the dispenser of joy,
who with his harmonious voice fills
the soul with emotion, and by his
inspired lessons raises it to heaven?
The bard! I loved to listen to him in
my youth ; and now, as Emperor, I do
not wish to deprive myself of this joy,
to exempt myself from this duty,
which, as becomes a true knight, I
have always cherished."

The bard appeared. The circle of
princes opened before him, and, clad
in a long robe, he came forward.
Around his head, whitened by the
years, silvery curls undulated lightly
like foliage stirred by summer breezes.

"Sweet harmony," said he, "sleeps

THE AVE MARIA.

243

in the chords of the lyre. The bard
celebrates chaste loves; he praises all
that is great and good; he gives voice
to the desires of the heart, to the
thoughts of the soul. But, tell me, sire,
what can I sing, on this solemn day,
that shall be worthy of the Emperor?"

" 'Tis not for me to command the
singer," said the royal host, with a
smile. "He is in the service of a higher
Master, — he obeys the inspiration that
moves him. When the storm -wind
traverses the air, none knows its origin
or whence it blows. Like the spring
which jets up from the depths of the
earth, is the poetry that wells from
the soul of the bard, and it stirs into
life a host of secret thoughts which
lay in mysterious slumber at the
bottom of our hearts."

The bard caught up his lyre, swept
its strings with a nervous hand, and
in a powerful voice began:

"A noble knight, on horseback, was
engaged in hunting; he pursued the
light chamois. His servant followed
him, in charge of his dogs. Borne by
his vigorous steed, the knight reached
the edge of a plain. The sound of
a hand -bell in the distance struck
his ear: it was a priest carrying the
Blessed Sacrament. Before him walked
a sacristan. The knight dismounted,
uncovered his head, and knelt humbly
upon the ground, rendering profound
homage to Him who had saved all
mankind. A stream that traversed
the plain had become swollen by the
melting of the snow, and now inter-
posed itself as a barrier before God's
minister. The Blessed Sacrament was
there on the bank, but the priest did
not hesitate. He took off his shoes,
preparatory to wading across.

" ' What are you doing ? ' whispered the
knight, who was looking on in wonder.
'Sir Count,' replied the priest, 'I am on
my way to a dying man. This stream
has become something of a torrent;
yet the dying must not lie deprived of

the heavenly consolation for which he
has called, so I am going to wade
over barefoot.' *

"The Count at once placed the priest
upon his own steed, and put the reins
in his hands so that he might the more
safely and speedily acquit himself of
his sacred function. As for himself, he
mounted his servant's horse and con-
tinued the chase. The priest finished
his journey in good time, and on the
following day returned to the Count
with the horse, which he led modestly
by the bridle.

"'The Lord forbid that I should
hereafter mount, either for war or the
chase, the steed that has borne my
Creator!' said the nobleman. 'If you
can not employ the horse in your own
service, let him remain consecrated to
God. So far as I am concerned, I have
offered the animal to Him from whom
I hold, as a loan, honor, the goods of
this world, my body and blood, my
soul and my life.'

"'May God,' rejoined the priest, —
'may God, whose power is infinite,
accord you glory everywhere and
always, — you who to-day render Him
this homage! You are a powerful
Count ; your exploits have given lustre
to your name throughout Switzerland ;
your home is adorned with seven lovely
and lovable daughters. Oh, may you
live to see seven crowns in your house,
and may your renown spread to even
the last of your descendants!'"

With head inchned, the Emperor
mused, recalling memories of the long
ago. Then, fixing his eyes on the coun-
tenance of the bard, he understood the
significance of the improvisation: he
recognized the features of the assisted
priest himself Bowing his head and
hiding his face," he allowed the tears,
which he was unable to restrain, to
fall upon his purple mantle. All eyes
were fixed upon the royal hero, for
everyone recognized in him the Count
of whom the poet had sung.

244

THE AVE MARIA.

A Great W^ork of Charity from Small
Beginnings.

THE city of Montreal possesses
numberless and impressive works
of charity ; but amongst them all
none, perhaps, has been founded under
greater difficulties, or has shown a more
marvellous progress, than the Catholic
Sailors' Club. Its Ninth Annual Report,
which reveals a most satisfactory state
of affairs, can give no hint of those
first small beginnings, or of the arduous
task of inauguration and of organiza-
tion which fell to the lot of the pioneer
members.

Some ten years ago, a handful of men
belonging to the Catholic Truth Society,
comparatively poor and obscure in
circumstances, made the initial effort.
They aimed simply at securing a room
in a convenient locality, where the
sailors might gather in those long and
aimless evenings ashore which are so
perilous; where, moreover, they might
find salutary influences, and friends to
extend toward them, strangers in a
strange land, the hand of fellowship.
These devoted men at once set about
interesting in the work some prominent
ladies and gentlemen.

Membership at first was very limited.
It was a new departure, and much
doubt was expressed about its success ;
especially as it was undertaken by
English-speaking Catholics, in a city
where they are altogether in the
minority. Episcopal sanction, however,
w^as obtained, a room was found, and
the Catholic Sailors' Club began its
existence. It has jjrovcd to be ven*' like
the evangelical grain of mustard seed,
expanding into an immense tree, whose
branches, so to say, give comfort and
protection to many. The large and
commodious quarters, and the valuable
ground acquired, have recently under-
gone alterations, which are only the
prelude to more imijortant extensions

and improvements. Not only are the
annual current expenses met, with a
satisfactory surplus, but the building
fund is steadily assuming substantial
proportions.

The advisory board of the Club
comprises the names of most of the
prominent Catholic and English-speak-
ing citizens of Montreal. The list of
annual subscribers includes the leading
commercial firms, both Catholic and
non-Catholic. The ladies' committee has
likewise a large membership, and shows,
besides, a goodly list of contributors.
The work of the ladies consists in col-
lecting funds for the current expenses,
visiting the sick sailors in the hospital,
and attending in a variety of ways to
the well-being both of the Club and the
seamen who are its frequenters.

Another means of revenue is the
weekly concert, the music for which is
supplied by the sailors themselves, by
the choirs of the various churches, and
by volunteers, amateur and profes-
sional. These concerts are extremely well
patronized by the public, and are much
enjoyed by the large audiences.

The present Annual Report shows a
progress in every respect. The number
of sailors that visited the Club in the
six months intervening between April
30 and November 20, 1904— the season
of navigation in Canada — was 35,109.
Of these, 336 are reported as having
taken the total abstinence pledge; for
it is to be noted that the work of
temperance is effectively, though very
quietly, carried on.

The religious well-being of the seamen
is considered in numerous ways. A
Alass is said on Sunday mornings in
the Club House, at the most convenient
hour, so that not only the sailors, but
the firemen and stokers on board the
ships, nia3' attend, without reference to
their costume, which is no small matter.
On Sunday evenings a short sermon
is given, followed by Benediction. The
men are provided with copies of the

THE AVE MARIA.

245

prayer-book specially compiled b}' the
Catholic Truth Society of England for
the use of mariners. They are also
supplied with rosaries, scapulars, etc.

All this is done very unobtrusively.
There is no attempt whatever to coerce,
in matters of religion, any visitor to
the Club. Non-Catholics are cordially
received without regard to their creed,
though the Club is essentially and
primarilj' for Catholics— to strengthen
them in the practice of their holy Faith
and to provide them with as many
facilities as possible for its exercise.
Of course the Report gives no hint,
rior will it ever be known on this
side of eternity, how many have been
influenced to good, directly or indirectly,
through the instrumentality of the
organization. The chaplain is frequently
edified by the fervent confessions made
there, sometimes after long years of
absence from the sacraments; and by
the simple, earnest and manly faith
of those "toilers of the sea."

For the reading-rooms there is sup-
plied wholesome literature, including
nearh- all the chief Catholic magazines
and newspapers, many of which are
generously contributed from the various
off ces, others being donated b}' members
of committees and bj' outside friends
of the Club. Packages of this reading
matter are made up, one of which is
placed on board every outgoing vessel.
The Report mentions 7000 packages as
thus distributed during the past year.
This literature is read in many in-
stances by every soul on board, and is
frequently passed on afterward to the
homes of the seamen.

The reading-rooms are also provided
with abundance of stationer^-, so that
the sailors ma}- write their letters
thence; and their correspondence is
directed to the Club. In the evenings,
or during the leisure hours of the day,
the sailors assemble in the rooms to
read, write letters, or amuse them-
selves with the various games provided

in the fine and spacious game -room.

Various little details which make for
increased comfort on shipboard — such
as pipes and ditty-bags — receive atten-
tion from the ladies' committee. For
the instruction of the uninitiated, it
may be mentioned that these bags con-
tain soap, thread, pins, needles, buttons
and tape, and are quite invaluable.
Another special work of the ladies'
committee is the visiting of the sailors
who, through illness or accident, are
taken to the hospitals.

Even after death, the Club still has a
watchful care over its seamen. Dying
in port, the3' are interred with all
honor in a plot on the mountain-side,
in the heart of the Catholic cemetery.
In the centre of the plot is a monument
bearing the inscription, "Our Sailors."

In cases of extreme distress, the
phj'sical needs of the Catholic sailors
receive attention ; and if they become
in any way amenable to the law, or if
disagreements occur between them and
their employers, the gentlemen of the
advisory board, and especially the
devoted president, Mr. F. B. McNamee,
come forward to be assured that justice
is done them. The Club thus extends
its solicitude over the sailors at every
point.

On their part, the sailors take pride
and pleasure in their Club. Their good
conduct within its apartments is unfail-
ing. Not a single instance of disorderly
behavior has ever been reported there.
The Club removes from them that sense
of isolation which, in former years,
those who "go down to the sea in
ships" have had to endure. They were
practically cut off" from their fellow-
Catholics, both afloat and ashore, and
exposed to numberless temptations. It
is beyond question that the Club con-
tributes directly and indirectly to their
moral and religious welfare, and gives
them the assurance that they can
always count upon finding there, at
least, devoted friends. The amount of

246

The aye MARIA.

positive good done and of evil pre-
vented will never be known till the
great accounting day.

Meantime it is no small thing to
contribute to the comfort and happiness
of those brave and hard-working men,
who in so many ways promote the
well-being of the community at large.
The work, in all its aspects, is pro-
foundly interesting: in the spiritual
order, because of the striking conver-
sions, baptisms on deathbeds, and other
remarkable graces ; and in the material
order, from a variety of causes.

The men are touched by the romance
and mystery of the sea ; and their con-
versation is usually most interesting.
They have visited the farthest lands
and have frequently met with strange
adventures. They have a lore of their
own and a quaintness of speech which
invest them with a distinct charm in
the eyes of land-folk. Their calling is
a romantic ' one ; its very perils and
hardships render it unique. The wild
nights on stormy seas, the cruises under
alien stars, the varied experiences which
nearly all of them have had, lend them
a character apart. They are seldom
completely prosaic; and, as a class,
they are deeply grateful for kindness
shown, and readily susceptible to its
influence.

Altogether, those who engage in this
truly apostolic work find therein a
reward. They feel a natural gratifi-
cation in beholding the commodious
structure, the handsome concert hall,
reading-rooms and game -room which
have sprung from that one loft of ten
years ago, rendered habitable only by
the most strenuous efforts on the part
of the pioneer members of the Club.
And if the labors of those interested
find thus a reward here below, surely,
in the multiplication of graces, in the
assurance of helping many a fellow-being
onward toward the supreme goal, they
may look for a rich aftermath in the
eternal harvesting.

Notes and Remarks.

It has often been observed that
ex - President Cleveland has many
admirers among the Catholic clergy;
on the other hand, one could quote
from memory some very pretty expres-
sions of Mr. Cleveland regarding our
priests. The Saturday Evening- Post
(August 5) contains an article from the
ex- President's pen on "Old-Fashioned
Honesty and the Coming Man," in the
course of which "a shrewd old priest"
is made to read a brief but pointed
lecture to college men. " I have recently
read," writes Mr. Cleveland, "of a
shrewd old parish priest who, advising
his young assistant, said : ' Be up and
about and out in the world. Be a
man and live like a man ! ' I can not
help thinking that these words furnish
a clue to human sympathy and interest
in the concerns of everyday life which
have given the Catholic priesthood
such impressive success in influencing
the conduct and consciences of those
to whom they minister. In the light
of all I have written, I can not do
better, by way of saying a parting word
to the entire body of our college men,
than to repeat to them the advice of
the old priest: 'Be up and about and
out in the world. Be a man and live
like a man!'" Not a bad motto to
copy into the bright scrapbook of
youth whom fate reserves for a glorious
manhood.

Reference to the absence of crime
among the Portuguese in this country
reminds us that devotion to the Blessed
Virgin is a characteristic of this people.
The whole countrj' is studded with
shrines and temples in honor of the
Virgem Santissima. In the principal
towns and villages it is no uncommon
sight to see at the comer of the street
a niche with a statue of Our Lady.
Her principal feasts are of obligation.

THE AVE MARIA.

247

Among the most famous temples dedi-
cated to the Mother of God is the
beautiful church of Belem, near Lisbon.
At Braga — called on account of the
number of its churches, the Rome of
Portugal,— on the hill alongside the
Bom Jesus is the temple of the famous
image of Our Lady of Sameiro, which
is borne in solemn procession through
the streets of the city when there is a
dearth of rain. The love of Portuguese
mariners for the Mad re Cara, as they
call her, is immortalized in song and
story. Among the multitude of ex-votos
hanging on the walls of the shrine just
mentioned, many are in thanksgiving
for preservation from the perils of
the sea.

Archbishop Bourne recently addressed
the Congress of the Royal Institute of
Public Health. In the course of his
very interesting speech — which, by the
way, will probably soon be issued in
pamphlet form, — the English prelate
adverted to the debt which medicine,
not less than the other arts and sciences,
owes to the religious Orders. In con-
nection with this matter, his Grace,
says the Catholic Times, "also drew
attention to a fact less widely known —
that Blessed Thomas More, in his
famous work 'Utopia,' was the first
writer in England to suggest the
establishment of separate hospitals for
infectious diseases in every town. This
suggestion lay dormant for hundreds
of years, until within the last century
it has been adopted the world over.
What Blessed Thomas More writes on
such subjects as the housing of the
people, water supply, street construc-
tion, pure food and clothing, reads like
a code condensed from the Public Health
Acts of the last thirty years. In the
Middle Ages every cult selected its
patron saint ; and the modern sanita-
rian can look to no more appropriate
exemplar than the great English lawyer,
sheriff, chancellor and martyr, Blessed

Thomas More." An appropriate exem-
plar, indeed ; but one whose name has
of late years received a prefix that will
effectually bar its being given to any
other than a Catholic hospital, sana-
torium, or medical institution of any
kind, — at least for some time to come.

It is a pleasure to record the fact
that the current session of the Catholic
Summer School at Cliff Haven, New
York, is admittedly the most successful
in the history of that notable and
meritorious enterprise. Few save the
immediate organizers of the Champlain
Assembly would have credited, a few
years ago, the prediction of the actual
conditions of to-day, — a colony of more
than eight hundred residents dwelling
in the cottages on the Summer School
grounds, with a series of lectures
delivered from day to day during the
successive weeks by some of the fore-
most Catholic teachers and thinkers of
the country. The doubters and cynics
of earlier days have yielded to the
inevitable logic of existing facts ; and,
viewing the very gratifying results
already achieved, are among the
heartiest admirers and well-wishers of
the Catholic Summer School. Our con-
gratulations to the energetic workers
who refused to be discouraged even
when discouragement was excusable;
they have won laurels where less
optimistic laborers would have assur-
edly met with defeat.

It would be a surprise to many -of the
faithful, and a reproach to perhaps as
many more, to know how generously,
even self-sacrificingly, non - Catholics
contribute to the support of emissaries
of the sects in foreign lands. A corre-
spondent of the London Tablet says:
"I can remember several comparatively
poor people in my Anglican days who,
by means of boxes and personal appli-
cations, collected from £5 to £10 a
year for the S. P. G. or the C. M. S. . . . A

248

THE AYE MARIA.

I'rotestant gentleman told me only last
week that he often collected as much
as £25 in a year from his friends,
and that without undue solicitation.
What results we should have," adds
the writer, "if pious Catholics would
do the same!"

» ■ ^

In commenting upon the trials of
our foreign missionaries, we have some-
times noted the discouraging slowness
of growth visible in mar.y a field
watered with the prayerful tears of
devoted priests. A totally different story
is that of missionar3' work in the Gilbert
Islands, in Oceanica, on the equator.
It was only seventeen years ago that
the first Catholic priest, Father Bon-
temps, visited the archipelago. Yet
to-day fourteen thousand cf the thirty-
five thousand natives are baptized ;
there are fifty-one missionaries, eighty
churches, eighty schools, ten residences
for priests, eight for Sisters, and eighty
native cabins for the use of catechists;
and there is even a sort of seminary
for the training of these catechists.
Tropical vegetation is proverbially
swift; and, judging from the foregoing
facts, religious growth is almost equally
rapid in the Gilbert Islands.

The saying that Death loves a shining
mark was strikingly verified in the
case of the lamented Archbishop of New
Orleans, who was among the first to
succumb to the epidemic now raging
in our Southern metropolis. He was
absent in country districts adminis-
tering Confirmation when the disease
broke out ; but, although in an impaired
condition of health, he hastened back to
his post in New Orleans, to direct and
share the labors of the clergy in behalf
of the victims of the scourge, and to
co-operate with the city officials in their
efforts to control its ravages. His life
was the price of his devotedness.

Mgr. Chapelle was a native of France,
and in his sixty-third year. He came

to this country when a young man,
and here he completed his ecclesias-
tical studies. As a pastor in Baltimore
and Washington, he gave proof of
possessing qualifications for the more
important offices which he was after-
ward called upon to fill — coadjutor to
the Archbishop of Santa F^, Archbishop
of New Orleans, Apostolic Delegate to
Cuba and Porto Rico, and later to the
Philippines. There are differences of
opinion regarding the value of the
services which he rendered to our gov-
ernment, but it can not be denied that
great good resulted from his visits to
the West Indies and the Orient. The
Catholics of Porto Rico are especially
indebted to him; and there— outside of
his own archdiocese — he will be most
gratefully remembered.

Although highly respected and deeply
beloved by many who knew him inti-
mately, adverse criticism seems to have
been the lot of Archbishop Chapelle.
It is even said that it was imprudence
on his part to return to New Orleans
and expose himself to infection. No!
his example was more precious than
his life; and it must be accepted as
a proof of his single-heartedness. His
death has edified all classes of our
citizens, and offers a splendid example
of sacerdotal self-sacrifice.

From the Inter-Ocean, a daily paper
published in Chicago, we copy the
following remarkable tribute to the late
Archbishop Chapelle. "A Soldier of the
Cross" is its title, and it has the place
of honor on the editorial page :

The manner of the death of the Most Rev.
Placide Louis Chapelle, Archbishop of New
Orleans, is a fine example of devotion to priestly
duty, and a high inspiration to the shepherds
of all divisions of the Christian flock. When
the yellow plague appeared in his See city,
Archbishop Chapelle was absent on a visitation
of his diocese. He was old ; he was of a habit
of body peculiarly liable to fatal attack from
this disease; his Church had intrusted to him
important tasks uncompleted; he was out of

THE AYE MARIA.

249

danger. There were many reasons, ecclesiastical
as well as personal, why he should stay out of
danger, or at least not run to meet it. These
reasons did not appeal to Placide Louis Chapelle.
He may have thought of them, — undoubtedly
they were suggested to him. But he put them
aside. He remembered only that he was a soldier
of the Cross, that his place was in the forefront
of the battle, aiding to give the consolations of
his faith and theirs to the suffering and the dying.
He returned to New Orleans immediately, and
went at once into the stricken quarter to
supervise, direct, and aid the works of religion
there. Within a few hours he himself was
stricken with the plague, and within a few days
his work on earth was done. The valiant soldier
of the Cross had fallen at the post of danger
and of duty, where priestly honor and Christian
faith called him to be. Therefore Christians
of all denominations may well say of Placide
Louis Chapelle, "Soldier of God, well done!'
and pray that his brave and faithful soul may
rest in that everlasting peace which passeth
all understanding.

Writing from the shores of Lake
Nyanza, Africa, Sister Mary Claver
makes an appeal for the sufferers from
the "sleeping sickness" now patients in
the Kisoubi Hospital, in Uganda. It
is about three years since this dread
malady made its appearance in that
part of Africa, and for the past two
years the missionary Fathers have been
treating on an average two hundred
of the "sleepers." An especially inter-
esting paragraph of the Sister's letter
runs: "The very name of the malady,
'sleeping sickness,' leads one to suppose
that its victims sufiFer little, if at all;
but it is an error to think that they
sleep much or that their numbness is
a real and peaceful slumber."

As a matter of fact, the victims when
first stricken suffer great pains all over
the bodj', notably in the stomach ;
many complain especially of pains in
the head. The symptoms which declare
the presence of the disease are swellings
of the glands of the neck, a yellowish
tinge to the complexion, languid eyes,
and, above all, a fetid odor. As the
malady progresses, nervous grimaces
and contortions of the mouth and nose

are frequent ; there is an unconquer-
able desire to scratch stomach and
arms with fury; many sleep scarcely
at all and some become insane, often
violently so. The course of the disease
is from four months to as many
years, and it is fatal. The hospital
specifically devoted to the care of these
unfortunates is, on the face of it, an
exceptionally meritorious work well
worthy of the beneficent assistance of
Christian charity. Needless to state
that pagan and Protestant as well as
Catholic natives receive the care of the
devoted missionaries; hence the special
force of Sister Claver's appeal.

Notwithstanding the low ebb which
religious sentiment has apparently
reached in some parts of France, the
town of St. Malo, in Brittany, recently
paid signal honor to the memory of a
sixteenth-century discoverer who was
essentially a religious hero. An impos-
ing monument to Jacques Cartier was
unveiled with considerable pomp and
solemnity in that seaport, which, about
the date of Columbus' discovery of
America, witnessed his birth. Cartier
himself was the discoverer of Canada,
his first voyage being made in 1534.
At Gasp^ he planted a cross thirty feet
high, "and showed it to the astonished
savages as the mysterious sign through
which all men must be saved." In his
second voyage, in 1535, the Breton
sailor went up the St. Lawrence to
the Indian village of Stadacona, now
Quebec ; and thence to Hochelaga, now
Montreal. Several additional voyages
followed during the next six years ; and,
while Champlain and one or two others
are called founders of different cities of
Canada, to Cartier undoubtedly belongs
the fame of its discovery.

We have been interested by an account,
given in the Missions Catholiques, of
the farewell ceremonies attending the

250

THE AVE MARIA.

departure of a missionary in the Ha-
waiian Islands from Pahoa, in the
district of Puna, for Honolulu, the
capital. Father Ulrich Taube, the priest
in question, has evidently endeared
himself during his eight years' residence
in Puna to the entire population of that
district, and of the adjoining one, Hilo.
Protestants and Catholics, natives and
whites, — all were a unit in eulogizing
the retiring missionary. As a specimen
of occasional oratory among the Ka-
nakas, we give here a translation of our
Lyonese contemporary's version of the
discourse delivered by Judge Kamau :

We are gathered here to say good-bye to Father
Ulrich, who is called to a higher post, where his
talents will have a wider scope. While bitterly
regretting his leaving us, we nevertheless con-
gratulate him upon this promotion. We all
know and fully appreciate his work among the
Hawaiians of Puna, and we regard with admira-
tion the results which he has achieved. He has
been a master and guide to the young, a blessing
and comfort to the old and afflicted, a friend
and companion to all. He has taught our young
folk music, and organized an excellent orchestra
out of the most unpromising material. He opened
his house to , our j-oung men, encouraging them
to consider it a club whither they might come
to recreate themselves ; and has thus saved them
from wasting their time and money in drinking
saloons. No distance has ever been too great and
no storm too violent to keep him from visiting
the sick and the poor. A^any of us will never see
him again, but we shall alwaj-s cherish his
memory; and, go where he will, our hearts will
accompany him.

As an after-dinner speech at a fare-
well banquet, the foregoing impresses
us as a ver3r creditable effort.

In a recent circular letter to his
clergy, Cardinal Moran, Archbishop of
Sydney, makes a strong plea for the
greater diffusion of the publications of
the Catholic Truth Society of Australia.
As one reason why all the faithful
should procure and read such publi-
cations, his Eminence saj's:

At present we see marshalled against the
Church in hostile array these insidious foes : free
thought, religious indifterence, Godless education.

immorality and ignorance. In their attacks
against Divine Truth, they avail of the facilities
which the public press affords them to scatter
broadcast, at a nominal price, books, tracts and
pamphlets replete with the foulest calumnies
against religion, and poisoning the very fountain
sources of Christian morality and Christian life.
Several societies with vast resources at their
command seem to have no other aim than to
flood the home countries and the colonies with
such anti-Christian and anti-Catholic publica-
tions All these hostile agencies leave nothing

undone to perpetuate calumnies, a thousand
times refuted, against the Church's d(x:trine or
discipline, to misrepresent her divine mission, to
belie or ignore her beneficent action on society,

and to stir up odium against her pastors

While endeavoring to counteract all the agencies
of error that assail her, it is the desire of Holy
Church that Literature should become the hand-
maid of Religion. The Catholic Truth Society,
in an humble way, will do its part toward
attaining this great end. It purposes to bring
Catholic literature within the reach of all, and
to make it accessible to all.

We have frequently advocated in these
columns the more general purchase by
the faithful of the different booklets,
pamphlets, leaflets, etc., issued by the
various Truth Societies of the Catholic
world. As an antidote to the agnostic,
indifferentist, and anti-Catholic litera-
ture with which the general reader's
mind is saturated, such publications
have become in our day a quasi-
necessity, and their trifling cost robs
even the poor of an excuse for not
securing them.

The common notion that spirits give
stamina is disproved to a nicety
by Sir Frederick Trever's experiences
among the English troops in South
Africa, recounted by the Queen, of
London. He alluded to the enormous
column of 30,000 men who marched
to the relief of Ladysmith ; those who
were the first to fall out were not the
fat or the thin, the young or the old,
or the short or the tall, but those who
drank. So well marked was this fact
that the drinkers could have been no
more clearly distinguishable if they had
worn placards on their backs.

"Who was Happiest?

I WONDER who was happiest

The first Assumption Day,
When hosts of saints and angels lined

Their Queen's blest upward way?

I wonder if they eager pressed,

As earthly subjects do.
To catch the first gleam of her smile

Or touch her mantle blue?

I wonder if 'twas Michael led

The happy angel throng
Tliat formed Our Lady's body-guard

And raised triumphant song?

I wonder if 'twas Gabriel,
To whom the joy was given

Of saying "Ave! " first on earth,
Who said it first in heaven?

But, oh, I'm sure in all that host

The proudest, gladdest One
Was He who said, "iV\y Mother, hail!"

When Mary cried, " My Son 1 "

The Little Hungarians.

BY MRS. MARY E. MAN'NIX.

XVI. — Flight in the Night,

TEFFAN very seldom drank
to excess, though he always
f^ambled whenever he found an
opportunit3^ But that night,
when the children were asleep, he went
out and met a couple of men, who
invited him into a saloon, where they
played several games of cards and
imbibed a large tiuantity of beer.

The moon, which rose late, was
shining brightly into the tent when
Louis was awakened by the sound of
unstead}- feet. Lifting his hcjid, he saw-
that Steffan was intoxicated, mumbling

foolishly, and interspersing his remarks
with oaths. He threw himself wearily
upon the mattress in one corner which
he had appropriated to his own use,
and was soon snoring loudly.

As Louis listened, all the rebellious
thoughts which lately had been surging
through his brain reasserted themselves.
It seemed impossible to endure any
longer the life he and Rose were leading.
Judging by the past months, there was
nothing but misery and privation in
store for them in the future. He also
began to fear that they might be
arrested, and then they would certainly
be parted. Louis had never before been
so close to a drunken man; he was
both afraid and disgusted.

Rose stirred uneasily in her sleep, —
probably disturbed by the noise of
Steffan's snoring. Suddenly she sat up,
frightened, and whispered:

" What is that, Louis ? Is there a dog
in the tent?"

"No, Rosie," he answered. "It is
Steffan, and he is drunk."

"I am afraid of him. Maybe he will
kill us?"

"Oh, no: he won't do that!"

"Let us get up and dress and go
out," said Rose. "I do not want to
stay here with a drunken man."

"Nor do I," replied Louis. "We will
get up."

Very softly thej' rose, dressed them-
selves, and lifted the flap of the tent
and went out into the fresh air. It was
a lovely night; everything could be
seen as clearly as though it were day.
The pretty houses nestling behind their
green foliage looked homelike and
peaceful. A long, white road stretched
out in the distance. It seemed to wind
indefinitely, — to the very edge of the
world, thought Louis as he gazed.

252

THE AVE MARIA.

And then a sudden inspiration took
hold of him.

"Rose," he said, "let us run away."

"From Steffan?"

"Yes. Let us go now — this moment,
while he is asleep."

"But he will wake and follow us,
and find us."

" Perhaps not. He does not know
this place any better than we do. And
if he should find us, Rosie, we could
tell the people that we did not belong
to him, that he is not our father."

"And then what would they do,
Louis? Put us in some jail, maybe —
and forever."

"No, no, they would not, if we told
them the truth ! I am tired of living as
we are. I can't stand it any longer.
And now I am afraid it is going to be
worse. Steffan told me once that he
did not often drink too much, but that
when he did he kept at it for a long
time. It would be dreadful to have
to live with a drunken man."

"Drunken men swear and scold
awfully, don't they, Louis?"

"Sometimes."

"And he might even beat us."

"So he might."

"Well, let us run away, Louis.

shall

v^^e

sleep

am
the

ready. But where
rest of the night?"

"Under some tree, maybe."

"I think that will be fun."

"I am not so sure of the fun, but at
least we shall be free."

"Do you think Steffan will wake if
we go in to pack our clothes?"

"What have we to pack? Nothing
but rags," rejoined Louis, bitterly.
"No: we will leave everything except
the music. We will take that."

"All right. Let us go. But where?"

"We will put ourselves in the hands
of God, and He will not fail to take
care of us," said Louis, solemnly'.
"Come softly^ Rose."

Once more thc3' entered the tent,
Steffan was snoring vigorously.

"He will sleep a lOng time," said
Louis. " We can get a good start in
the moonlight."

Very soon they emerged from the
tent, Louis carrying a violin and
guitar, while Rose had the jnandolin.

"Take care of us, O God! Mother
Mary, guide us!" murmured Louis,
taking Rose by the hand.

"Amen!" she responded reverently,
and they began their journey.

Presently they were on the long,
white, dusty road. The .sense of escape,
of freedom, was so exhilarating in itself
that new life began to bound in their
veins. Scarcely uttering a word, they
trudged happily along, drinking in deep
draughts of the fresh, aromatic air.
The moonlight laj' upon the sides of
the pinkish grey hills like drifts of
snow, dark clumps of scrub oak rising
between. These hills were comparatively
far away, but they seemed very near
to the children as they journeyed. The
beneficent moon also smiled kindly
down upon the great, leaves of the
Spanish bayonet • which dotted the
roadside here and there, flecking the
wild grass interspersed with sagebrush.
Then, as they passed the bend of the
highroad, which left the town behind
them and altogether out of sight, a
sense of loneliness came upon them.
The\' had cut loose from ever3' tie, from
every bond, however friendly, however
irksome and galling.

"Louis, I am so tired!" said Rose,
suddenly pausing in the lirisk walk they
had kept up for an hour or more.
"Let us sit down."

" Vei-y well, we will," said her brother.
"But we'll wait until we come tq
that clump of trees over yonder. It
is a little chilly now, and they will
shelter us."

It was a eucalyptus grove, thickly
planted. The scraggy grey slender
trunks and ragged branches had a
homelike, welcoming appearance ; heaps
of freshly cut boughs lay upon the

THE AVE MARIA.

253

ground. Evidently some one had been
trimming the trees.

Rose threw herself upon one of them,
and was fast asleep in five minutes.
But not so Louis: his mind was too
full of care, his heart too anxious.
While his little sister laj' peacefully
slumbering he went forward to the edge
of the grove and looked about him.
They were in a beautiful valley rising
gradually to the foothills, the base of
which was specked with ranch houses,
though Louis could not see them in
the now fading moonlight. Eleven
thousand feet above, San Jacinto's
continually' snow - crowned summit
glimmered faintly through the quiver-
ing, dying, misty light of the moop,
presaging the advent of another day.

A shiver passed through the boj-'s
frame; he felt cold, and immediately
thought of Rose, fearing she would
suffer from the chilly air. He went
back to look at her lying in her nest
of leaves. Almost hidden by the
branches which encircled her on every
side, she presented a picture of perfect
peace and rest. But her jjrother could
not help contrasting her present
appearance with that of a few months
before, ere the deluding . and false-
speaking Steffan had cast his covetous
eyes upon them. Her pretty curly hair
was tossed above a pale forehead,
where Louis fancied the veins were
almost as blue as those of his poor
father previous to his death. Her
cheeks were wan and pinched ; and her
fingers, lightly clasped, were almost
transparent.

"What if she were dead?" thought
the boy, as he laid his hand upon h^r
brow. But no — what a blessed relief! —
it was quite warm ; so were her hands.

Nothing could have been more fortu-
nate than to find such a place to rest;
nothing more comfortable than the
piled -up boughs, — mattress, coverlet,
and screen, in one. Louis yawned. The
couch looked tempting. Gently passing

round to the other side, he sought
another heap of branches and lay
down. Nature enfolded him in her
sheltering arms. The tips of the
eucalyptus leaves touched his forehead ;
the pleasant, camphor -like smell of
the branches calmed his wearied senses.
He closed his tired ej'cs, and almost
immediately forgot all the cares and
sorrows of the past, all apprehension
for the future, in the sweet repose
which enwrapped him.

And while he slept he dreamed. He
thought he saw his father and Florian
walking hand in hand. They were smil-
ing and advancing toward him. He
rose to greet them ; but they passed on,
beckoning him to follow. He tried to
do so, but could not : his head seemed
bursting, his limbs heavy as iron. Still
looking back, they walked slowly on,
gradually disappearing from view. In
despair, he cried out :

"Father, father! Florian!"

And a moment later he was awakened
by a vigorous shaking from the hands
of Rose.

"Louis, Louis! What is the matter
with 3'ou?" she cried. "Wake up, —
wake up ! You were having a dreadful
nightmare, and I was so frightened!"

Louis sat up and looked about him,
his senses scattered, a sharp pain in
his back. He had been lying on a
gnarled and knotted bough, toward
which he had moved in his sleep.

"Yes, I have had the nightmare,
Rose," he said, pulling the cause of his
distress from under him. "Just think
what a little thing like this can do
when it is in the wrong place! I lay
on my back, this crooked twig beneath
me, and it made me dream that father
and Florian were here, that they
wanted me to' go with them and I
could not. My feet would not move,
and I began to call after them."

" What did you think you were
saying?"

" Father, father ! Florian ! "

254

THE AVE MARIA.

"Instead of that you were making
a descending scale of dreadful moans,"
said Rose. "It was terrible!"

"It must have been," laughed Louis,
his horror altogether vanished. "But I
feel refreshed. And you, Rosie, — if only
you could know how comfortable you
looked lying there in your green bed!"

"It w^as lovely. Have I slept long,
Louis?"

"Several hours, I think. But we dare
not stay here much longer. We must
get as far away as we can."

"O dear! O dear!" sighed Rose, the
look of distress which had so long
been habitual returning to her inno-
cent, childish face once more. "I had
forgotten all about it."

Throwing her arms around her
brother, she began to sob violently.
But the tears were really beneficial:
they relieved her, and after they had
subsided she felt hopeful again.

Hand in hand, they passed from the
eucalyptus grove to the welcoming
road, still white and dusty, but no
longer silvered by the moonlight, which
had given place to the pearly tints of
dawn.

( To be continued. )

Lammas Day Customs.

In November, May, February, and
August four great pagan festivals were
held in Britain; and the Gwyl or Gule
of August was the feast of the harvest.
When Christianity was introduced into
the Isle of the Angles, a loaf of bread
was offered up at church as a symbol
of the grain harvest. The service in
which this loaf was presented was
called Hlaf Mass, which was finally
shortened into Lammas. In Lothin
quaint customs of Lammas continued
until well into the last century.

There are many shepherds and cow-
herds upon these wolds, and their
custom was to build a sod house
or tower on Lammas Day. Here the

herders breakfasted together on bread
and cheese and a pint of stout ;
and, blowing horns and bearing flags,
marched and raced and enjoyed athletic
sports. Each party tried to pull down
the sod house of some other party of
herders, and many friendly contests
ensued.

It was customary on Lammas Day
to give servants a present of money
to buy gloves. "A fairing for gloves
on Lammas Day," the old account
books read ; and the clerk, the cellarer,
the granger, and even the herdsman
received a present. It was also the
custom to give to the Pope on that
day, and this was called Denarius Saacti
Petri, or Peter's Pence.

The Kilkenny Cats.

Everybody has heard of the quarrel-
some cats of Kilkenny that fought till
nothing was left but their tails. Strange
as the story seems, it has a foundation
of fact.

During the Rebellion in Ireland in
1803, Kilkenny was garrisoned by a
troop of Hessian soldiers, who amused
themselves in barracks by tying two cats
together by their tails and throwing
them across a clothesline to fight. The
officers, hearing of this cruel practice,
resolved to stop it, and deputed one of
their number to watch. The soldiers,
on -their part, set a man to watch for
the coming officer. One day the sentinel
neglected his duty, and the heavy tramp
of the officer ^vas heard ascending
the stairs. One of the troopers, seizing
a sword, cut the tails in two as the.
animals hung across the line. The two
cats escaped, minus their tails, through
the open window^ ; and when the officer
inquired the meaning of the two bleeding
tails being left in the room, he was
coolly told that two cats had been
fighting and had devoured each other —
all but the tails.

THE AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

255

— A Life of Reinenyi, the " wizard of the violin,''
as he was called, is included in McClurg & Co.'s
autumn announcements.

— "The Extinction of the Ancient Hierarchy:
An account of the death in prison of the eleven
bishops honored at Rome amongst the martyrs
of the Elizalx;than persecution: Archbishop Heath
of York, Bishops Tunstall, Bonner, and com-
panions,"— such is the rather cumbersome title of
an important historical work by the Rev. G. E.
Phillips, soon to be published by Sands & Co.

— "Reminiscences of an Oblate," by the Rev.
Francis Kirk, O. S. C, is a valuable contribution
to the modern history of Catholicity in England,
more especially the west of London. Though
the record of only a small corner of the Lord's
vineyard. Father Kirk's book is still a very
successful effort to throw more light on the
events of England's "Second Spring." Bums
& Gates.

— It is impossible fully to understand St.
Francis or the "Fioretti" without knowing
something of the March of Ancona. Clients of
the Seraph of Assisi and students of Franciscan
literature will therefore welcome a description,
with illustrations from photographs, of the chief
places mentioned in the "Fioretti," "Speculum,"
etc., by Beryl D. de Selincourt. It is among the
new publications of Dent & Co.

— The appearance of almanacs for 1906 during
the dog-days seems like forcing the seasons; how-
ever, we welcome an advance copy of the popular
year-book printed and published by the Society
of the Divine Word, Shermanville, III., where the
members conduct a flourishing technical school.
"St. Michael's Almanac for the Year of Our Lord
1906" is filled with interesting and useful reading
matter, and contains numerous illustrations, old
and new.

— The mere skimmer of spiritual books will
find little to interest him in "The Mirror of St.
Edmund," done into modern English by Fran-
cesca M. Steele. Only the reflective, meditative
mind can duly appreciate the contents of this
small volume; for St. Edmund was a philosopher
and a mystic as well as a saint. Of creatures
he says: "Lord, because Thou art, they are;
Ijecause Thou art fair, they are fair." His expla-
nation of the "Our Father" is quaintly beautiful.
Published by Burns & Gates.

— While the words of "Yankee Doodle," dating
from 175o, are very generally ascribed to Dr.
Schuckbrugh, a surgeon in the French and Indian
war, the air to which the words arc sung
has hitherto been supposed to be an English one.

In the current Dolphin, however, Wm. H. Grattan
Flood puts forward a very plausible, if not
utterly conclusive, argument to the effect that
the tune is really an old Irish one. Those
musicians who are familiar with typical Irish
airs will not find it hard to admit that " Yankee
Doodle" bears intrinsic evidence of Celtic origin.

— William P. Linehan, of Melbourne, Australia,
sends us a pamphlet containing the speech
delivered in that city, last May, by William Red-
mond, M. P., on "Why Ireland Wants Home
Rule, and What It Means." Mr. Redmond's
discourse is informative and optimistic. That
it is, in addition, elociuent is, to quote the late
Gen. Butler, referring to Boyle O'Reilly, "suffi-
ciently accounted for by the fact that the
speaker is an educated Irishman."

— The Marquette League has issued an im-
portant pamphlet entitled, "Indian Tribal
Funds." It contains a statement of the case
for the Catholic Indians, with a record of the
debate in the Senate on the issue of the Mission
Schools. We hope that a number of "able
editors" who have Ix'en accustomed to discuss
this question more or less incoherently may
take the trouble to read this pamphlet and
digest its contents.

— Among recent pamphlets issued by the Inter-
national Catholic Truth Society is a reprint
(with permission of the London C. T. S.) of Canon
Vaughan's admirable exposition of the doctrine,
Extra Ecclcsiatn nulla Salas. The objections to
it are franklj* put and fully answered. It is
shown that there is no bigotry in the declaration,
and that the Church teaches nothing more and
nothing less than what Christ Himself taught.
There should be many readers ready to welcome
this timely pamphlet.

— From the Catholic Protectory, Arlington,
N. J., there comes to us, in the form of a neat,
cloth-bound booklet, an excellent little introduc-
tory History of Ireland. It is necessarily a mere
abridgment of a centuried story, for it occupies
only forty pages. But the salient features of
Erin's history are judiciously presented ; and as
a text-book its utility is materially increased by
the list of questions appended to each page.
The booklet is well worth several times it* price,
which is only fifteen cents.

— In reference to a syndicated series of stories
now appearing in a number of American and
Canadian papers, the Star of St. John, N. B.,
ha^ this to say :

No fiction recently published, including even the so-called
"dime novels, "... are more perniciously immoral than

256

THE AVE MARIA.

these interesting, cleverly written storiis in which the
hero ^s a smiirt burglar whose crimes and the way he
es.apcs punishment are held up to the admiration of the
reader. There is not a svord in any of the stories which
throws other than a lascin.iing and favorable light on
crime; and the average youth, whose moral character is
not crystallized, can not turn away from them without
a feeling ol admiration for the clever scoundrel whose
exploits are held up for his emulation, and a feeling of
contempt for the machinery of the law-

No sensational theatrical performnnecs recen;ly seen in
St. John, no lurid show posters ever put up here, arc so
calculated to injure the moral tone of the community, are
so apt to be a direct incentive to crime, as these talcs
of a brilliant gentleman cracksman, whose exploits and
accomplishments arc so attractively pictured that they
appear altogether admirable and alluring.

Tlie foregoing is no hysterical outburst of a
"pious" or "goo(l}--gO()tly" periodical; it is merely
the sane comment of a respectable secular news-
paper. Yet we wonder how many of the Cath-
olic parents who receive the journals in which
these intrinsically immoral stories appear, take
the trouble to prevent their perusal by the boys
and girls of the household? The imperative
necessity of supervising the reading of the young
is becoming day by day more and more apparent,
and fathers and mothers who neglect this duty
are laying up for themselves an unfailing supply
of future regrets.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catliolic readers. Tiie latest books will
appear at the head, older ones being dropped oat
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will be imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad.
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"Reminiscences of an Oblate." Rev. Francis Kirk,

O S. C. 75 cts , net.
" The Mirror of St. Edmund." 80 cts., net.
" The Saint of the Eucharist." Most Rev. Antoine

de Porrentruy. $1.10.
"The Cenacle." r'4 cts.
"The Christian Maiden." Rev. Matthias von

Bremscheid, O. M. Cap. 50 cts.
"Elizabeth Seton, Her Life and Work." Agnes

Sadlier. $1, net
"Daughters of the Faith." Eliza O'B. Lummis.

$1.25.
"The Tragedy of Fotheringay." Mrs. Maxwell

Scott. $1, net.
"A Gleaner's Sheaf." 30 cts., net.

" A Story of Fifty Years." $1, net.

"The Ridingdale Boys." David Bearne, S. J.

$1.85, net.
"The House of Cards." John Heijih. .tl.50.
"By What Authority?" Robert Hugh Benson.

$1.60, net.
"Historical Criticism and the Old Testament."

P6re J. M- Lagrange, O. P. $1, net.
"Divorce. A Domestic Tragedy of Modem

France." Faul Bourget. $1.50.
"Wandewana's Prophecy and Fragments in

Verse." Eliza L. Mulcahy. $1, net.
"Notts on Christian Doctrine." Most Rev.

Edward Bagshawe, D. D. $1.35, net.
" The Transplanting of Tessie." Mary T. Wagga-

man. 60 cts.
"The Sacrifice ol the Mass." Very Rev. Alex.

McDonald, D. D. 60 cts., net.
"The Knowableness of God." Rev. Matthew

Schumacher, C. S. C. 50 cts.
"The Blessed Virgin in the Nineteenth Century;

Apparitions, Revelations, Graces." Bernard

St. John. $1.75, net.
"The Redemptorists at Annapolis." $2.
" The Imitation of Christ." Sir Francis R. Cruise.

30 cts.
"The House of God and Other Addresses and

Studies." Very Rev. Thomas J. Shahan, D. D.

$1.50, net.
"Nut- Brown Joan." Marion Ames Taggart.

$1.50.

Obituary.

Remember tbem that are in bands. — Hkb.. xlll, 3.

Rev. Henry Anderson, of the archdiocese of
Cincinnati; and Rev. Joseph W'uest, diocese of
Trenton.

Mother Clara, of the Sisters of Notre Dame;
Sister M. Dolores, Sisters of the Holy Family ;
Sister M. Oliva, Sisters of the Holy Cross ; and
Sister Liona, Sisters of St. Francis.

Mr. Charles Greif and Mr. Joseph Neracher,
Cleveland, Ohio ; Mr. Patrick MulhoUand, Provi-
dence, R. I. ; Mrs. Margaret McCabe, Brooklyn,
N. Y. ; Mr. Charles Johnson, Logansport, Ind. ;
Mrs. Anna Weber, Fort Wayne, Ind.; Mr. Patrick
Carroll, Hartford, Conn. ; Mrs. Mary Spellman,
Indianapolis, Ind. ; Mrs. Annie Warren, San
Antonio, Texas ; Mr. James Collins, Schenectady,
N. Y. ; Miss Mary Hanifin, Lawrence, Mass.;
Mr. Charles Moreland, Corpus Christi, Texas ;
Mrs. Frances Davies, Bllston, England ; Mr.
Jeremiah Gorman, Newark, Ohio ; Miss Mary
Casey, Zanesville, Ohio ; Mr. A. M. Katon, Glidden,
Wis.; and Mrs. Mary Holton, Udca, N. Y.

Requiescant in pace !

HEKCEFORTH *LL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUKE, I., 48.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, AUGUST 26," 1905.

NO. 9.

[ Published every Saturday. Copyright: Kev. U. E, Hudson, C.S.C.]

By a Tuscan Roadside.

( After an Italian Folkjpag. )
BY RODERICK GILL.

Q MARIA, Virgin, O most holy!

To thy servant be not now denying:
Bend and hear my supplication lowly
For my heart's beloved who is dying, —
Maria t Maria!

See, 1 vow the ring my mother bought me,
Which was granted ne'er to friend or lover;

And the coral string for which they sought me :
Grant my Giovanni may recover,—
Maria ! Maria !

Ah, if his life be spared, a taper white
Each Sunday morn thy little shrine shall light,—
Maria ! Maria !

The Avenger of Agincourt.

BV M. BARRY o'dELA.NY.

H E French naturally look
upon St. Fiacre, the Irish
patron of Brie, Scinc-et-
Marnc, as their own especial
l)roperty, and vcar after
year they celebrate his glorious anniver-
sary with more pomp than probably
marks the feast of anj- other saint
in the calendar. In certain districts,
indeed, the last week in August is
entirel3' given over to f^tes in honor
of the illustrious exile of Erin w^ho,
even before Joan of Arc, avenged for
France the defeat of Agincourt and
rid her of the English invader. St.

Fiacre fairs, St. Fiacre banquets, St.
Fiacre processions, and St. Fiacre fetes
of every description, take place annually
throughout the land sanctified by the
great Irishman's long exile, — the land
he served with such faith and devotion.

St. Fiacre arrived in France about
the year 610, being guided on his
way by a star, like the Wise Men of
old. Tradition says that he made a
short stay in Paris, at a hospital that
stood on the site afterward occupied
by the old church of St. Josse. Thence,
still following his star, he journeyed to
Meaux, at that date the capital of
Haute-Brie. His sister Syra was his
travelling companion ; her motive in
sharing her brother's exile being to find
the tomb of St. Savinien, first Bishop
of Sens, to whom she had a great
devotion. The travellers sought and
obtained an audience of St. Faron, the
Bishop of Meaux, who was himself an
Irishman and brother to St. Chilain,
or Kilain, a kinsman of St. Fiacre.

Students of the life of St. Fiacre will
not need to be informed that, like all
Irishmen of his day, he is sometimes
spoken of as a "Scot" ; just as Ireland
herself was formerly known as "Scotia
Major," the mother-country; and Scot-
land as her colonj-, or "Scotia Minor:"
Even so late as the beginning of
the eleventh century, it was usual to
speak indiscriminately of the Irish in
Ireland, and of their descendants in
Scotland, as the "Scots." In some few
instances biographers and historians
have found this custom a stumbling-

258

THE AVE MARIA.

block, and been occasionally puzzled as
to whether some particular "Scot"
was Irish or Scotch. In the case of
St. Fiacre, however, there can be no
such difficulty. In his interview with
the Bishop of Meaux he places the
question of his nationality beyond
all doubt.

"I beg of you to hide nothing from
me," said Bishop Faron. " What is
your origin, the place of your birth,
what are your desires, where are you
going, and what is your name?"

"Ireland, island of the Scots, is my
birthplace and that of my parents,"
answered the young man. " Desiring
to live a hermit's life, I left my country
and my parents, and now seek a
solitude where I may pass my days
in peace. My name is Fiacre."

Writers differ, however, as to the
baptismal name of our saint. Richard
and Giraud are of opinion that he was
not called Fiacre till five or six hundred
years -after his death. In his "His-
toire de I'Eglise de Meaux," Toussant
Duplessis tells us that the saint was
christened Fefrus, vn nom Irlandais,
which in France became Fiacre; while
the Bollandists maintain that the name
was originally Fiacre, but that the
people of Meaux softened it to Fefrus,
as being more in harmony with the
Latin pronunciation. And this is prob-
ably the truth, for the earliest writers
who treat of the Irish saint speak of
him as Fiacre. There is an interesting
old manuscript, in the Paris Bibliotheque
Sainte- Genevieve, in which Fiacre is
represented as the hero of a miracle-
play, the opening lines being: "Cy
commence la Vie de Monseigneur Saint
Fiacre." And in a copy of Julleville's
"Mysteres Inedits du XVe Sidcle,"
preserved in the Bibliotheque Nationale,
he is spoken of as "Monsieur Sainct
Fiacre."

It is characteristic of St. Fiacre that
in his interview with Bishop Faron he
made no allusion to his royal birth.

although he was heir to a provincial
Irish throne. An earthly crown had
no attractions for him; and when his
people wished to force it upon him, he
was, in answer to his prayers, stricken
with a loathsome disease, known ever
after as le mal de St. Fiacre, which so
disfigured him that the deputation fled
in horror. When his well-meaning
friends had gone, the saint was restored
to health.

At the period of his visit to St. Faron,
Fiacre was in his twentieth year, and
is said to have been of great personal
beauty, and possessed of manners at
once dignified and simple. The bishop
was delighted with his youthful frank-
ness and pious zeal, and at once granted
him permission to live in the forest of
Breuil, near Meaux. He also interested
himself in the Princess Syra and her
mission, and suggested to his own
sister, St. Fare, that she should offer
the fair Irish girl the hospitality of the
convent of Faremoutier, of which she
was abbess. The good nun readily
acceded to her brother's request, and
not only gave a home to S^-ra, but also
aided her materially in her search for
the tomb of St. Savinien. The grave
was eventually discovered nearTroyes.
Syra had a church built over it, and
became its guardian. This church was
known, in later years, as "L'Eglise de
Ste.-Syra," or "Ste.-Syre," as it was
also written.

St. Fiacre had meanwhile established
himself in the forest of Breuil. Here he
built a little chapel with a small cell
adjoining it. He tilled the surrounding
land with his own hands, planted such
necessaries as he required, and soon
obtained a reputation as a skilful
gardener. The fame of his sanctity
and of his miracles also spread far and
wide, and drew many visitors to his
hermitage. Among these was his noble
kinsman, St. Kilain, who was so edified
by the hermit's piety that he, too,
abandoned the world. He was, later,

THE AVE MARIA.

259

ordained priest by Bishop Far on and
became the apostle of Artois.

Notwithstanding his desire to live in
solitude, the gentle and hospitable Irish
hermit could not bring himself to turn
any pilgrim from his door. And, as the
claims upon his boimty increased, he
applied to St. Faron for permission to
enlarge his territory. The bishop replied
that Fiacre was free to take as much
land as he could mark out and surround
with a ditch in one day. The hermit
may have hoped for a more generous
grant from St. Faron, but he thanked
him with his customary humility and
set to work with a will. And never,
surely, was a more wonderful day's
work accomplished, single-handed, by
any man ! As he walked along, in the
direction of Crec3'-en-Brie, marking his
new territory as he went, the trees fell,
and the ground opened behind him,
parting on either side, so as to form a
formidable ditch without any exertion
on Fiacre's part. Before nightfall the
boundaries of the- little hermitage were
extended far beyond the good saint's
modest expectations.

The manner in which St. Fiacre
came to be chosen as the patron of
gardeners, and all who cultivate the
soil, recalls somewhat the legend of St.
Patrick's miraculous blackthorn, which
the celebrated Franco -Irish composer
and poet, the late Augusta Holmes,
immortalized in her beautiful song,
"UAuhepine de St. Patrick." About
forty years after his departure from
Ireland Fiacre found a peach stone at
the door of his cell one morning, and
planted it immediately; for, although
generous to a fault, he never wasted
anything.

He then knelt down and asked God's
blessing upon his labor, as was his
invariable custom. While he was still
praying, a little tree appeared above
ground, put forth buds and branches,
and burst into clusters of snowy
blossoms, that in the twinkling of an

eye gave place to fine, red-ripe peaches.
The news of the miracle quickly reached
the neighboring town of Brie, and
brought all the gardeners of the place
to the forest of Breuil to see the
heaven-sent tree. From that hour
thej' venerated Fiacre as a saint and,
upon his death, ten years later, chose
him for their patron.

In the words of Pope Alexander
VII., the miracles wrought at the
tomb of St. Fiacre were of daily
occurrence, — miraculis quotidianis. And
great was the indignation of the good
people of Brie when Henry V. of
England threatened to violate the
saint's grave in the forest of Breuil. It
was after the defeat of Agincourt had
plunged all France into mourning that
the relics of the Irish saints, who "in
death were not divided," — since Kilain,
at his own request, had been interred in
the same grave, — narrowly escaped fall-
ing into the hands of the English King.

In 1421 that monarch, still flushed
with his success at Agincourt and
eager for further conquest, marched on
Beauge, in the department of Maine-et-
Loire. He suffered, however, an igno-
minious defeat at the hands of the
' gallant Marshal de La Fayette, who
had many Irish exiles in his army.
These latter had been driven from their
own land by English tyranny and
oppression, and were well pleased,
while fighting for France, to strike a
blow at the power that was ruining
their country. His repulse at Beauge
deeply mortified King Henry, not only
because it came so soon after his victory
at Agincourt, but, probably even more,
•because he was compelled to admit that
his humiliation was largely owing to
the valor of the Irish soldiers in the
service of France; just as, centuries
later, George II. was forced to own
that his crushing defeat at Fontenoy
was due to a similar cause.

King Henry's rage knew no bounds.
He swore by a terrible oath that he

260

THE AVE MARIA.

■would yet avenge himself upon the Irish
" rebels "b}^ pillaging the grounds and
monastery of St. Fiacre. According to
the " Chroniqtie da St. Denis," he even
contemplated stealing the holy Irish-
man's shrine, and carr^'ing it off to
London to grace his triumph there.
And, for a time, it seemed as if fortune
favored the infamovis projects of the
English monarch. Meaux surrendered
to him, after a heroic resistance. In
this connection, let it be said that all
the glamour of his victories fails
to gloss over the innate baseness of
this king's character as shown in his
conduct to the weak or vanquished.

In defiance of every law of chivalry
and honorable warfare, he put to the
sword all the Irish soldiers whom he
found in the garrison at Meaux, as
w^ell as some Scotch and Welsh, who
w^ere also fighting on the French side.
He then set out for the monastery
of St. Fiacre, pillaging and burning
all before him. But God protected the
shrine of his servant and vindicated the
honor of the humble hermit of Breuil.
In the very midst of his sacrilegious
work King Henry was stricken down,
and the illness which laid him prostrate
was le mal de St. Fiacre! On his sick-
bed he cried out in impotent fury that
the Irish not only fought for the French
on earth, but did battle for them in
heaven as well. The dying monarch
was carried to the chateau of Vincennes,
where he expired in excruciating pain
on the 31st of August, while the fetes
in celebration of the feast of St. Fiacre
were being held all over France.

The relics of Fiacre and Kilian
remained in the forest of Breuil till
1568, when, the religious w^ars breaking
out, they were transported to Saint
Stephen's Cathedral at Meaux, in order
to preserve them from the risk of
profanation by the Hugxicnots.

The kings of France have always
shown a marked devotion to St. Fiacre.
Louis XIII. kept a relic of the holy

Irishman in his palace, and attrib-
uted his restoration to health, when
dangerously ill at Lyons, to the saint's
intercession. His wife, Anne of Austria,
considered that she owed the birth of
her son, afterward Louis XIV., to the
prayers of St. Fiacre, and made a
thanksgiving pilgrimage to his shrine,
walking all the way, from Batignolles-
Monceau to Meaux.

Pope Urban VTII, had sent her a
handsome set of lace-embroidered baby
clothes to clothe the royal infant, and
these she left as a votive offering at the
shrine of St. Fiacre. As "le Roisoleil"
grew to manhood he showed almost as
ardent a devotion to the Irish saint as
his mother, and, like her, attributed his
birth to the saint's intercession. Every
year throughout his reign, if prevented
by the affairs of state from going in
person, he sent some one to pray for
his intention at the shrine of St. Fiacre.

The fame of St. Fiacre in no way
diminished with time. An enterprising
Frenchman named Sauvage, kept an
inn, in the Rue St. Antoine, Paris, the
signboard of which bore the words,
"A Saint Fiacre," because it was from
this spot that pilgrims to the great
Irishman's shrine usually started. The
visitors became so numerous that
Sauvage made special cars for their con-
veyance, which were sometimes called
"five sous cars," because twopence
half-penny dn hour was the average
fare charged, in those da3's, for a drive
from Paris to Meaux. But the cars
were more generally known as £acres,
a name often given even to the coach-
men themselves. This was the origin of
'the term fiacre, as applied to hackney-
coaches in France, and now given to
all P'^rench cabs.

The intercession of St. Fiacre is
invoked particularly in case of illness.
Duringthe cholera epidemic at Meaux, in
1832 and 184-9, his relics were exposed
and the scourge ceased immediately.

Paris has many souvenirs of this

THE AYE MARIA.

261

illustrious son of St. Patrick. Two
thoroughfares are called after him,
namely, the Rue St. Fiacre and the
Impasse St. Fiacre, close to the Boule-
vard Poissoni^re. Among the relics of
the saint, venerated in the French
capital, the most important is that
kept in the church of Ste.-Marguerite,
the old cemeterj' of which was so much
before the public recently', owing to
the fruitless search made there for the
coffin of Louis XVII., the boy -prisoner
of the Temple.

Ste.-Marguerite's is situated in the
Faubourg St. Antoine district, which
was formerly the headquarters of
the Confraternity of St. Fiacre. . It
then abounded in fields and gardens,
and was inhabited chiefly by culti-
vators of the soil. When the present
writer visited the church, about two
years ago, the venerable sacristan, who
had been employed there for nearly a
quarter of a century, said that, even
when he first came to the quartier,
much of the ground now occupied
by houses was covered with gardens.
And although the Confraternity of St.
Fiacre is now but a memory in the
Faubourg St. Antoine, the gardeners
still come every year to assist at the
Mass of their patron, and follow his
relic as it is carried in procession
round the church, each man holding
a bouquet of flowers and a lighted
candle. On the same day a banquet is
held in honor of their patron in the
Restaurant de Meurice, which, curiousl3'
enough, is almost within a stone's-
throw of the historic chateau where
King Henry of England died of k mal
de St. Fiacre.

The parish of Notre -Dame- des-
Champs is now regarded as the head-
quarters of the Confraternity of St.
Fiacre. But the princijjal busi less of the
association is tran.sacted at the "Cercle
Catholicjue d'Ouvriers," and it is in the
chajK'l attached to the building that the
relic of the saint is kept. The walls of

this little edifice are literally soaked
with the blood of martyrs, for it is
constructed entirely from the stones
of the Carmelite chapel in "the Rue
Vaugirard, which was destroyed during
the Revolution, after several priests
who had taken refuge there were
butchered in cold blood.

Here, as at Ste.-Marguerite's, an
annual Mass of St. Fiacre is celebrated,
and his relic carried in procession, the
congregation following with flowers
and lighted candles. Here, too, a Fiacre
banquet is held every year in a fine hall,
round which the banner of the "Cercle
Catholique d'Ouvriers" is hung at in-
tervals. This banner is a white cross
on a scarlet ground, with the motto,
"In hoc Signo Vinces." Other banners
and flags are suspended here and there,
including those of St. Fiacre and Joan
of Arc. But in the place of honor, and
above every other banner in the room,
the green flag of Erin floats proudly at
the l)anquet of St. Fiacre. The reason
for this graceful tribute to the nation-
ality of our saint will be best given in
the words of the Abbe Piche, the pres-
ent director of the "Cercle Catholique
d'Ouvriers." This zealous priest passed
thirteen years of his life in Ireland, and
is the author of "Pour I'lrlande," a
book in which, as he himself tells the
reader, he "breaks a lance for Erin."

The Abbe Piche concluded his speech,
made at last year's banquet of St.
Fiacre, in the following terms :

" You may have noticed, my dear
friends, that there is one flag here which
occupies a higher place than any other.
And it is just and right, and only grate-
ful on the part of Frenchmen that this
should be so. You all know the story
of Joan of Arc, and of her work for
France. But, before ever that heroic
maid rushed to the deliverance of
Orleans, an Irishman had already

avenged the defeat of Agincourt

That Irishman was St. Fiacre, your
patron, in whose honor we are

262

THE AVE MARIA.

assembled here. And this is why the
Irish banner floats, and deserves to
float, higher than any other flag in our
hall to-day."

Those members of the Irish colony in
Paris, who had the privilege of listening
to the Abbe Piche's generous tribute
to the memory of their glorious com-
patriot, will not easily forget the burst
of spontaneous applause with which
chivalrous France acknowledged its
debt to St. Fiacre, the Irish avenger of
Agincourt.

Three Spinsters and a Younker.

BY EMILY HICKEY.

(CONCLDSION, )

a GYPSY life for the next fortnight :
life of open air, of camping on
dunes, of wading — if one may call it
wading at low tides; a life of uncon-
vention, unspoiled either by discomfort
or luxury. Secunda says I had better
not make this kind of reflection, as it
is, in her ladyship's opinion, too like
sermonizing; and she is pleased to
object to lay sermons in general, and
to mine in particular.

The dunes were full of hollows and
rises, to be fashioned by a little toolless
scooping into the cosiest armchairs and
sofas possible. There was a little kiosk
at which Secunda and Tertia every day
prepared for the cult of the teapot ; at
which cult I, of course, duly assisted, —
the little kiosk that was to be our
shelter on all days too wet for beach or
dunes. But there came one afternoon
only that was too wet, and even then,
after we had worked and read for a
long time, two of us — I will not say
which two — tucked up our dresses, I
fear rather loosely, hoisted an umbrella,
and tramped the beach to the lively
accompaniment of one of those tunes
which it is to be hoped we may one day
see banished from all Christian^hymn-

books. It was only a Lied ohne Worte,
I may say. It was heavily accented by
thumps and thuds.

There were two ladies at first about
that half kiosk, one of them "from
Paris"; and at Assumption - tide there
were two gentlemen. But the gentle-
men w^ent away and left the ladies
and the two pretty little boys. One
of the boys was brown, lithe, and
graceful; his great fault, his mother
said, was want of application. This
fault, however, did not in the least
affect his social charm. He was about
eight, and was always very good to
the jolly brown speechless person who
lived all the morning in a single blue
garment, and roared lustily when, in
the afternoon, he met his doom of being
arrayed in something rather more con-
ventional. He loved much to bury his
legs, or have them buried for him, in
the sand, and to refresh himself with
frequent internal applications of bread
and chocolate.

A little company of "ifs" cropped
up, — mostly of Secunda's growing. If
only we had brought a deck-chair
apiece, how w^e might have lain at ease
at the very edge of the sea ! If I had
had a bicycle, or even a tricycle, what
rides there, might be! She and Tertia
had frequent bicycle rides, and their
daily sea -bath, too. And it was all
very "nice," as people say. I don't
like the word, but I use it, all the same.

They took me to one of the most
important towns within our radius
on Assumption Day. That is, they sent
me on by train, with directions on no
account to pass my station; and they
met me at High Mass. The procession
was not what it had been in former
days, with its baby Lord and tiny
Lady and infant foster-father, and
various wee St. John Baptists in sheep-
skin, or carrying toy baa-lambs, as
friends of ours had seen it some years
before, when they had discovered the
Plage. Ah, this year there were no

THE AVE MARIA.

263

kind nuns to mother the babies, and
dr:ss them up, and teach them their
goings! The picturesque remains of
that town's old fortifications were, we
were informed, soon to be destroyed.
To enlarge the borders, forsooth! To
impr; ve the town ! Why, oh, why,
must these things b . ? This is not at
all modem, I know. Bother modernity !

Another day there was an old
catnedral town to be visited, where
there was much to see. The hand of
the Revolution— the Great Revolution,
I mean — had sorely pressed upon the
old building, and there was many an
empty niche outside. But inside there
were the quaint reliefs, and there was
the tomb of its great patron, and there
was the Lad\' Chapel with its wonder-
ful possession, and its many records of
healing asked and wrought. But a
good deal of our time was spent very
quietly; in the rest of the beach or
dune or country not far to get to :
flat country, with its churches' and
windmills, and width of view.

And life is hardly worth living unless
one can tease and be teased. I think
I come in for the lion's share of being
teased ; an opinion which, perhaps, is
shared by each of the others in her
own individual case. Secunda and
Tertia declare that I am unpractical ;
and they say this opinion was more
than confirmed on a certain occasion
when they had gone off on their bicycles,
to accompany some "interesting foreign-
ers," as I called them (Tertia says I said
it spitefully). I set vigorously to work
to claar up the kiosk after the general
tea. I carried up to the hotel the bread,
butter, milk, and so forth, remaining
after the afternoon ban juet. I put
them (neatly, of course, goes without
telling) in Tertia's vasculum, — that
useful repository of things other than
botanical specimens, or even flowers.
I placed the vasculum on the sill of a
French window, which window was
guiltless of a keeping- open hook. I

piled up the cups and saucers ; likewise
did I add unto the pile one or two
other things, for there was room
enough. Then I looked admiringly at
my work and felt virtuous, which, as
we all know, no one ever really is if
one imagines oneself to be.

The sorrowful sequel and the com-
plete collapse of my pride of practicality ,
at least for the time being, was what
Secunda and Tertia found when they
returned. The window had blown open,
and the wind had sent the cups and
saucers down to the floor. And there
was much broken ware. And there were
little streams of milk slow -trickling
on the floor. They said I was never
again to attempt to put things straight.
And, after all, as I told them, I had
perhaps the best of it; and we agreed *
that the moral to be drawn was, do
things badly, and you will not be
allowed to do them at all. A distinct
encouragement to incompetency, not to
say laziness.

One day they went off", leaving me
to employ myself, or amuse myself, as
best I might. They went for the whole
day, on their bicycles, meaning to
devote a good part of their time to
sketching and photographing an old
church built by us in the times when
England held much French land. It
was a church of which all that now
remained was the tower, with its worn
efl'igy of St. George, and part of the
choir, now used as a parish church.
The curS had managed somehow to
collect money enough to seat it with
good oak, and the pulpit was likewise
of good oak ; and the church, we were
told, was always full at Sunday Mass.
We had had a nice talk with the cur6,
whose fine enthusiasm it was a delight
to see; and it had been arranged that»
Secunda and Tertia were to go over
one day and spend some time in examin-
ing the church, and photographing and
sketching it. They were also to write
down the curb's account of the building,

264

THE AVE MARIA.

which they said I was to do something
or other with, so as "not to be out
of it." They started at about ten, and
I was not to expect them back before
dinner time. Of course before they went
off they laid upon me disrespectful
injunctions about not losing myself,
and so forth.

There was a place I wanted to go
to when I found myself alone. They
did not like it: they called it "the
abomination of desolation"; but I said
it was no such thing, and I settled
in my mind that when they went off
for a long ride I would enjoy myself
there in my own fashion. When you
came there you saw a great stretch
of sand with clumps of sea-holly here
and there; and you heard the cry of
the gulls. So they described it; but I
never felt that at all.

I went there slowly enough to notice
closely the many shells on the beach, —
shells pink, shells grey, shells pale lilac
splotched with black; shells dark blue,
shells white ; there they lay, whole ones
and broken ones. And the delicate drab
seaweed lay about, in bunch or spray,
with here and there trails of dark
brown, and little jellyfish and tiny
shrimps. The tide was low, and girls
w^ith their nets and baskets were
shrimping at a good distance from
me. I knew that some of the produce
of their nets would appear at the
hotel dinner.

On I went until I reached my, desolate
spot. I seemed to breathe more deeply
and fully with the great width of the
view, and I thought the very breezes
gathered strength as they swept over
the clear space. I had a book with
me; but I have generally found that a
book by the seaside, or in a fair wood,
or, in fact, out of doors an3'where, is
only a bit of humbug. One puts it
down after a little while,— sometimes
after a very little while. Sometimes
one looks; sometimes one thinks — or
thinks that one thinks ; sometimes one

sleeps. I began by putting down my
book and looking. I love the sea. We
all love it; though I, for one, love
the mountains still better. There is a
Basque proverb to the effect that he
that hath not seen the mountains and
the sea doth not know God.

A shadow fell across my book, and I
looked up. It was the Younker who
was standing there! I jumped up. I
felt glad to sec him, and yet confused
and at a loss as to what to say. He
shook hands as if it had been only
yesterday that we had met, and as
if nothing had occurred since that
yesterday's meeting.

"Sit down. Prima," he said; "and
let me sit here by you for a little
while."

"Did you know we were here?"

"Yes: I saw you all some days ago.
I came here after Nor^vay. I am here
with a cousin who has been buying land
for building at Plage Lee, and we
rode over, and it so happened I saw
you. And I heard accidentally from
M. le Cure over at St. George's that
two ladies, whose identity I did not
find it hard to guess, were to be with
him this morning; and I made up
my mind I would come and look for
Prima. And now I have found her."

I was silent; mostly from astonish-
ment. He went on:

" Prima, tell me what do you know ? "

"Only that Tertia has broken off the
engagement."

"She has given you no reason?"

"None."

"May I speak to j'ou. Prima?"

" I mustn't hear an3'thing Tertia does
not wish Secunda and me to know."

"But you must be just. Prima. I
intend you to know, and you will agree
with me that it is my affair at least as
much as Tertia's. I have my opportu-
nity, a,nd mean to take advantage of
it, whether you are willing or not. So
here goes! "

He smiled, but the smile had some

THE AVE MARIA.

265

pain behind it. I did not know what to
say, so I said nothing. He took out of
his pocket a letter which he handed to
me. I saw it was in Tertia's writing.
It ran thus:

"Elizabeth Gray returns the enclosed
letter to Edward Young. She is "aware
that it was not intended for her; but
as it was sent to her, she has read it.
Edward Young will of course under-
stand that the engagement between him
and Elizabeth Gray is at an end. She
begs that he will not attempt to hold
any further communication with her."

I read it three times over, and then
handed it back to him.

"What was the enclosure?" I asked.

"Here is a copy of it. Prima. I can
explain it now, though I could not have
explained it then. I wrote, asking her
to let me come and see her; but my
letter was returned unopened. I wrote
again, and the same thing happened."

I took the copied letter. It was one
which, as I could at once see, must have
amazed and horrified Tertia, as well as
sorety puzzled her. It must, too, have
brought all the pure proud maiden
blood to her face. It began with the
single word, "Dear." It expressed the
deepest sorrow for a great wrong done
to the person to whom it was addressed.
It was a letter of farewell, "on the eve
of my marriage," and told of a settle-
ment made in favor of "the boy," and
an allowance to herself. It ended with
a prayer for her forgiveness.. It was
signed with the initials E. Y.

"Was this in your handwriting,
Edward?"

"Yes."

"Arc }'ou going to explain it to me?"

"Yes; that is why I am here. For
some time I meant to explain it to no
one. But here I am. I knew j'ou had
gone abroad; and — I joined my cousin."

" Well, explain, explain ! "

"That letter, of which this one is a
copy, was itself a copy. It was a cop3'
of a letter written by some one whom.

in fact, I had got to write it, and I
copied it for him. It was egregious
carelessness on my part that brought
about the sending of it to Tertia; and
I deserve to be well punished for it."

"You haven't been unpunished,
Younker."

" No," he said, " I certainly have not."

"I suppose, in fact," I said, "that
ygu composed the letter for your some-
body?"

"Yes; and what is — or, at any rate,
may look — strange, is that the man has
the same initials as my own."

I was silent for a moment, and he said :

"Prima, do you doubt me?"

"Certainly not."

"Then, tell her."

"You forgive her, then?"

"I love her. And, Prima, if I had
done what she had thought, I should
have deserved to lose her forever."

It was easy to understand what
a man's love means, as I looked at
Edward Young's face. Then we both
followed our natural impulse, and knelt
on that lonely sand, and looked toward
the old church -tower which was plain
to see in the distance. We could not see
St. George, but — ah, well! why should
I write it, or try to write it? The
Younker and I knew.

I was to write to him as soon as I
could, and he was not to come to the
Plage until he had heard from me. I
said good-bye, and watched his figure
lessening in the distance, and felt all
alive with joy.

There was no one to have tea with
that day, and it hardly seemed worth
while to make it. But as I had had my
orders, I obeyed them. They included
directions as to not setting fire to the
kiosk by overturning the methylated
spirit stove, — for as I have said, they
will have it that I am unpractical,
and I shall never hear the end of
my kiosk tidying up.

Tenia I sometimes call proud. She
likes much better to do things for

266

THE AYE MARIA.

other people than to let other people
do them for her. Tertia says she
is independent; for we give different
names to different qualities, accord-
ing to whether they are our own or
somebody else's. So perhaps, then,
Tertia is merely independent and not
proud ; and Secunda is very careful and
anxious that all should go right ; and I
am — well, shall we say supermundane ?
Only that would be worse than even
unpractical.

As I have remarked, Tertia liked
solitary strolls on the beach, and very
often she liked to take them after dusk
and even after dark. And, although
Secunda had issued her ukase that
there was not to be any nonsensical
fidgetiness, it was sometimes pretty
plain to me that Secunda was f-d-g-t-y.
She would make mention of possibilities
of " some one " being about. I suggested
that Tertia might be thinking of "some
one," and that her thoughts might
somehow be projecting some sort of a
body. Secunda asked her once what she
was thinking of on the beach; and,
as might have been expected, she gave
the classic reply: "Maistly nowt."

Secunda and I sat on the .board in
front of one of the bathing cabins. We
had often sat there before, and looked
at the stars and the sea, and watched
the light of the phare, and the lesser
lights of the many buoys. We had
mused, or been sleepy, or been in a
talking mood. And our inclinations
had not always synchronized.

I told Secunda the Younker's story.
She said that he and Tertia were a pair
of "duffers." He was a careless duffer,
in addition. And, of course, he ought
to have insisted on her hearing his
explanation. And, as for her — O dear,
O dear, as Puck says, "Lord, what
fools these mortals be!"

At any rate, Tertia heard it all that
night.

"I thought you had some sense,"
said Secunda.

Tertia replied meekly: "So did I."

Then she flew off and wrote a letter.
We all three said we would post it
the next morning, when we walked to
church at a village some three miles
from us, and some ten from the place
at which the Younker's cousin lived.
But I laid it upon Tertia to let me send
it, and I took possession of it at once.

Oh, but that morning was lovely!
And, oh, but that early walk was
sweet! We went along, hand in hand,
never speaking a word. I can see it
all now, — the fair corn, the soft brown
sedge, the blue chicory, the yarrow,
pink and white. And I can hear the
music of the larks, high up in the air,
strong and clear and sweet. And it
w^as peace.

When the Communion bell rang,
Secunda went up first, and then Tertia ;
and I was just going to kneel next
Tertia when some one stepped quietly
in between us, and I knelt next to him
instead. And when we left the church,
the sky was brighter still, and the sun
was of a warmth and radiance that was
only a poor symbol of our gladness.

We broke our fast at a cottage,
where we had been told we should
find milk. How hospitably we were
treated! — madame not allowing us to
take the milk cold, but insisting on
warming it on, the cleanest and
brightest of stoves, chatting to us all
the time, her daughter helping her to
entertain her guests. The foreigners
made rather a spectacle. A tall boy
came and stood in the doorway, and
looked on. A short boy came and stood
in the kitchen doorway likewise, and
likewise looked on. It was the short
IToj' that had told us where milk might
be had. Both the boys were wrapped
in silence eloquent.

The guests looked round while they
waited. The Younker and Tertia might,
as Secunda said afterward, have been
old married folk instead of lovers. The
girl pointed out some plates, which she

THE AVE MARIA.

267

isaid, were verj,- old. May she be forgiven
if the thoughts of her heart were upon
getting us to buy them! One of the
milk-drinkers piously expressed the wish
that the plates might come down to
the maiden's great-grandchildren. And
the maiden thereto piously also
assented.

My comrades had to learn that
Tertia's letter had gone by express
messenger. Good madame had entered
into my curious and foreign wishes
and mad English ways, and the letter
had reached Villa Dessaix at somewhere
between twelve and one. All the in-
habitants had gone to lied. But the
Younker had had a joyous waking.

Three years have passed quickly, too,
since we said good-bye to the many-
boated sea ; to the dunes beloved ; to
Jean, who, he told us, meant to follow
us to England, where he should estab-
lish himself as a professor of the French
language, and make his long -delayed
fortune; to monsieur and madame,
who were never to forget us, and to
whom I promised a letter as soon as
the Younker and Tertia were married ;
and to all the little children.

I wake not now with broad sunshine
streaming upon a milk-white floor,
whose dainty surface is unbroken save
by one tiny rug. I do not see a'slightly
magnified tea-basin which represents a
washing apparatus; I no longer con-
template my toilet effects in a large
and splotchy pier-glass.

But, there are little ducks in the
yard below my windows; and there
are rabbits, little and big, in plent3' in
the warren bej'ond those firs ; and there
is a little child in this house where I
am staying; where Secunda is staying
too. And I hear a voice calling out,
in tones rather masterful :

"Pema, Pema, oo mutn't be lagy.
Oo raut turn out and see Bama hen's
babies."

I have obeyed the orders of two gener-
ations. Now come those of the third.

Confiteor.

DEHOLD me at Thy feet again, O Lord!

Humbly to kneel,— how can I dare to pray.
Or thank Thee for this grace Thou dost accord?

I can but wonder that Thou dost not slay.
My weight of infamy doth press me down,

The load of guilt that 1 can bear no more;
Prostrate in bitter shame before Thy frown,

1 can but murmur low: Confiteor!

Black is the record of the rebel soul

That openly contemns Thy law divine,
Proclaiming earthly joy its only goal

Throughout this life. But blacker still is mine;
.For unto me the Tree of Life was shown,

And 1 have lived amid the fruits it bore;
The Treasure of Thy temple I have known

Thankless, indifferent,— Con^/rar.'

In deepest shame bowed down before Thy Face,
The wretch to whom Thy mercy still allows

The gift of life and many a 'greater grace.
Recalls the treachery, the broken vows.

My presence doth Thy temple but defile, —
How shall the traitor knock upon Thy door?

Basely unworthy, vilest of the vile ;

Confitior, O Lord, — Confiteor!

B. O'B. C.

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANiNA T. SADLIBR.

XXXII.— Lord Aylward Suggests an
Alternative.

LORD AYLWARD, leaning forward,
as has been described, to hear
who could be the man, had his dark
misgivings. There was no one in all
Millbrook to whom the description
just given by Miss Tabitha could be
applied save and except Eben Knox.
And yet the young man believed it
hardly possible that this trim and
dainty old woman,— who, despite her
almost senile reverence for class as
represented by the Brethertons, had
about her an air of evident and marked
gentility, — should seriously entertain
the idea of her niece's marrying such
a. creature as him whom Craft called
a "pizon snake."

268

THE AVE MARIA.

His suspense was not of long
duration. Drawing about her that fur
mantle which had been the gift of
old Madam Bretherton, Miss Tabitha
spoke :

"I may tell you in confidence, Lord
Aylward, that the person whom I
have in view is Mr. Knox. He is, as
perhaps you are a^ware, manager of
the Millbrook woolen mills, which is in
itself an excellent and lucrative position.
But he has other resources. By specula-
tion and the accumulation of property,
he has amassed a considerable fortune.
He has, as I have explained, long
desired to marry my niece, and is pre-
pared to make almost any sacrifice
to ensure her comfort and happiness."

"I should think he would be," ex-
claimed Lord Aylward; adding in a
lower tone, "even to the extent of
drowning himself in the mill-pond!"

"I beg your pardon! I did not catch
your lordship's last remark."

"It's of no importance. I was merely
suggesting a means to an end."

"As Leonora will be absolutely penni-
less," Miss Tabitha continued, "since
my small annuity dies with me, and as
it is so verj' difficult for a girl to earn
her own living, I think it is quite provi-
dential that my niece should thus early
be provided with a suitable husband."

"Oh, I say," cried Lord Aylward,
aghast, "Miss Chandler surely can not
be expected to look at things in that
way, or to dream for a moment of
marrying such a man ! Why, the fellow's
not fit to blacken her shoes! He's —
he's — oh, by Jove, Miss Tabitha, you
can't be in earnest!"

Miss Tabitha inwardly quaked at
the strong disapproval, the disgust,
which she read upon Lord Aylward's
face, and which she recognized as the
forerunner of what she knew would be
the public opinion in Millbrook. Since
there was no help for it, however, she
had made up her mind to brave the
storm fearlessly. Anything was better

than that the name of Bretherton should
be tainted, the ashes of the dead whom
she had loved dragged ruthlessly from
the grave, and she herself, as Eben
Knox had declared, charged with com-
plicity in that secondary' crime of
sending an innocent man to prison.
Heaven alone knew, indeed, with what
crime Eben Knox, baffled, infuriated,
driven to desperation, might charge her.
Leonora herself would inevitably share
in the disgrace, and her marriage to
young Mr. Bretherton become in any
event impossible.

The old \iu\y, therefore, maintained an
outward composure, and with defiant
steadfastness looked at Lord A3^1ward,
upon whose countenance appeared an
expression of honest concern.

"As to Miss Chandler's lack of
fortune," he pleaded, "a fellow who
was lucky enough to have the chance
of winning her, would never even think
of that. I am quite sure my friend
Bretherton has never given the matter
a thought. When a man is really in
love with a girl, it means a lot, don't
you know ! And surely Jimmy is able
to make sufficient provision for your
niece's future."

"Lord Aylward," said Miss Tabitha,
regarding him stonily, "I may as well
tell you, once for all and for the last
time, that a marriage between Leonora
and that dear 3^oung gentleman is alto-
gether out of the question. Whomever
she may marry, there' are reasons why
she must never marry him. I think
that, since a late conversation I have
had with her, she herself is quite per-
suaded of the truth of my assertion."

Lord Aylward was impressed by the
solemnity of her manner, and he sat
silent a few moments, pondering on
her words. Meanwhile hope — which
even in the darkest hour is as a flicker-
ing candle, requiring but the slightest
puff of- wind to fan it into a blaze —
sprang up within his breast. If the old
woman's declaration were really true —

THE AVE MARIA.

269

if, without any disloyalty to his friend,
he might really come into the running, —
he would feel himself bound to enter
the race, for the sole purpose of saving
Leonora from the mill - manager.

Love likewise began its insidious
work, seeming to make the garden, bare
with the bleakness of winter, bloom
into sweetness again. With beating
heart, he seemed to see Leonora, to feel
the charm of her presence, to be once
more captivated by her smile. He
remembered her as he had first seen her,
as she had appeared, too, upon that
moonlight night standing and bandying
jests with his friend. Love, "the inef-
fable mystery," — how it warmed and
invigorated him ! He scarce felt as if
he were the same being who had coldly
entered into that warfare suggested by
Jesse Craft.

"There are reasons," Miss Tabitha
began again, unconscious how, for the
young man beside her, the sun had
brightened, and the equinox had become
vernal, and the roses were blooming
upon the vines and in the garden, —
"there are family reasons, reasons of
the utmost gravity, which I am not at
all at liberty to divulge, but which must
prevent that marriage of which we
have been speaking. I think I may
confide this much to your discretion."

Lord Aylward leaned toward her, his
eyes sparkling, his ordinarily impa.ssive
face glowing, as he asked slowly :

"These reasons of which you speak,
do they refer to a marriage with
Bretherton only ? "

"Chiefly to him. Such a marriage,"
Miss Tabitha replied solemnly, " would
be a certain cause of disaster."

"Then, Miss Tabitha," cried Lord
Aylward, speaking with a totally unex-
pected energy', "if your reasons are
sufficient, and my poor friend being
really out of it, the choice remains
between the mill-manager and myself, 1
warn you that I will move heaven and
earth to win Leonora. I will stand

aside for Jimmy Bretherton, but for no
other man on earth."

Miss Tabitha gazed at him, sharply
drawing in her breath, and, as she told
herself, all of a tremble. His sudden
casting aside of that slow and sluggish
manner, which deceived sq many,
disclosed the real nature of the man, —
eager, tenacious, and possessed of
indomitable resolution.

The sun flamed scarlet in the west,
tending toward its setting; there was
a deep hush upon the landscape, as
those two were thus confronted. To
the old woman there appeared, as to
the young man, a glimpse of a land
of promise. "What if this alternative
which he suggested could be really
arranged!" thought Miss Tabitha.

Lord Aylward, on his part, hurried
on with those arguments which he had
to offer, forgetful for the time being
even of his friend whom he had just
heard ruled out of the contest.

"If your reasons," he continued, in
a swift, clear utterance, which differed
entirely from his ordinarily deliberate
speech, and betrayed the eager excite-
ment which now, by reason of its
long repression, overmastered him, —
" if your reasons relate solely to the
Brethertons, they can not touch me.
Let Leonora marry me, and I will
take her three thousand miles from
Millbrook and its complications and
perplexities. I will not even expect
her at first to love me, but it will be
easy for her to give me the preference
over Knox. I swear I will make her
happy. I, too, will make any sacrifice
for her sake."

He had momentarily forgotten his
friend. Who can be heroic all the time!
He saw now only his own happiness,
toward which Leonora's smiling eyes
seemed to beckon him.

Miss Tabitha heard his declaration
»vith something like dread. She noted
his square and massive jaw, and the
air of dogged resolution which appeared

270

THE AVE MARIA.

upon his countenance. That very reso-
lution which he had shown in giving
up Leonora to his friend, might now
be exercised in snatching her from the
clutches of the manager, and at the
same time securing his own happiness.
She trembled with mingled fear and
delight. She wondered if Eben Knox,
fixed in his hatred ol the Brethertons,
and finding that Leonora was likely
to be immovable in her denial of his
suit, might be induced to consent to
a compromise and remove the girl
forever from the sphere of young Mr.
Bretherton's influence.

It made her breathe freely to think
of Leonora married to this fine-herfrted
and manly young Englishman instead
of the sinister and malignant Knox.
She was fascinated by the brilliancy
of the prospect, the victory which it
would give her over the supercilious
inhabitants of Thorneycroft, and the
prestige with the people of Millbrook.
In her rapid review of the subject,
she felt that there would be a certain
gratification in thus soaring beyond
that somewhat too patronizing kind-
ness of Mrs. Bretherton.

Seeing her hesitation, the young
man put forward a final argument. "I
am not demonstrative," he said, "but
I love Leonora more than you or
any one else can guess. I have stayed
on here at Millbrook for the mere
chance of seeing her occasionally at a
distance, and of hearing her name
spoken. I have never quite given up
hope, nor shall I do so unless she be-
comes formally engaged to my friend."

"That can never be!" cried Miss
Tabitha, more vehemently than ever.

She had quite gone over to Lord
Aylward's side. The success of his suit
would be, she argued, by far the most
delightful solution of the problem, if
only Eben Knox could be induced to
favor the compromise. She had no idea
whatever of what such an arrangement
would mean to the two who were

most vitally concerned. Like many
other elderly folk, she thought love an
agreeable pastime in which young
people are wont to indulge, and which
may be brought to an end at any time,
like some merry game, without serious
hurt to those taking part. Nor was
she warned by her own experience.
Hers was a drama which she fancied
could scarcely be played in the cold and
calculating atmosphere of the twentieth
century. She could not realize that
human hearts beat on much the same
while the 3'ears and the centuries roll,
and that the nature and extent of love
and its concomitants depend far more
upon individuals than upon epochs.

"I wish sincerely that matters could
be arranged as you desire," she declared.
"It would be best for everyone. I
have, however, pledged my word to
Mr. Knox to further his intentions with
respect to my niece by every means
in my power. His consent to this new
scheme is absolutely necessary before
anything further can be done."

"One would think Miss Chandler
were a straw^ image, a puppet!" re-
torted Lord Alyward, wrathfully.

"We are all puppets in the hands of
destiny," said Miss Tabitha, with un-
conscious paganism. "And you forget,
my lord, that if she had her waj^ she
would infallibly marry young Mr.
Bretherton."

Whether Miss Tabitha said this mali-
ciously or not, it acted as a "levin
bolt," destroying Lord Aylward's airy
structure. That scarlet glow in the
west was no longer the glow of a
heart's devotion, but a cruel menace.
He realized with a shudder that the
garden was bare of roses and that
the vines hung dismantled. If Leonora
married him at all, it would be a love-
less marriage,— only a shade better, so
far as her feelings were concerned, than
a union with Eben Knox. It occurred
to him, despairingly, that she was far
too__noble and upright a character to

THE AVE MARIA.

271

marry one man while loving another
as a woman would be sure to love
Jim Bretherton. His face paled and
the glow at his heart died out, though
his resolve remained unaltered — that
he would stand prepared to marry
Leonora, to save her from Eben Knox.
There might be a depth of desperation,
in which she would be glad to consent.
Without an}' disloyalty to his friend, he
might at least play that passive part.

While he thus ruminated, the mill
bell clanged out harshly the hour of
five. As Lord .\ylward gazed at it
swinging in its turret, and with deep-
chested metallic tones announcing the
moment of liberty for the imprisoned
mill-hands, he fancied that it pro-
claimed the rights and privileges of
its master with respect to Leonora.
Knox was an old resident of Mill-
brook, an old acquaintance and an old
admirer, and he would have her, —
he would have her! It seemed as if
the voice of the bell, resolved itself
into those monosyllables and repeated
them over and over again.

At last the sound ceased, and a
veritable swarm of human beings
issued forth noisily from the mill pre-
cincts, going upon their separate ways,
rejoicing in their freedom. Dave Morse,
amongst the rest, came forth and cast
a longing look toward Rose Cottage.
His hope of a word with Mary Jane
was completely dashed by the sight of
Miss Tabitha out of doors with the
Britisher. He dared not approach.

The buzz of this human swarm soon
ceased, like the sound of the bell. A deep
peace settled upon the landscape, — the
hush and the coolness of the evening
hour. Only the wind swept with a
pleasant, swishing sound through the
tree-tops and stirred the alder bushes by
the brookside. The scarlet flush faded
slowly into a blending of soft and
mellow tints, which overspread the
heavens, and a golden haze rested softly

on the mountain-top. Mount Holyoke
had become resplendent.

"Miss Tabitha," said Lord A^'lward,
taking off his hat and passing his hand
wearily over his forehead like one
awaking from a dream, "when all is
said and done, it must be as she
wishes. If she will have me, I shall
be only too glad and happy. It will
be better than that!"

He pointed to the mill while he spoke,
as if the grim building with its staring
windows were the impersonation of
the dark fate threatening.

"But," he continued, "I feel that the
only true happiness for her lies in
marrying the best and most sterling
fellow that ever loved a woman."

He began reluctantly, but he ended
with a deep ring of warmth and sin-
cerity in his tone. His admiration
and affection for his friend had stood
another test.

While Lord Aly ward thus spoke, and
Miss Tabitha listened with ill-concealed
irritation, and a dark frown upon her
ordinarily placid brow, there was an
interruption which put an end for the
time being to any further discussion
of the matter. The spinster, however,
had seen a loophole of escape for her
niece from an obnoxious marriage, — a
union which would call down upon
herself, Leonora's sole relative, the con-
demnation of Millbrook entire. She
now ardently desired to procure Eben
Knox's consent to the girl's marriage
with Lord Aylward. Once more she
seemed to regard the manager and his
lifelong devotion, which so lately she
had emphasized, as mere pawns to be
moved about upon the chessboard of
her own plans.

She was rather vexed than otherwise,
therefore, at an interruption which gave
her, in her unsettled state of mind, a
pang of regret and remorse, and sent
her thoughts wandering chaotically
backward.

( To fce contioutd.)

273

THE AVE MARIA.

Julie de Chateaubriand.

{ Madame dc Farcy de Montavaloii.

BY LUCIE MORTON.

III.

A FEW months before her death,
Madame de Farcy had formed a
friendship with a young girl,— a friend-
ship which was as precious to the one
as sweet to the other. We have in
our hands a small book entitled " My
Souvenirs of Madame de Farcy," and
from it we can gather more clearly,
the ingenious (we can hardly call it
by any other name) and loving manner
that she used in order to draw souls
to God. Let us give in a few words
what this girl relates:

" My return to religion had only
increased the great natural distrust I
had of myself; and from the day when
I returned to my Christian duties, I
looked for good and holy friends whose
companionship and advice would be
useful to me. But the friend I dreamed
of, I met only once. Almighty God
allowed me to meet her when I was
most in need of her, and then only for
a few months. She was a sister of the
author of the 'Genius of Christianity,'
who at that time had not made a
name for himself in literature. This
lady, whose goodness was beyond all
that I had ever imagined, had become,
from the most gay and fashionable
woman, a most strict penitent, and
the good she accomplished was incal-
culable. I knew her for only six months ;
for the severity' of her mortifications
had already exhausted her strength,
and she died the death of a saint,
leaving me inconsolable. I could have
followed her to the end of the world ;
with her it was impossible to be luke-
warm in the service of God."

Madame de Farcy had interested
herself so closely in the spiritual welfare

of this friend that she knew all her
most inmost thoughts.

"You must try to give yourself up
entirely to God, who has brought you
back to Him from so far," she wrote.
"You complain of your not having
loved Him, and of not loving Him
sufficicntl3' now. Well, this very regret,
this desire of loving Him, is already the
beginning of love. How eas\' it ought
to be to love Him when everything w€
have and enjoy comes from His hand!
You say that you are worried b3' the
thought of your own worthlessness,
tortured by the remembrance of your
sins ; go, then, and kneel at the feet of
Jesus; pour out your heart to Him;
show Him all your miseries, your
doubts, your fears. Keep back nothing ;
then, after being reconciled, return Him
grateful thanks. Feel yourself a much-
loved child in His sight, and work and
amuse yourself with loving gratitude.
In your meditations, try to fix your
mind on some point which you know-
does you the greatest good. Some point
in the Passion of Our Lord, perhaps,
will be more serviceable than any other
subject; for I think that the thought
of the goodness of God has more
influence over a soul that has been saved
from despair. Think often of this."

Madame de Farcy gives her young
friend some excellent hints on confession,
and says:

"You vex yourself because you say
you feel discouraged, and you feel no
real sorrow ; but here you make a great
mistake. Feelings count for nothing : it
is the will that is important. Suppose
that you are going to confession.
You try to make a good examination
of conscience, but you feel cold and
distracted, and the thought of it is
repugnant to you. Never mind ! Do
what you can ; and when your turn
comes, approach the minister of God
with humility, saying to yourself: 'O
my God, give me the grace of true
contrition 1 ' Almighty God has sought

THE AVE MARIA.

273

us for nlany years: we must find Him
by prayer, obedience and mortification.
Ask Him to change 3'our heaft. He
will do everj'thing. If we waited for
the pardon we deserved, we should have
to weep all our lives over our sins."

"But," objected her fi-iend, "if you
were to leave me or be taken from me,
I am sure that I should fall into the
same sins again."

"Ah, my friend," she replied, "these
feelings are quite natural! You feel
yourself weak ; but throw yourself at
the foot of the Cross, and do not have
any anxiety as to how and where
help will come. God will always send .
you the help you stand in need of; and
although 3'ou do not feel the strength
that you fear you do not possess, you
must pray humbly and specially for it
at Holy Communion."

Julie's friend proved the falsity of the
statement made so often — that religion
makes natural affection cold and shuts
out all the jo^- of love.

"Never," she sajs, "hove I experi-
enced such sweet joy as when I was
in the arms of this dear, this incom-
parable friend. It seemed as if she
wanted to make a chain to attach me
to God ; and when she clasped me in
her arms, I felt a most wonderful peace
and security in ^he very depths of my
soul. Called by the most tender names,
and embraced with loving affection, I
learned to know the meaning of true
charity, whose name, put in the place
of love or friendship, shocks the false
delicacy of the world. I'erhaps it would
have shocked me from any lips but
hers. My friend left nothing undone to
bring me to God ; tenderness, love and
sympathy, were lavished on me. She
confided to me much about herself; and,
to encourage me, told me of her own
trials with a frankness that was very
pathetic. She proved to me the neces-
sity of self-sacrifice iind the reward
which almost always follows it, either
by a very sensible increase of grace

or by strength to enable us to fight
against temptation. She exhorted all
her friends to overcome that sloth
which prevents us from surmounting
obstacles, and that false humility
which prevents us from speaking in the
cause of right, for fear that we should
make mistakes; adding that we shall
never accomplish an3thing for God if
we desire only success for ourselves."

What moderation and wisdom
Madame de Farcy showed in the
advice she wrote to one who had only
recently returned to God!

"You ought now to prove that your
repentance is sincere, hy abstaining:
from the least occasion of sin. Whcm
Almighty God demands something
higher of you. He will give you the
grace and the necessary strength to
accomplish it joj'fully. Do not think
that you are obliged to burden yourself
with every sacrifice that comes into
your head. Little sacrifices that you
make unwillingly, perhaps even with
temper, are only suggestions of the
devil who tries to make religion irksome
and fatiguing to you. You must make
it even an act of charity to share the
joys and pleasures of others. Buy the
clothes that suit you, wear the dress
that is becoming to you, — in a word,
please yourself in everything that is
lawful. It is better to do that than to
torment your conscience unnecessarily
or lose time deciding over trifles that
will perhaps ruffle your temper all day."

With acts of humility, however, it is
different, she said ; and her treatment
of a girl who was very sensitive over
the trifling humiliations she met with
in the world was this. She persuaded
her to make an act of thanksgiving to
God every time she was tried in this
way, and made her understand how
pride is one of the most insidious vices.

Much of Julie's advice was practical;
and, although she had the gift of
inspiring others with the spirit of great
self-sacrifice, she was, nevertheless.

274

THE AVE MARIA.

very careful to confine her advice and
suggestions to ordinary exercises of
piety. She always preached obedience
and humility. She often spoke of the
sweetness of the yoke of Christ; and
to a friend vi'ho complained that she
did not feel this sweetness, she replied :
"It is because you have not yet taken
it up. Our Lord did not say, 'I will
load you with My yoke ' ; but, ' take up
My yoke upon 3'ou, and you will find
peace to j'our souls.' We must accept
the cross voluntarily."

The spirit in which Madame de
Farcy jjractised charity showed itself
principally' in her exceeding kindness
and patience with everyone. She had
so thoroughly become mistress of this
latter virtue that no interruptions ever
altered the serenity of her expression,
nor was she ever known to show the
least irritation at the countless calls
upon her time, — calls made very often
by persons who took an hour to say
what could easily have been said in
five minutes. Sometimes her friends
used to become impatient with her
when they saw her receive these people
with the sweetest smile, as if there
-were nothing she liked better than to
listen to them; and they would have
liked her to refuse to hear the visitors'
long stories about their misfortunes
and those of all their relatives. But
Julie was always ready to enter into
other people's troubles, however trivial ;
and would leave the most interesting
conversation with her friends to go
and console those who came to excite
her sympathy. Courtesj' with her had
a higher motive than mere social polite-
ness and tact. She always warned her
friends against the least breach of
charity in word or in feeling, and
said that more harm was done in this
way than people realized.

There was a person who had not
the slightest claim upon her, but to
w^hom she was kindness personified ;
and the amount of care and tenderness

she lavished upon her was sometimes
objected to by her friends. One of them
relates: "I was tempted to be very
jealous about this ; for a few days
before her death, my dear friend, being
unable to see that person, dictated to
her a letter so touching, so affectionate,
that it might have been the letter of a
mother to her beloved child. And this
person to whom I refer was so entirely
uneducated and vulgar, and seemed to
us so dull and insipid and tiresome!"

"She had also a servant," says the
same friend, ."who was an old woman,
as incapable of being useful to her as
she was ill-tempered and brusque. In
fact, Julie waited upon her far more
than she did on Jidie. Once I saw poor
Julie very ill (she was dying, although
we did not know it at the time),
when, having forgotten some keys at a
neighboring house, she asked Angelique
if she would be kind enough to go
and fetch them. " You do nothing
but forget things!" snapped Angelique.
"Do you think I have time to run
here and there at all hours of the
day?" Julie apologized to her meekly,
and then went and fetched them herself;
but on her return she was so exhausted
and out of breath that she was obliged
to lie down. Yet no word of reproach
escaped her.

Indiscriminate confidences, Madame
de Farcy thought, could be indulged in
far too much. "When we confide our
trials too often to others, we are apt to
exaggerate them," she said; "and the
sympathy that we receive frequently
increases the sense of injustice we
feel. The more we complain, the more
disposed we are to pity ourselves ; and
it very rarely happens that these
confidences make us bear our trials
any better."

The_long and painful imprisonment
of Madame de Farcy in the Convent of
the Good Shepherd at Rennes had
exhausted her little remaining strength,
and every day she became weaker.

THE AVE MARIA.

275

She also suffered from a very painful
malady; but no word of complaint
was ever heard to fall from her lips,
and the terrible suffering she endured
with such courage could be known only
by the alteration in her looks.

During the last weeks of her life, she
had finished her business affairs, put
everything in order for her child's
future, and had arranged that she
should live with her husband's family
until Monsieur de Farcy (still banished
from France) returned. When Zoe,
weeping bitterly, asked her when she
would see her again, she promised that
the separation would not be long, and
that soon they would be together, never
more to be parted. "Words which,"
said Zoe, " would have thro<\n me into
despair then, if I had only guessed their
real meaning; but which to-day are
my greatest consolation. I saw her
only once again."

They arranged to pray together in
spirit at the same hour, and Madame
de Farcy constantlj' wrote her the
most tender letters, full of loving advice,
touching upon ever3' subject that she
could think of. She begged her above
all to avoid bad books, the source,
she knew by bitter experience, of many
dreadful temptations. She also begged
her to visit the poor in her name when
she herself could no longer do so.

Soon after her daughter left her,
Madame de Farcy's condition became
much worse. A friend of hers, who
had a house in the country outside
Rennes, persuaded her to come there
in order to breathe fresher air; and
here everyday Mass was said in an
adjoining room, and she was able to
receive Holy Communion.

Almighty God now sent her a very
painful trial. He withdrew all spiritual
consolation from her. "Ah, my dear,"
she used to complain to her friend, "can
it be possible that 1 no longer love my
God ? Alas, I feel so cold toward Him !
I am ^~^»-<pntinual state of coldness."

Although she expressed her feelings with
such sorrow, it was seen how patient
and resigned she really was, and how
perfect was her submission to the will
of God ; for she never allowed the least
sign of what was passing in her soul
to appear, and fulfilled all her religious
duties with scrupulous exactitude.

Another subject of great sorrow, but
at the same time of merit, was the feel-
ing of improvement in her health which
she at times experienced. When her
sufferings were lessened she seemed quite
disappointed, and expressed the fear
that her happiness would be postponed.
There was a great struggle in her
heart between the desire she felt to see
God and the wish she had of always
fulfilling His holy will. She took
with great obedience all the remedies
prescribed, although anything that she
felt might prolong her exile from God
was a real torture to her. After nights
of suffering, she was never heard to
own that the pain had been severe;
but alwa3'S met everyone with a smile,
saying, "Ah, that is all over! We must
not think of it any more." And her
gratitude to those who Jiad rendered
her any service often touched her friends
to tears.

She was always most anxious about
the poor, and gave copious alms from
the small sum of money she pos-
sessed. "Do good while you have the
health," she urged all her friends: "we
are capable of nothing when we are
ill." As her desire to see God increased,
so did her horror of the slightest sin.
Her meditations were always on the
Passion of Our Lord.' She had her
armchair turned in the direction of a
picture of the Agony in the Garden,
and from the sufferings of Our Lord
drew her greatest consolations. She
was accustomed to leave her bed every
morning at four o'clock ; and, after
having read and reread, always with
the same delight, a small devotional
book, "The Christian's Consolation,"

276

THE AYE MARIA.

she would pass the remainder of the
day in these contemplations, even
having the crucifix placed before her
at her meals.

She would have willingly offered to
God the sacrifice of not seeing again
her sisters, and especially her beloved
daughter, unless she had been ordered
the contrary ; not that her resignation
was incomplete, or that she feared the
painful emotions to which it would
give rise; but only in the fear that
long interviews w^ith those whom she
had loved best on earth might for a
single instant draw her away from
the presence of God.

A holy nun undertook to break the
news that she had only a few days
longer to live; and at first wrote to
her, and then went next day to see her.
Alas, even those who are the most
holy know themselves so little! After
having so ardently desired death, Julie,
exaggerating her faults, saw nothing
in front of her but punishment, and
could not hide her grief. " I can not
tell you that your news does not make
me tremble," she said. "I am not one
of those who have cause to rejoice." —
" But, Julie, is it really you who speak ? "
cried her friend. " You w^ho have always
longed for death?" And, to encourage
her and at the same time leave her
the merit of her humility, she added :
"The depth of your miseries will
draw down upon you the mercy of
Almighty God."

A few days later, Madame de Farcy
drew palpably near her end. She had
lately seen her two sisters and her
daughter, and had expressed her last
wishes to them. Zoc was struck by
her appearance of extreme weakness,
and, in spite of her inexperience, was
terribly alarmed. "When I went in I
hardly dared to look at her, and sat
down beside her, speechless. She talked
in a very low voice to my aunts, and
then begged to be carried back to bed ;

(The

and so we prepared to leave her. I got
up and was following them ( I believe
it was the first time I had moved for
over two hours), when she called me
back, and reproached me gently for not
having kissed her. I threw my arms
round her and burst into tears, but no
power on earth would have made me
say the fatal word ' good-bye ! ' I clung
to her in an agony of grief, as she
embraced me with even more tenderness
than usual. Alas, I never said a word,
and yet it was the last time I ever
saw her!"

Next day, the 26th of July, 1799,
Madame de Farcy got up at her usual
hour; but in the afternoon she had
to be put back to bed, and then it
was seen that the end was imminent.
The Abbe Le Forestier, who -was beside
her, asked if she wished to send for
her daughter. "No," she replied, — "not
unless you command me to do so.
The sacrifice is made."

The prayers for the dying were-
recited, and then her friend read some
devotional book. It was perhaps con-
tinued too long; for she begged her
to stop, and then almost immediately
reproached herself, saying, " Ah,
ungrateful sinner that I am, to be
wearied by the word of God ! Continue,
I beg you!" She expressed such con-
trition for these moments of weakness
that everyone was in tears. When the
crucifix was presented to her, she
actually knelt to receive it, and held it
to her lips; then her hold gradually
relaxed, and she fell back upon the bed.
After having received the Last Sacra-
ments, she lingered for several hours,
but hardl3- ever regained consciousness,
and passed away very peacefully at
midnight.

It is consoling to add that she left
behind her a band of faithful friends,
who carried on her work with a zeal
and fidelity which triumphed over many
trials and difficulties.

End I

THE AVE MARIA.

277

A Word in Season.

ALONG with its annual register, one
of our leading educational insti-
tutions sends out a neatly printed
brochure, entitled " A Word about
Education," which merits attentive
perusal, not only on the part of
parents but by the heads of our
schools as well. This piece of writing
would be worth quoting if for nothing
more than the sentence, "The finest of
the arts is the art of living, and the
highest of the sciences is the science of
conduct"; but there is in it so much
that is of present interest, we reproduce
the piece entire, with such changes
as will render its good advice more
generally applicable:

Conditions in matters educational have changed
radically even in the last ten years, and not a
few problems present themselves to parents who
are seeking a school wherein their children may
have, not only the Iwst advantages in the
pursuit of science and the lilieral arts, but also
the lessons that make for noble manhood and
womanhood. Many of our schools and colleges
are strong in all that pertains to mental culture,
and most institutions of learning attach fall
importance to jihysical training; but the right
school for Catholic young men and women is
that which, combining the best in intellectual
and physical education, teaches theoretically and
practically, bj- precept and example, and by all
the manifold influences which make for right
growth, that "the finest of the arts is the art
of living, and the highest of the sciences is the
science of conduct."

The signs of the times point to special needs in
the training of the coming generation. Any one
following the trend of the Baccalaureate sermons
and Commencement addresses which marked the
closing of the past scholastic year must have
heard the note of warning persistently struck in
the earnest exhortations to the young men and
women about to enter upon life's duties. At
Beloit, recognition of the supremacj- of moral
principles was inculcated. A plea for the follow-
ing of the spirit of righteousness as opposed to
the mere letter of the law was made by President
Hadley of Yale. The Rev. M.J. Dowling, S. J.,
of Creighton College, Omaha, in addressing a
class of graduates, reminded them that mental
equipment must ever be considered in relation to
moral vocation; and the Ucv. John I). Boland,

of Baltimore, in an address delivered at Mt. St.
Agnes, dwelt upon the fact that knowledge and
virtue must go hand in hand if the best interests
of society are to be conserved. At Kadclifte, self-
control, self-possession, the following of reason,
not impulse, was the gist of the Baccalaureate
lesson ; the Wellesley students were reminded
that character counts for more than learning,
and one of the warnings spoken at Harvard by
the President of the United States was against
the luxury of our times.

High scholarship and right ideas of the simple
life should be inculcated, and science and art
looked upon, not as ends, but as means to a
great end. Education is to fit one for life; hence
the training which develops and strengthens the
mind, the body and the moral nature is the only
adequate training, and the institution which
brings about such results can not include in its
printed curriculum the best that it offers.

Catholic parents can not be too firmly
persuaded that the manifold influences
of Catholic schools, whatever any of
them may lack in material equipment,
make for right growth. On the other
hand, the heads of such schools should
feel obliged to exert their best endeavors
to enhance all those special advantages
which patrons have a right to expect
and to which pupils have claim. What-
ever may be said of secular schools,
one sure test of the worth of a Catholic
educational institution is its discipline;
and the highest recommendation it can
have for the public is a reputation for
giving due prominence to the art of
living and the science of conduct.

There is nothing so hard to forgive
as the sight of suffering in others
caused by our own injustice. There
is a voice in such testimony of our
evil deeds which can not be silenced
until remorse, that last hope of cure
for the guilty conscience, be put to
death.— i^atA/een O'Meara.

Every venial sin that I commit
is a cloud which rises between my
intelligence and the sun of eternal truth.
The oftener 1 am guilty of such sins,
the denser becomes the cloud.

Pere Chaingnon.

278

THE AVE MARIA.

Notes and Remarks.

In a memorable letter, Pope Leo XIII.
pointed out that separation of Church
and State is not the ideal condition.
Ideals are not to be lost sight of, nor,
on the other hand, are realities to be
ignored. As most governments are
constituted at present, union of Church
and State is the worst sort of a mixed
marriage. Co-operation is another
thing. Deliverance from political domi-
nation, perfect freedom to fulfil her
divine mission, is the liberty for which
the Church prays. Most Catholics seem
not to realize that, despite persecu-
tion and material losses, the Church
is being emancipated everywhere — freed
from the most formidable obstacles
to real progress. We have no tears
to shed even over France, though the
Church is nowhere more oppressed
than in that ill-starred country. A
change for the better is as inevitable
as it was in Brazil, w^hich until 1889
was in a like condition. And now?

"Up to that date," says the Catholic
Times of London, " the Church had
been enslaved to the Government, w^ith
the usual consequences of evil. Then
came the proclamation of the Republic,
which, by a simple decree, cut loose
the Church from all State support,
and also from all State control. The
Catholics met the perils of poverty
with courage. Parochial associations
Avere founded, money for every good
cause continued to flow in; and now
the Church is stronger, religiously and
financially, than at any time in the
past. She has excellent schools and
colleges for higher education ; the clergy
are better trained and instructed ; the
religious Orders from Europe have given
new life to the Faith ; a good Catholic
newspaper press is growing, and the
public spirit is active and zealous among
the faithful. Only recently, the Parlia-
ment tried to introduce divorce into

Brazilian legivSlation ; but the Catholics
and their deputies raised such an out-
cry that the Bill was rejected. The
Church in Brazil has begun a fresh
career, and presents one more proof of
the advantage of keeping religion free
from the golden chains of servitude to
the interests and schemes of tricksy
politicians. The Faith finds its best
support on the Sacraments: they will
keep it alive."

Well said ! It requires no prophet to
foretell that before the end of the
century. State control of the Church,
with all its attendant evils — seeming
advantages and honors, but in reality
losses and scandals, — will everywhere
and forever have disappeared. Most
readers of ecclesiastical histories of the
nineteenth and twentieth centuries will
no doubt wonder that, in an age of
progress and enlightenment, the con-
dition of the Church in many civilized
countries should have been so deplora-
ble and its member's so supine.

Opinions may differ as to what
constitutes desecration of the Lord's
Day; however, it must be admitted
that the saloon, if not an evil in itself,
is the most prolific source of violations
of the divine and civil law. Not to
speak of other results, it has often
been observed that in places where
dramshops are kept open on Sunday
there is comparatively little religious
observance. The contention that the
law prohibiting the sale of intoxicating
liquor on Sundays smacks of Puri-
tanism, and is an infringement of the
natural rights of citizens, is combated
by Gov. Folk, of Missouri, in reply to
a petition to permit the sale of liquors
on Sunday. He says: "No one has
a natural right to keep a dramshop
open on Sunday or any other day of
the week. They exist at all, not as a
matter of right, but by tolerance. It
is a privilege that the State can give
or take away as it pleases. In this

THE AVE MARIA.

279

State dramshops are permitted six
days in the week, but on Sunday they
are outlawed. The people of Missouri
have decreed through the legislature
that the dramshop is a special menace
to peace and good order on Sunday,
and have forbidden them to operate
on that day.

"I am liberal in my views," concludes
Gov. Folk, "and believe in allowing
each citizen the largest amount of
freedom consistent with good govern-
ment; but I am in favor of the Chris-
tian Sabbath, and will not give my
aid to its being entirely secularized."

There is one statement in the annual
report of the Interstate Commerce
Commission which many people will
read with consternation. Railroad
statistics for the year 1904 show that
10,046 persons were killed and 84,155
injured in railway accidents — one killed
out of every 1,622,267 "carried" and
one injured out of every 78,523 passen-
gers. The vast extent of our railroads,
however, should not be lost sight of.
The report shows that at the end of
1904 there were nearly 300,000 miles of
railroad in the United States. Appalling
as is the year's toll of human life taken
in railway accidents, the casualties
resulting from locomotion by means
of automobiles are probably greater
in proportion. They have become so
frequent that legislation has already
been advocated to enforce the adoption
of extra precautions to ensure safety
in the use of automobiles. Pedestrians
can be counted upon to favor such
action on the part of the civil authority.

"We have known many cases," says
the Cntholic Standard and Times,
"and we know cases now, wherein the
penalty of choosing one's religion on
conviction of the truth was social and
family ostracism and loss of material
resources." Such knowledge is not

uncommon among those Catholics, and
more especially priests, who have to do
with actual or prospective converts. In
communities prevailingly non - Catholic,
it not infrequently happens that the
certainty of being sent to Coventry — of
being treated with conspicuous neglect
and contempt as a consequence of
entering the true Church — acts as an
effective deterrent upon persons other-
wise willing and ready to embrace
the Faith. Not that threats of such
treatment are often explicitly made —
although this, too, sometimes occurs, —
but the religious inquirer whose steps
appear to be turning toward. Rome is
given quietly to understand that social
banishment will be the penalty of that
particular exercise of his "private
judgment." As our Philadelphia con-
temporary well says: "We are being
constantly assured that this is the
most tolerant and generous of all
nations in religious matters. As a
general proposition, the boast is quite
correct. But it is no less true that
there is a deep -hidden current of anti-
Catholicism running under a very
tranquil exterior." It is desirable, of
course, that the fortitude of intending
converts should always rise — as, thank
God, it very often does rise— superior
to such considerations. Yet, given the
normal weakness of human nature and
the natural unwillingness to incur
social ostracism, it is an easier matter
for a Protestant to become a Catholic
in Rome or Montreal than in London
or Philadelphia.

A reminder of the comparative youth
of California as a State, and of the
debt owed by the Church on the Pacific
Coast to the devoted Spanish mission-
aries of half a century ago, was the
solemn requiem service held the other
day at Los Angeles for the repose
of Rt. Rev. P. Francis Mora, recently
deceased at Barcelona. In 1855, the
very year when California entered the

280

THE AVE MARIA

Union, young Mr. Mora, who some
months previously had accompanied
Bishop Amat from Spain, went to the
Coast, where for some forty years he
was destined, as priest and bishop, to
do valiant service in the upbuilding of
Catholic works and the diffusion of
Catholic truth. Consecrated coadjutor
of Bishop Amat in 1876, he succeeded
that prelate as Bishop of Los Angeles
in 1878. In consequence of an accident
which entailed daily suffering through-
out his subsequent life. Bishop Mora
asked the Holy Father, a few years
ago, to allow him to retire; and on
receiving permission to do so, returned
to his native land. Old residents of
Los Angeles, of which city Bishop Mora
was pastor for a decade before his con-
secration, speak in the warmest terms
of his devotedness and amiability ; and
Archbishop Montgomery, who delivered
the eulogy at the recent requiem
service, declared that "No one knew
him without loving him." R. I. P.

In the course of his forceful address
delivered before the Pennsylvania con-
vention of the Federation of Catholic
Societies, the Rev. Dr. Lucas made a
very effective use of rhetorical antithesis
by the graphic juxtaposition of these
contrasting pictures:

Unorganized, non-federated, pusillanimous Cath-
olics of France, — look at their condition !

Federated, courageous, aggressive Catholics of
non- Catholic Germany, and of non- Catholic
Holland, — be inspired by their example!

As an eloquent incentive, spurring
lay Catholics on to the goals pointed
out by the originators and energetic
promoters of the Federation, these brief
sentences are worth hours of talk and
hundreds of pamphlets.

As a worthy companion of Vice-
Admiral de Cuverville, upon whose
sterling Catholicity we recently com-
mented, we note to-day another French
layman, the late Philibert Vrau, of Lille.

A great Christian in the full sense of the
phrase, an apostle vyhose ardent piety
was ecjualled only by his indefatigable
zeal, it is no wonder that our French
exchanges are lavish of superlatives in
their tributes to M. Vrau ; or that Mgr.
Baunard, who preached his funeral
sermon, quoted the common ejaculation
of the men and women who knelt beside
the bier, "He was a saint."

As an indication of the inner life
of this thorough -going Catholic, we
reproduce his spiritual last will and
testament, dated 1887 :

I thank God for having permitted me to know
and love Him. I return Him thanks for all His
blessings.

I die in His love and I hope to bless and praise
Him for all eternity.

I pray to Him in behalf of all who are in this
world, and for all who will inhabit it until the
end of time.

May holy Church extend its sway over the
whole universe ; may the reign of Christ arrive.
Amen ! Amen !

Well might Mgr. Baunard ask himself

whether among the saintly souls whom

he has known, or even among those of

whom he has written, he had ever met

with sentiments of higher supernatural

grandeur.

» « *

No doubt the Catholic University
of Louvain has rendered incalculable
service of every kind to Church and
State ; but the opinion expressed by the
Rev. Dr. Shahan (writing in the current
Catholic University Bulletin), that the
Catholic majority in Belgium "would
be quicklj' conquered and severely op-
pressed by their opponents" were it not
for the Catholic University of Louvain,
strikes us as being ill-considered.
The royal family and the majority
of the inhabitants of Holland belong
to the "Reformed Church"; but Dutch
Catholics are not oppressed and have
no fears of being conquered. The
Church is spreading widely and deeply
in Holland in spite of the lack of
a Catholic universitv. Private instruc-

THE AVE MARIA.

281

tion is supported by the State, and
Catholics enjoy a fixed allowance of
about 578,000 guilders from the State
Budget. At the end of 1904 the number
of Catholic churches in Holland was
1085, against 1599 of all the Protestant
bodies combined. The number of priests
exceeded that of sectarian ministers by
more than two hundred, and the prob-
ability is that the next statistics will
show a great increase in the number
of our churches. Dutch Catholics enjoy
entire liberty of conscience and complete
social equality. The most enlightened
among them, we are assured, do not
favor the idea of founding a Catholic
university ; they prefer to have high
grade colleges and to let the graduates
of them carry the war into Leiden and
the other places.

• •
But we admire Dr. Shahan's fine
enthusiasm for the Catholic University
of America all the same; and we are
in fullest agreement with him when he
pleads for the realization on a great
scale of a life that shall be thoroughly
permeated with the principles and
ideals of the Catholic religion. "I
mean," he says, "a generation of men
and women in all ranks of society
who shall hold in veneration the Holy
Catholic Church, and make themselves
her humble and joyous apostles; who
shall hold dear all her teachings, shall
comprehend as best they may her spirit
and her nature, shall exhibit in all the
relations of public and private life the
genuine impress of the doctrine and
discipline of Catholicism, even as a child
exhibits the teaching of his parents, an
apprentice the training of his master.
Practical religion, practical Catholicism,
is no amusement, no light worldly
thing. If it be an honor, a glory and
a blessing to belong to the true religion
of Jesus Christ, it has also been ever
looked <m as a most grave responsi-
bility ; for it makes us at once debtors
to all humanity, to all time; debtors

to God Himself for so signal a calling
and so holy a mission. We are, or
should be, every one of us, apostles
and missionaries. If we feel this in no
degree, then it is time to examine the
basis of our faith and ask ourselves to
what depths we have fallen through
this dark and murky atmosphere of
modem materialism and miscellaneous
irreligion."

Future editions of " Evangeline "
should be provided with an appendix
setting forth the fact that present
conditions belie the picture which
Longfellow sketched in 1847.

Only along the shore of the mournful and misty

Atlantic
Linger a few Acadian peasants. . .

is no longer a truthful presentment of
the status of the French population in
Canada's maritime provinces. Of the
900,000 inhabitants of New Brunswick,
Nova Scotia, and Prince Edward
Island, 140,000 are French Acadians;
and they are by no means all peasants.
On the contrary, they are represented
on the bench and at the bar, in Church
and State, in all the different professions
and trades ; and their efficiency in
these different spheres of endeavor
compares very favorably with that of
their English speaking fellow -citizens.
At an Acadian congress held at Cara-
quette, N. B., on their recent national
feast - day, the Assumption, several
thousand delegates from the different
provinces were present. One hundred
and nine years after the "expulsion"
which Longfellow immortalized, and
just seventeen years after the publica-
tion of "Evangeline," Acadia witnessed
the dawn of her regeneration in the
founding, at Memramcook (1864), of
St. Joseph's College by the late Father
Camille Lefebvre, C. S. C, a genuine
pioneer of education and a wonderfully
successful uplifter of a whole people.
He is known as the "Apostle of the
Acadians."

A Giant.

BY E. BECK.

T'HERE'S ;i giant, a giant of power and miglit,

And he roams the whole world wide,
Through the longest day and the dreariest night,

Wherever mortals abide.
'Neath his tyranny it is said that he

Would the young and old enthrall.
And an evil fate and sorrows great

Await for his bond -slaves all.

In the hovel mean, in the mansion grand,

In court and in camp and town,
In every clime and in every land.

Where the heavens smile or frown ;
In college and school and where monarchs rule.

Where the wheels of toil go round.
Where peasants sweat and statesmen fret.

This tyrant's slaves are found.

They must think of self at the dawning red,

And of self when the sun is high ;
And of self when the mists of even spread,

.\nd the hues of sunset die.
And woman and man for self must plan.

And boy and girl, I trow;
For the giant Greed is a tyrant indeed,

As his wretched bond -slaves know.

The Little Hungarians.

BY MRS. MARY E. MANXIX.

XVII. — Some Kind Friends.

OUIS and Rose had not gone
far when the sun burst forth
in a blaze of glory ; and as the
ittle wanderers dragged their wearied
feet through the dust, they began to
long for a resting-place where they
might have food and drink. They
passed many small cabins on the road,
but they did not look inviting; And
as they had been told strange stories
of Indians and feared they might be

inhabited by them, the children did not
stop anywhere.

It was not yet seven o'clock, although
it seemed to the young travellers hours
later. After they had passed field after
field of alfalfa, ready for cutting, they
heard the sound of a deep -toned bell,
and at its summons troops of men came
pouring from a row of tents in the
distance. At their head marched a tall
Mexican, very good-looking, wearing a
broad straw hat, and swinging an old-
fashioned sickle. In his train followed
white, black, and copper- colored har-
vesters, each bearing, like the leader, the
implement of his trade. They poured
into the fields, laughing, singing, apd
chatting in Spanish, — a language Rose
and Louis now heard for the first
time. The good-looking overseer fell
behind, and beckoned to the boy and
girl, who had shrunk to one side of
the road.

"Where do you go?" he inquired,
with a smile that showed a splendid
set of teeth.

"We don't know," answered Louis,
wearily. "We have been walking nearly
all night, and are very hungry and
thirsty. If there was a house anywhere
near and we could have something to
eat and drink, we would pay for our
breakfast."

"Gypsies, eh?" asked the Mexican.
"But where are the others?"

"We are not gypsies," said Louis.
" And there are no others. We are alone,
brother and sister, that is all."

"No father or mother,— no home?"
queried the young man.

"Mo, sir," answered the boy.

"Too bad, too bad!" was the reply.
"But you must have something to
eat. See yonder, beyond that grove of
eucalyptus, with pepper trees in front,

THE AVE MARIA.

283

there stands my house, — my mother's
house. Go there and ask for breakfast,
and say Alfredo sent you ; though there
is no need for that, for you would
have food and drink without. Never
sends my mother away any one who
is hungry. Go without fear ; you will
have water to bathe your feet and
something to eat besides."

So saying with a bright smile and
friendly wave of the hand, he vaulted
over the fence to join the others who
were already busilj- engaged in cutting
the coarse alfalfa grass.

The children turned to pursue their
way, but in a moment he came running
back.

"Stay there at the ranch house till
we come — at noon," he said. "Then
we will have some music, and it will
rest you."

"But we are afraid to stay long
anywhere," rejoined Louis, naively,
"because we are running away."

"From whom?"

"From SteflFan."

"And who is SteflFan?"

"A showman with whom we came
to earn some money, and find our
brother." '

"When?"

"Six months ago."

" From whence ? "

"From Pennsylvania."

"Money you do not seem to have
earned, and your brother I suppose
you have not found?"

"No, sir, we have not found him ; but
we shall," rejoined Louis, confidently.
"We have earned a good deal of money,
but SteflFan has not given us any of it."

"Has he any claim upon you? Is he
your guardian?"

"No, sir, he is not."

"Very well. He dare not take you
then, if he should come. Anyhow, it is
better that he should find you among
good people if he should arrive. Go on
to the ranch house; tell my mother
what you have told me, and wait till

I come. Have no fear, chiquitos. You
shall not be harmed, if you are telling
the truth."

"Oh, it is the truth,— it is the truth ! "
cried Rose piteously. "Louis would not
tell a lie."

"Go, then, it is a walk of five minutes
only. Ask for the sefiora."

"What is the name?" asked Louis.

"The Seiiora Bandini."

"Thank you, sir," answered both
children as the young man strode away.

Crossing the road, Louis and Rose
dragged their tired feet through the
fragrant .eucalyptus leaves, thickly
strewn upon the ground, after which
they came out upon a lane. At the end
of it stood a long, low adobe house,
shaded on either side by two enormous
pepper trees, their drooping feathery
branches contrasting brightly with the
clusters of small red berries pendant
from every bough.

The garden was filled with gayly-
colored flowers; and a broad porch
stretched from one end of the house to
the other. There was no one in sight.
A couple of rustic benches and three or
four chairs with seats of brown leather
looked comfortable and inviting. From
somewhere, at the side of the house,
came the drone of bees.

"Let us go around," whispered Rose.
"They are in the back part of the place."

"Saints and angels!" exclaimed a
woman's voice as they approached.
"Here are two little ones, sefiora; they
are peeping from behind the alder
bushes yonder."

At the same moment the owner of the
voice who had been moulding butter
under a vine-covered porch smiled and
nodded kindly at the children. She was
a very small personage, indeed, with one
shoulder much higher than ^the other ;
but her eyes were bright and cheerful,
and her voice no less so. A portly,
dignified-looking woman now appeared
at the door of the kitchen. She had a
ladle in her hand with which she had

284

THE AVE MARIA.

been dipping fruit, in process of canning,
or preserving. Louis at once decided
that she was the Senora Bandini, — the
mother of the young man who had
accosted them, and to whom she bore
a wonderful resemblance.

"Well, w^ell! Such a pair of travel-
lers!" she exclaimed. "And looking so
tired ! What is it, little ones ? From
whence do you come?"

"We come from a long distance,
ma'am," said Louis. "We have just
met your son, and he told us to
stop here. He said you would give
us something to eat. We are tired
and hungry."

"Certainly, you shall have plenty to
eat. Natalia, come and give breakfast
to these little ones. You have finished
moulding your butter?"

"Yes, senora," proceeded from the
porch, and the serving-woman entered
wiping her hands. Mistress and maid
addressed each other in Spanish, but
spoke to the children in English, with
which language the senora was as
familiar as her own.

"Go into the big kitchen," she said.
"Natalia, take them in there. It is so
warm here where I am preserving."

The children followed Natalia into
a room, the earthen floor of which was
covered in the middle with a bright-
colored rag carpet. Several oaken chairs
and a settee, all with rawhide seats
were ranged round the walls. On the
sills of the deep embrasured windows
one might have slept without danger
of rolling off, so thick were the walls.
On the broad shelves of the oaken
presses copper cooking vessels of all
sizes shone like burnished gold.

At one end of the room was an
immense fireplace; above it a mantel-
shelf, on which stood a silver urn,
and two very quaintly -shaped silver
lamps. A great carved copper lantern
swung from the ceiling. A massive
table covered with a red cloth stood
in the centre of the room. Between

one of the doors and windows were
several shelves containing blue and
gold crockery, such as sea-captains
were wont to bring home from India
and China more than a century ago.
Louis, who had an artistic eye, thought
it one of the prettiest pictures he had
ever seen ; and Rose clapped her small
hands together with delight as she
stepped across the threshold.

Natalia drew a small table from one
corner, spread a towel upon it, and in
a few moments the children were
heartily enjoying their breakfast of
crisp, white bread, Spanish sausage,
rich new milk, melons and peaches.

"If this is the kitchen what must the
dining-room be, Louis?" said Rose, in
an interval of dipping out the luscious
fruit of a ripe muskmelon with the
oddly-shaped silver spoon Natalia had
placed at the side of her plate.

"/t is the dining-room," said the
servant, "and it is pretty. But it is
called the big kitchen, because once it
was used so. But not in the senora's
time, only when the gringoes lived here
during the life of the old Don, and he
was up in the 'city.'"

"It is very good of the lady to let
us eat here," said Louis, looking down
at his dusty and ragged clothing.

"Yes, so I said," observed Natalia,
cutting more bread. "Usually we give
wayfarers their collation in the poixh.
But to-day it was full of the butter
things; and the senora said, when I
went out for the bread, wondering why
the breakfast could not be eaten on
the steps: 'No, Natalia, I have a
fanc3' these are not gypsy children, —
not tramps at all ; my old brown eyes
are sharp still.' And God knows that is
true, chiquitos, — it is quite true. And
I have already told her the same as I
tell vou now, that 3'ou eat like a lady
and gentleman. Not chewing your food
as do the animals, nor gulping it down,
nor smacking your lips, nor choking
over your cups, nor putting your

THE AVE MARIA.

285

knives down j'our throats. You are
very well-behaved, and there is another
point scored for the seiiora, chiquitos.'^

The children could not help smiling
at the frank and voluble Natalia, herself
continually laughing with e3es and lips.

" And if it be a thing that perhaps you
may stay the night, there is a clean
room ready in the bam, with cots and
mattresses and blankets, — gray, it is
true, but washed only last Tuesday by
my own hands."

And now the senora appeared and
said :

"Come out to the garden and tell
me all about it, ninos."

They followed her; all three seating
themselves on a circular bench built
round one of the ancient pepper trees.
Before many moments had passed Louis
had told the senora their story from
beginning to end, not even omitting
the history of Florian, the quest of
whom was the principal motive they
had in mind when they had put them-
selves under the leadership of SteflFan.

"Poor little creatures! I believe you,
every word," she said, when Louis had
finished his story, interspersed now and
then by quaint, childish additions and
remarks from Rose.

" But you did wrong, very wrong," she
continued. " You should not have gone
away from your proper guardians, —
your only friends. Yet I can well under-
stand how that longing to find your
onh' brother filled your lonely, innocent
hearts. I, too, had once a brother who
displeased my father and went away.
My father spent much money trying
to find him, and, besides, had to pay
a great deal that he owed."

" And did he find him ? " asked Louis.

"Yes, but perhaps it was better that
he should not have done so; for he
broke the old man's heart at last,"
said the senora, sadly.

"And where is he now?" asked Rose.

"lie, too, lies in the graveyard
yonder," said the old lady, "beside his

parents, whom he can never more grieve
or betray. Together they are at peace,
I trust, in the arms of God."

She rose, her quick eyes taking in
every detail of the children's tattered
garments.

"Come," she said. "I have clothes of
my grandchildren who live in the city
and come here every summer. They went
home last week. I can fit you both out
completely, from head to foot."

In half an hour, after a warm bath —
a luxur}' they had not enjoyed for
months, — Louis and Rose once more sat
under the pepper tree, attired in gar-
ments which, if they did not fit them to
perfection, were whole, clean and com-
fortable. The change from the dreadful
experience of the past few months was
so great they could hardly realize that
they would soon be waking from so
pleasant a dream to find themselves
once more under the dominion of Steffan.

"Oh, how I wish we could live here
aliivays!" sighed Rose.

"Yes, it would be pleasant," rejoined
Louis. "But of course that can not
be. Rose. Perhaps they may allow us
to stay till we are rested again."

"But what if Steffan should come
along and catch us?"

"He may come along; but I do not
believe he can make us go with him,
Rose. I think that we are free of him
at last— and forever. We are not bound
to him. He can not take us."

(To be continued.)

Old-Time Illumination.

In one of his art lectures Ruskin took
up an old Catholic Missal, or Mass
Book, and, showing to his audience
some illuminated letters, said : "Gentle-
men, we are the best chemists in the
world. No Englishman could ever
doubt that. But we can not make
such a scarlet as this, and even if we
could it would not last twgenty years.
Yet this is five hundred years old!"

^86

THE AVE MARIA.

The Royal Oak.

The sign of the "Royal Oak" is one
frequently met with in the towns
and villages of England. It owes its
popularity to an incident in the early
life of Charles II., England's "Merrie
Monarch." On the thirtieth of January,
1649, his father was beheaded outside
the great banqueting room of White-
hall ; and in the August of 1651 was
fought the battle of Worcester, "the
crowning mercy," as Cromwell termed
it, of the long campaign between the
Crown and Parliament.

The battle ended in the utter defeat
of the royalist troops, and Charles fled
toward Staffordshire, reaching the old
manor house of Boscobel, the property
of a devoted adherent of the Stuarts,
and occupied by a brave Catholic
family of woodcutters named Pendrell.
It was owing to the loyalty of the
ill-treated Catholics, it is pleasant to
remember, that Charles managed to
make his escape from England.

The Pendrells at once took the King
under their protection. He was arrayed
in the coarse garb of a woodman ; his
hands and face stained with walnut
juice, and in the company of Dick
Pendrell he started toward the Severn
in order to cross into Wales. Each ford
and bridge of the river was, however,
in the hands of Cromwell's soldierj^;
and the woodcutter and King, after
spending a day in a hayloft, returned
to Boscobel. It was not considered
safe for the royal fugitive to enter the
manor house, so he sought the shelter
of the woods. The Pendrells watched
and guarded him faithfully ; but one
day a party of soldiers burst into the
woods. They had heard that Charles
was hidden therein. From the safe
shelter of a giant oak the King watched
the soldiery; and from that day the
"royal oak" became the badge of the
adherents of the Stuart dynasty.

As Boscobel was no longer a safe
hiding-place, Charles journeyed under
the care of some of the Pendrells to
Moseley ; and at Moseley his life was
once saved by Father Huddlestone,
the priest who thirty years later was
to render him a yet greater service —
absolution in his dying hour for the
sins of a long and evil life.

For many weeks the King's life was
one of romantic and perilous adventure.
Once he was nearly discovered through
his awkwardness in handling a spit in
a country inn at which he sojourneyed
as the servant of Miss Lane. At length,
however, in the month of October he
reached Brighton, and took ship for
Normandy. A few years later the crown
was offered to him. He landed at Dover
on his own birthday, the twenty-ninth
of May, and made his way amid a
great outburst of passionate loyalty to
Whitehall. "It mUst have been my own
fault that I came not back sooner,"
Charles said to the multitude who
cheered and waved their oak-wreathed
caps. Even yet in England "the twenty-
ninth of May is Royal Oak Day."

An Old Custom.

The Pardon -Bell or "Ave -Bell" of
pre - Reformation England was tolled
before and after Mass, to call the
faithful to a preparatory prayer to the
Blessed Virgin before engaging in the
divine service, and an invocation for
pardon at its close. There is on record
an order of a bishop of Salisbury, in
1538, concerning the discontinuance of
this custom. It reads thus: "That the,
bell called the pardon or ave - bell,
which of longe tyme hathe been used
to be toUyd three tymes after and before
divine ser\^ice, be not hereafter in any
part of my diocese any more tollyd."
It w^as a sad day when this and
similar orders were put into execution
in England.

THE AVE. MARIA
With Authors and Publishers.

287

— Sir William Laird Clowes, English naral critic
and magazinist, is dead at the age of forty-nine.
He was known in this country chiefly as the
author of "Black America," a study of the
ex -slave and bis late master, published in 1892.

— Another excellent publication just issued by
the Superintendent of Parish Schools, Phila-
delphia, is a reprint of Newman's famous paper
on "The Religious State of Catholic Countries
no Prejudice to the Sanctity of the Church."
Neatly printed, and of attractive appearance,
thi« pamphlet (No. XI. in the series of "Educa-
tional Briefs,") merits the widest possible read-
ing. It is at present ftjlly as timely, in the best
sense of that word, as it was half a century
ago, when the great Cardinal wrote it.

— At the age of sixty-six, James Ryder Randall
assumes the editorship of the Morning Star, of
New Orleans. Mr. Randall has for some time
past been contributing a weekly letter to the
Columbian- Record, and his hand has therefore
not forgotten its journalistic cunning. Under his
direction we feel sure that the Morning Star will
immediately take a first place among the Catholic
newspapers of the United States. Apropos of
Mr. Randall's appointment, we are glad to note
that the New International Encyclopa;dia says of
his "Maryland, My Maryland": "For sheer
poetic merit, it is thought by some to be the best
martial Ij'ric composed by any .\merican."

— It is pleasant to notice a fair representation
of Catholic authors in the Fifth Reader of the
New Century Series, published by the Benzigcrs.
There is only one selection from Newman, the
great master of English prose — a three-stanza
poem, not one of his best either, — but as Brown-
son, Wiseman, Shea, Souvestrc, Stoddard, Fabcr,
Aubrey de Vcre and other celebrities are not
forgotten, we are not disposed to complain. The
neglect of our best writers, not only by the
Catholic public, but by editors, librarians, the
compilers of text- books, etc., has always been
a source of surprise and indignation to us.
Catholic libraries unsupplied with the works of
Dr. Brownson, and collections of religious books
without a single volume of the admirable Quar-
terly Series, are so common that one may well
wonder at seeing the works of Catholic authors
in public libraries. They arc ignored to a great
extent by their own, why should they be patron-
ized by others? The day has not altogether
passed when one who writes for the general
public feels perfectly free to have it known that
one is a Roman Catholic, nor has the time come
when it is of any appreciable advantage to a
Catholic author to place himself at the service

of his coreligionists. Our schools of all grades
should be able to do something to bring about
a change in this respect. The New Century Fifth
Reader, we must not forget to state, is a model
school book, leaving nothing to be desired as
regards paper, print, binding and illustrations.

—A publication whose career will be watched
with considerable interest by all admirers of clean
journalism in this country is the National Daily
Review, published in Chicago. It is a four-page
paper which aims at being the direct antithesis
of the "yellow journal." Sensation and crime,
bogus news and distorted facts, arc excluded from
its columns ; and we do not mind saying that
such of its copies as we have thus far seen have
pleased us very well.

— "St. Antony's Almanac," published by the
Franciscan Fathers of the Province of the Most
Holy Name, is now in its third year. Besides
the useful information common to almanacs,
it contains a considerable amount of miscel-
laneous reading - matter — biographical sketches,
stories, poems, etc. The illustrations are of the
usual kind, but numerous and well chosen. The
issue of this year book for lOOG has already
made its appearance.

— "Plain Chant and Solesmes," by Dom Paul
Cagin, O. S. B., and Dom Andr^ Mocquereau,
O. S. B., will interest all students and lovers of
"the sweetest music sung since the angels sang
on the starlit hills of Judea," — the Gregorian
Chant. In insisting upon Gregorian music as
the proper mode of expression for the divine
service. Pope Leo XIII. had no intention of
pitting Gregorian Chant against later develop-
ments of niusie. The question is one of felici-
tousness and fitness. Wherefore the Sovereign
Pontiff did not hesitate to say: "The more
closely a composition for church use approaches in
its movement, inspiration and savor the Grego-
rian form, the more sacred and liturgical it
becomes." The present work promises to be a
notable factor in the restoration of Plain Chant.
Burns & Gates, publishers.

— The Catholic press of this country is not all
that it should be: it merits some portion of the
dispraise and blame unstintedly, and at times
unthinkingly, lavished upon it; and it is still
notably distant from the ideal which its best
friends propose as its objective. All must admit,
however, that it is accomplishing excellent work
in convincing non- Catholic publishers that a
religious body numbering from twelve to fifteen
millions is a constituency which can not be
disregarded as unimportant or outraged with

288

THE AVE MARIA

impunity. Within the past quarter of a century,
and more especially the last decade, we have
noted numerous instances in which well-known
publishing firms have paid due heed to the
protests of Catholic journalists, and eliminated
from such works as encyclopjedias, general his-
tories, and text-books for schools, extravagant
exemplifications of anti- Catholic partisanship
and bigotry. Often enough the offensive features
of such books existed unknown to the publishers,
and it needed only the calling of their attention
to the matter to insure the desired rectification.
At other times the pocket rather than the
conscience of the offending firm was appealed
to; and the realization that it was not good
business practically to exclude one -sixth of the
population from the list of possible purchasers
led forthwith to equally good results. We have
had some experience ourselves in this matter
of protesting against palpably unfair attacks
upon Catholicism in works intended for the
general public, and are accordingly the better
able to sympathize with the Catholic Standard
and Times in its natural gratification at having
secured the emendation of a work known as the
"Universal Encyclopaedia." Eternal vigilance on
the^ part of Catholic publicists is the price of
fair play to Catholic interests and Catholic truth.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
appear at the head, older ones being dropped oat
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will he imported with as little dclny as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad
Publishers' prices generally include postage,

"Plain Chant and Solesmes." Dom Paul Cagin,

Dom Andr^ Mocquereau, O. S. B. 45cts.,net.
"Reminiscences of an Oblate " Rev. Francis Kirk,

O S. C. 75 cts , net.
" The Mirror of St. Edmund." 80 cts., net.
" The Saint of the Eucharist." Most Rev. Antoine

de Porrentruy. $1.10.
"TheCenacle." 54 cts.
"The Christian Maiden." Rev. Matthias von

Bremscheid, 0. M. Cap. 50 cts.
"Elizabeth Seton, Her Life and Work." Agnes

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"Daughters of the Faith." Eliza O'B. Lumniis.

$1.25.

"The Tragedy of Fotheringay." Mrs. Maxwell

Scott. $1, net,
" A Gleaner's Sheaf." 30 cts., net.
"A Story of Fifty Years." $1, net.
"The Ridingdale Boys." David Bearne, S. J.

$1.85, net.
"The House of Cards." John Heigh. $1.50.
"By What Authority?" Robert Hugh Benson.

$1.60, net.
"Historical Criticism and the Old Testament."

Pfire J. M. Lagrange, O. P $1, net.
"Divorce. A Domestic Tragedy of Modern

France." Paul Bourget. $1.50.
" Wandewana's Prophecy and Fragments in

Verse." Eliza L. Mulcahy. $1, net.
"Notes on Christian Doctrine." Most Rev.

Edward Bagsbawe, D. D. $1.35, net.
" The Transplanting of Tessie." Mary T. Wagga-

man. 60 cts.
"The Sacrifice ot the Mass." Very Rev. Alex.

McDonald, D. D. 60 cts., net.
"The Knowableness of God." Rev. Matthew

Schumacher, C. S. C. 50 cts.
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Obituary.

Remember them that are ia bands. — Hub., xUl. 3.

Rt. Rev. Bishop Mora, Barcelona, Spain ; Rev.
M. J. Moran, of the diocese of Brooklyn ; Very
Rev. P. J. McGrath, diocese of Dubuque; Rev.
H. Glascr, diocese of La Cross; and Rev. James
Conway, S. J.

Mr. Adam Knglert, of Avon, N. Y. ; Mr, John
RutU, Lynn, Mass.; Mr. Michael Walsh, Quincy,
111. ; Mrs. Ellen Russell, Co. Down, Ireland ; Mr.
A. Vermont and Mr. Charles Whitman, Massillon,
Ohio ; Miss Mary Connelly, Elmira, N. Y. ; Mrs.
Ellen Sullivan, Providence, R. I.; Mr. Bernard
Stratman and Mr. H. G. Adler, Pittsburg, Pa.;
Mrs. Catherine Horman, CoUinsville, Mass. ;
Mr. William Adams, Middletown, Conn.; Miss
Marcella Husscy, .\lbany, N. Y. ; and Mr. Thomas
Meade, Shelb3', Ohio.

Requiescant ia pace I

HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS 6HAU. CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUKE, I., 48.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, SEPTEMBER 2, 1905.

NO. 10.

tPublishrd every Saturday. Copyright: Kcv. D. E. Hudson, CSC]

In a Cloister.

BY THE REV. ALBERT BARRY, C. SS. R.

THE nun with her singing soars up to the sky,

And her melody mingles above
With the flood of sweet praise overflowing on high
Of spirits all burning with love.

Her words and her works are like music of heaven ;

And her thoughts are a sweetly-tuned song,
That blends with the hymns of the mystical Seven,

And swells round the Lamb as they throng.

Her will is in harmony ever with theirs ;

And no discord of passion and sin.
By saddening the Spirit of Love unawares,

Beshadows the cloister within.

A Social Reformer.

BY R. F. O'CONNOB.

REMARKABLE figure was re-
moved from the Catholic world
when, on June 27, Mgr. Nugent
^ '^ died at Formby. His decease
® occurred shortly after his return
from America, where he was as well
known, esteemed, and revered as in
Liverpool, in which he spent the whole
of his active and useful life. He was
a typical priest, and from the time he
received sacerdotal consecration until
an edifying death closed a career wholly
devoted to the service of God, the
Church and the people, he went about
doing good. He has been likened to
Father Mathew, Don Bosco, and Car-
dinal Manning, and may be said to

have been a blend of all three; and it
is no small meed of praise to have such
a trinum perfectum of noble charac-
teristics recognized as centred in one
personality. The world is the poorer by
the loss of such a man, particularly in
an age when such men are most needed.

One of the foremost pioneers in rescue
and social work, his life in the great
commercial and industrial centre where
he was born and spent all his years,
where he so long lived and labored
with such beneficent results, was
mainly devoted to the lietterment of
the working-classes, to the uplifting of
the poor and fallen, to rescuing from
social shipwreck the stray waifs — the
flotsam and jetsam of the drifting
population of a large seaport city, —
to extending the social actiem and
influence of the Church and enabling
it to grasp the people, — all of the
primary objects of the far-reaching
policy of the late Pontificate. There
is no question that the movement
which in all countries is disturbing the
social equilibrium and alienating the
democracies from the Church, is largely
the result of pinching poverty. This
goads the proletarian class into a
despairing eff'ort to better their cor^-
tion by lending a too ready r ^r to
the optimistic schemes of revoluvionary
propagandists, who, to gain the people
over to their side, mspire them with
the belief that the Church ajd church-
men lean to the wealthy aaid leisured
class in preference to the poor.

It would be an evil day for Christi-

290

THE AVE MARIA.

anity if this were universally true, — if
it were the rule and not the exceiJtion ;
and the Cathohc — prelate, priest, or
layman — who does aught to disabuse
the minds of the people of this false
idea, is not only the truest friend of the
poor, but the most eifective exponent
of the policy of the late Pope, of whom
it has been said that he had the passion
of philanthropy, and whose memorable
Rerum Novarum was the Charter of the
Working Classes. And if, in addition,
this Catholic's eiforts go deeper and
reach down to the submerged tenth,—
if, to any appreciable extent, he can
decrease the sum total of human misery
and wretchedness, all men will recognize
in him a genuine benefactor to society.
Such a man was Mgr. Nugent.

Of Irish parentage — his father and
mother having been originally from the
neighborhood of Omagh, — he was born
in Hunter Street, Liverpool, back of
the Walker Art Gallery, on March 3,
1822. Having received his elementary
education from a local schoolmaster
named Seddon, he pursued his ecclesias-
tical course of studies at St. Cuthbert's
College, Ushaw — the continuator of
the famous seminary at Douay, — and at
the English College, Rome. He was
ordained priest on August 30, 1846,
at the Pro- Cathedral of St. Nicholas,
Copperas Hill, by Bishop Browne. His
first appointment was as assistant
priest or curate at St. Alban's, Black-
bum. When in 1847-48 the terrible
fever epidemic raged in the North, and
its ravages left many gaps in the
ranks of the priests, several of whom
died martyrs to charity and duty, all
the clergy of St. Mary's, Wigan, were
'•d low. Father Nugent, with that
\'gging Zealand indomitable courage
. '^- marked every stage of his self-
i .^*^"nci,g ]ifg^ stepped into the breach
•S'ngle-hauled.

ip .^'^ fo»-nding the mission of St.
Patrick!*., Wigan, in 1849, he went to
■^^iveep^ol, wJaere his principal life-work

then began. He was at first attached to
the Pro-Cathedral, where he established
the Young Men's Guild, somewhat on
the lines of the flourishing Jesuit sodal-
ities. The district assigned to him was
Whitechapel, then one of the poorest,
most populated and roughest quarters
of the city. There the young priest
foreshadowed the future philanthropist,
whose name was to become a house-
hold word in two hemispheres, already
giving evidence of his power and influ-
ence over the masses, particularly over
men, and of his predilection for social
work among the poor. About this time
his strong attraction for an active
missionary life put into his mind the
idea of joining the Redemptorists,— an
Order he was the means of bringing
into the diocese ; but he was dissuaded
from taking such a step by the Vicar-
Apostolic of the Northern District. He
then, or later on, became affiliated to
the Franciscan Order as a Tertiary
priest.

In 1853, after establishing a ragged
school in Spitalfields, he founded the
Catholic Middle Grade School, now
known as the Catholic Institute, Hope
Street, — though it began in Rodney
Street, that in which Gladstone was
bom. He thus supplied an important
adjunct to the educational equipment
of the city and diocese at the right
moment, just when its need was felt. The
Catholic population had been largely
increased by Irish immigration, and the
want of such an institution to enable
the Catholic youth of the middle class
to fight the battle of life successfully
in competition with the better circum-
stanced and more favored non-Catholics
was patent. Father Nugent spared
neither time, labor, nor expense to make
it, what it became, a marked success.

In the little oratory over the school,
to which from time to time he brought
Wiseman, Manning, Newman, Faber,
Dalgaims, Northcote, Anderdon, Par-
sons, Simpson, and other distinguished

THE AVE MARIA.

291

converts, he drew Sunday after Sunday
large congregations of men to whom he
specially addressed himself. "It was,"
he wrote to the author of this memoir,
"a great centre of Catholic life, and
the two literary societies connected
with it brought together the leading
Catholic 3-oung men of the city. It was
doing at that time the work which
Archbishop Ireland suggests to the
laity — awakening Catholic activity
and giving men a love for intellectual
culture."

Much could be told of the personal
sacrifices — sacrifices worthy of an
ascetic, and ascetics are scarce nowa-
days— which he made in establishing
the school, in securing for it the very
best teachers, and in making the
Oratory a centre of social as well as
of spiritual influence. In a country
like England, where Catholics are a
minority among a Protestant or indif-
ferentist majority, the strengthening of
the social bond, the fraternization and
co-operation of Catholics of all classes,
was, and is, of course, a matter of
primary importance. In the school, as
elsewhere, he ruled with a firm hand ;
but his firmness or strictness had
always a definite object and was not
merely the effect of temperament.
Alluding to this phase of his career,
when sounded in Rome about a vacant
See, he declared that "a schoolmaster
priest makes a bad bishop." Had he
been mitred, however, he would doubt-
less have falsified his own prophecy,
and been a very excellent bishop, whose
administration would have revealed a
prelate of a progressive and reforming
type.

A new sphere of activity was opened
to him when in 1863 he was appointed
chaplain to the Borough Gaol at
Walton, a northern suburb of Liver-
pool. The Bishop, Dr. Goss, had urged
him to a]jply for the post; but at
first he demurred, saying: "I will do
so, my Lord, if you send mc; but my

place is down in Whitechapel." The
appointment, however, was given to
him without his seeking it ; and in 1863
he entered upon a course of twenty-
three years' service as gaol chaplain, —
a work which brought him into close
personal contact with the criminal
classes, and revealed to him much of
the seamy side of human existence.
There he gained a practical insight
into the lives of the prisoneps, their
graduation in crime, their vicious sur-
roundings, the pitfalls which beset them
at ever}' step, the difficulties which
hindered them from escaping from
degradation if they would, and that
remnant of the angel which is to be
found even in the most abandoned,
and which it should be the study of
the social reformer, particularly of a
minister of religion, to discover and
turn to account.

He realized that the social environ-
ment of the poor, especially the Irish
poor, was far more responsible for their
breaches of the law than was any
inherent moral obliquity — although
there are cases where that, too, counts
as an important factor, — and that
overcrowding, poverty, and drink were
dragging men and women down deeper
and deeper into abysses of misery
and wretchedness. This sad experience
colored and controlled his whole after
career. He saw the evil face to face.
He sought a remedy for it, and put
his hand resolutely to the work. From
that time he became a social reformer.

The two great reformative agencies
upon which he relied were manual
labor and the pledge; in other words,
w^ork and total abstinence. Thorough
in all things, he did not believe in half
measures in combating that gigantic
evil which is such a scourgp- r^;of»^
humanity — the drink abuse, ^^xi* Atrrt*.'^ >
moral courage, energy, dete
and fixity of purpose which
most striking characteristics,
a crusade against drink, enlistin

292

THE AVE MARIA.

service of a cause into which he threw
himself with the enthusiasm and ardor
of a modern Peter the Hermit, a small
but resolute band of laymen. Once he
unfurled the flag and sounded the
charge, he never drew back or faltered ;
but, undismayed and undeterred by
ridicule or resistance from whatever
cjuarter it came, fought on bravely to
the end.

A thoroughgoing advocate of total
abstinence as the most perfect form
of temperance, he was profoundly con-
vinced that in it was to be found the
radical remedy for most of the social
maladies of the age; for experience
had forced him to the conclusion that
the drink evil is the prolific source of
multitudes of other evils. What he daily
saw before his eyes at Walton proved
that in punishing crime the State was
only attacking the effects and not
removing the cause. He set to wotk to
do what legislators, lawyers and jail
officials left undone — to go to the root
of the evil and eradicate it. With this
view, in 1872 he founded in Liverpool
the Catholic Total Abstinence League,
to which Cardinal Manning, when he
introduced it into Westminster and
lent to it the great weight of his
personal approval and earnest support,
added the afiix "of the Cross," thus
completing the title and enlarging the
scope of its work.

In the history of the League of the
Cross and the i"ecord of the great
and good work it has done, the names
of Manning and Nugent will alwaj^s
be inseparably linked. They were the
decus et tutamen of a temperance
movement which, if it has not attracted
so much attention as that carried on
by the great Irish apostle to whom
Father Nugent has been compared, has
remedied a defect in the propagandism
of the famous Capuchin, and created
a permanent organization to secure
the continuance of the work. Every
Monday evening for over twenty years

Father Nugent administered the total
abstinence pledge to between four and
five hundred people. In 1878 alone
• 15,000 took the pledge.

The League Hall, at St. Anne's Street
in the north end of Liverpool, could
accommodate about 4000, and was for
years the centre of action. There week
after week rally meetings were held, and
speeches by Father Nugent and his
clerical and lay co-operators delivered,
in the interval between two parts of
a concert or other entertainment, to a
very mixed audience, largely composed
of the poorest class of Irish — basket
girls, street traders of all sorts, and
factory hands ; for the Hall, a disused
small theatre or circus, was situated in
the midst of the Irish quarters. To its
platform he brought Cardinal Manning,
Archbishop Ireland, Archbishop Keane,
A. M. Sullivan, and other prominent
prelates, priests and laj^men, whose
eloquent and inspiriting addresses used
to give a "fillip" to the movement.

Though the abuse of the licensing
laws, and the multiplication beyond
all reasonable proportion of facilities
for drinking, make the work of tem-
perance reform in any large city
depressingly like that of cleansing
the Augean stables — a truly Herculean
labor, — their efforts were not unavail-
ing. "Since Mgr. Nugent began his
crusade," said one of the best -known
priests in the diocese, "it is no longer
respectable to drink in Liverpool."

In 1864 he founded the Boys' Refuge,
appealing to the public to "save the
boy!" Talent, he often said, w^as
"running to waste in the gutters of
Liverpool." In that year there were
23,000 homeless children, the majority
being Catholics, gathered therein. He
made the Refuge a technical school
as well as a Home, had the poor boys
taught trades, chiefly printing; and was
instrumental in placing hundreds of
them, trained to industrial pursuits, in
good positions. He may indeed be called

THE AVE MARIA.

293

the Apostle of the Street Arabs, to
whom he was a visible Providence. He
began his apostolate among them by
gathering the city waifs into an old
theatre in Bevington Bush, one of the
most dissolute quarters of Liverpool,
supplying them with food for the mind
as well as the body by catechising and
feeding them. As many as six hundred
suppers were given on some nights.

One can imagine how faith, hope and
charity, how a more cheering and more
gladsome view of life, must have been
awakened in the grateful hearts of
those hitherto uncared-for waifs, "spilt
like blots about the city," when the
good priest threw his protecting arms
around them, extended to them a helping
hand, and projected a ray of brightness
into their lives, spent amid surroundings
both depressing and degrading. He
never ceased to lay stress upon the fact
that the destitute children left to roam
the streets are the raw material out of
which the criminals who fill the jails
are made.

He also aided in founding St. George's
Industrial School and the Liverpool
Boys' Orphanage; and it was through
him that the Catholic Reformatory
Association obtained from Government
the training ship Clarence, moored in
the upper Mersey. In 1870 he inau-
gurated the movement for sending
destitute children to Canada, and was
the first to convoy a party of them
to America. Out of his own pocket he
aided families to emigrate to Minnesota
and elsewhere. He went many times
across the Atlantic on similar expedi-
tions; and often, while in the United
States or Canada, had the pleasure of
receiving unexpected visits from boys
and girls whom, now grown to man-
hood and womanhood, and filling
honorable, lucrative and useful posi-
tions, he had once rescued from social
contamination and helped to a fresh
start in life.

When in February, 1902, Mgr. Nugent

was asked by the writer of this article
to state for an Irish magazine his
views on the subject of emigration,
he wrote:

"As you can understand, my time is
very closely filled up ; and as my years
increase, my work does not lessen but
grow. Within the last fortnight I have
had more applications from the public
charities of the city to plead their cause
than a few years ago I had in twelve
months. I have three institutions of
my own for women, besides the Boys'
Refuge. Therefore, do not think I shirk
work if I do not undertake the task
you set before me. To my mind, how-
ever, it is not so urgent now as it
was. Who in Ireland ever lifted up his
voice against emigration to England
and Scotland? When some of the
Irish Party in 1880 attacked me for
helping the poor starving people in
Connemara to settle in Minnesota, I
ventured to upbraid- them with this.
There is very little emigration to
England at present, except harvesters.
Why go back to weeping over our
wrongs? Why not deal with the pres-
ent and the future? Teach people to
seize upon their opportunities; there
are plenty, if people will use them. If
the people would only work at home
with the energy and perseverance that
they are forced to show abroad, what
might not they achieve upon the spot! "

Mgr. Nugent's sympathy and solici-
tude were not confined to men and
boys. Like the Master whom he served
so well, whose gospel of infinite, tender-
est pity is a perpetual pleading for the
poor and the sinful, he had compassion
on the multitude of fallen women whose
frailty bears evidence to the weakness
common to the daughters of Eve. In
1891 he established St. Saviour's Refuge,
Bevington Bush, in charge of the Poor
Servants of the Mother of God ; and
the House of Providence, Dingle, of
which the Servants of the Sacred Heart
have the care. The former is a Magdalen

294

THE AYE MARIA.

Asylum for the rescue andjreclamation
of the fallen ; and the latter, for women
of a better class who have made one
false step, to prevent them from follow-
ing the downward course which leads
to the streets ; and to check infanticide,
a crime which prevails to a far greater
extent than many think.

Both of these institutions, annexed
to which are a Maternity Hoitie and
a Night Shelter, are the outcome of
experience gained in Walton Gaol. Mgr.
Nugent's heart was in these latest
foundations, to which he devoted the
£9000 he received for the Catholic
Times. "For the last two years," he
wrote in December, 1898, "my contact
with the more active part of the Cath-
olic body has been limited. My time
and thoughts have been centred in the
House of Providence."

Reference to the Times reminds one
that his work in Catholic journalism
occupies a prominent and important
place in the list of his achievements.
As the founder of a Catholic penny
weekly paper, which, as long as he had
his hand on the helm, he conducted on
broad and independent lines, he showed
the value of the printing press as an
agent of Catholic propagandism. The
evolution of the Catholic Times from
the derelict Northern Press in 1867 until
it made its first appearance under its
present title on March 2, 1872, was
commensurate with the growth in civic
and social importance of the Catholics
of England, and was epoch - marking if
not epoch-making. He lived to see it,
what he made it, a power.

He was a born journalist. I never
knew or worked with any one who
had a keener or surer instinct for the
requirements of an up-to-date paper,
to make it "go," to give it "snap,"
to make it "catch on." All this called
for self-sacrifice as well as alertness
and vigilance. "For twenty 3'ears," he
wrote in 1899, "I never took from the
Catholic Times what would buy my

fare to Paris, but nearly all my salary
at the prison went into the concern,
as well as over one thousand pounds
which was given me by the people of

Liverpool I believe I know what is

wanted for success — well, if not better
than most, still as well as any man
going. I have been in the swim since
about 1852, and know something of
the infant life of each Catholic project."

His multiform activity found many
opportunities for its expansion. He
was instrumental in introducing into
the diocese the Sisters of Notre Dame
from Namur, the Sisters of Charity, and
the Bon Secours nuns. The vast amount
of good which these Orders have done
and are still doing, particularly the
Notre Dame nuns, at their Training
College in Mount Pleasant and in the
numerous schools, is to be placed to the
credit side of Mgr. Nugent's account.

Let it be said, too, that he organized,
and for twelve years personallj^ super-
intended, a series of Saturday night free
concerts, with a view of preventing
workingmen, after drawing their wages,
from spending it in drink. Until very
recently he was continually lecturing
and preaching, his services on platform
and pulpit being freely given in every
good cause.

It is not surprising, after all this,
that, along with work, honors crowded
upon him. Leo XIH. made him a
Domestic Prelate, setting the seal of
Papal approval upon his life and
labors. He was personally known to
that great Pontiff", with whom he
had frequent audiences. His name was
mentioned in Rome more than once in
connection with vacant Sees, and he
was very near being Dr. Goss' successor
in the bishopric of Liverpool. Under
the mayoralty of the Earl of Derby,
he was for the second time the recipient
of a public testimonial, — a purse con-
taining£2000 ; and his portrait, painted
by an eminent Academician, was hung
in the Walker Art Gallery as a per-

THE AYE MARIA.

295

manent memorial of the event. Liver-
pool was proud of him, and he was
proud of Liverpool. It was not only
among Catholics that he was popular,
but equally among non - Catholics, in-
cluding men of all shades of religious
and political belief.

And here it may be noted that one
of the special features of the line of
action he pursued was that he greatly
helped to break down the social barriers
that separated creed from creed and
class from class. He familiarized the
public with the presence and influence of
the Catholic priest as a social factor, —
as a bond of union and not as a symbol
of division. The influence he exercised
in Liverpool and the respect in which he
was held (said Bishop Whiteside) was
something phenomenal in the history
of the Catholic Church in England.
It was strikingly evidenced on the
occasion of his jubilee. It was later
evidenced when, on the initiative of a
Jew, it was decided to accord him the
signal honor of having his statue —
exhibited at the Royal Academy in
London— erected in St. John's Gardens,
one of the most conspicuous sites in
Liverpool.

"I fear all this praise which is given
here must peril or lessen the reward
which is in the future and which is
eternal," he wrote to a journalist
friend in London who had published
a biographical sketch of him. Now he
rests from his labors — and they were
many — after the final tribute of praise
was paid to him in the remarkable
demonstration on the occasion of his
obsequies; and his works, which have
followed him, have, it may be assumed,
earned for him the reward of the good
and faithful servant.

His life was an exemplary one in every
sense of the word. He has shown what
a Catholic priest, who does not shut
himself up in his presbj'tery, may and
can do by taking his share of public
and social work in the light of day

and in the sight of men. His career
is an object lesson worthy of study
and imitation. It is hardly possible
to overestimate its direct influence on
the English public and their attitude
toward the Catholic Church and Cath-
olic clergy. The note of independence
in thought and action, of personal
initiative, was the dominant note of £
his character.

Possibly his position as prison chap-
lain, active and retired, and his freedom
from sordid cares, may have favored an
independence of action which he other-
wise could not have enjoyed. He did
not fear to get out of the "cart ruts"
of which Spurgeon speaks, but mixed
with his fellow-citizens, and appealed to
them and worked with them for the
common good on the common ground
of philanthropy as one of themselves.

A man of action rather than a student,
or a student of men more than of
books, he did not write much, but he
spoke a good deal. His delivery was
slow, emphatic, and impressive ; and he
carried an audience with him more by
his evident earnestness than by any
eloquence, strictly so called.

It has been remarked that his native
place, Liverpool, though a provincial
city, has a certain cosmopolitan char-
acter. As the chief European port for
Western ocean boats, it has come more
within the radius of American influence
than any other city in Great Britain ;
and, along with other nationalities,
that of the great Republic of the West
has left its impress upon the place.

Mgr. Nugent, a typical Liverpool
man — dapper, bustling, keen-witted,
always on the move, — was inspired
and stamped with the genius loci. His
character was a happy combination
of the enthusiasm of the Celt, the
practical common - sense and dogged
jjerseverance of the Englishman, and
the progessiveness of the American.
lie was essentially of the epoch and
a man of his time.

296

THE AYE MARIA.

Lady Dumpty's Novel.

BY LADY GILBERT.

LADY DUMPTY could not forget
that she had once been Lady
Mayoress of London, and the con-
sciousness that she was nobody
distressed her. In Sir Humpty's time,
with unlimited command of money
and the power it gives, life had been
a carnival, and now it was deadly
dull. She had, indeed, several causes
for depression. Owing, she thought,
to imperfect health, her figure and
complexion were gone; and she was
aware that an impertinent young
person might speak of her as an "old
lady," whereas she felt that she was
yet only 'in her prime.' As the money
was still hers, she lived sumptuously
within a convenient distance from
London, took her di-ive every day in
the Park, and paid a round of calls;
yet the brilliant world, on the fringe of
which she had lived, was within her
reach no longer. Her only invitations
were to heavy, undistinguished dinner
parties; and one of her pet social
grievances was rooted in the fact that
the Mansion House, where she had
once reigned supreme, had of late closed
its doors against her.

The reigning Lady Mayoress was one
who had in earlier years been benefited
by her bounty, and shielded from social
danger by her patronage, all of which
the younger woman had ignored when
she weeded Lady Dumpty out of her
visiting list. Of these grievances the
latter murmured to herself as she
reclined on a couch in her splendid
boudoir, and resented the_ neglect of
the world of her desires.

What could she do to recover a
prominent position for herself, to win
some new distinction ? .\n idea occurred
to her. Why not write a novel? Not
only would her name thus reappear in

the newspapers, it would be found also
in the literary reviews, in the circulating
libraries, even on the railway posters.
As the author of a brilliant society
novel, there was no knowing what
honors might be paid to her. Over-
whelmed with delight in the anticipation
of triumph, she rose up as with life
renewed, and paced her boudoir.

In the midst of her excitement an
impertinent obstacle presented itself.
She was utterly unable to write any-
thing in the shape of a" novel. She
admitted that literary composition had
never been her forte ; but what did that
signify ? Trifles should not daunt her.
She was a woman of determination ;
and Lady Dumpty's novel must, some-
how or other, get itself written and
published.

She picked up a Scotch provincial
paper, the Shortcake Morning News, —
a paper which had always been patron-
ized by her because Sir Humpty had
begun life in the town of Shortcake,
and it was to her credit that she did
not forget the scene of his early industry
and aspirations. In the corner of this
paper she had noticed occasionally a
bright little dramatic story over the
modest signature of "Busy Bee"; and
now she spread it before her, and
read one of those tales over again
with eager interest.

Lady Dumpty had intended to lie
awake all night forming a plan, and
actually did not fall asleep before having
resolved on making an overture to the
"Busy Bee" at Shortcake by the first
post on the following morning.

" It would never do to emplo}' a
person of experience in London," she
reflected. " A struggling clever scribbler
from the country is the creature I
require."

The letter arrived duly at the office of
the Shortcake Morning News and was
forwarded to a contributor, a young
girl engaged in baking the family bread
in a small house in the neighborhood of

THE AVE MARIA.

297

the town. The family consisted of an
anxious widowed mother, a thoughtless
younger sister, and a brother ambitious
and clever, but phj'sically delicate and •
depressed. To all these the "Busy Bee "
■was counsellor, sympathizer, servitor,
and occasionally provider, in a small
way, of some assistant means of living.

The letter announced a lady's require-
ment of a secretary and amanuensis.
Liberal terms and a comfortable home
were offered, the writer confessing to
have been attracted by the contribu-
tions of the "Busy Bee" to the Short-
cake newspaper.

There was a shock to the struggling
family. Give up the prop and sunshine
of the home? Live without "Busy
Bee"? The girl herself thought of her
drawer full of manuscripts returned
with thanks; her dreams of successful
authorship to restore the fortunes of
the family. There was a struggle, there
were some tears, and then the course
unanimously admitted to be the most
sensible was decided on.

"It will be drudgery instead of
dreams," thought the Bee; "but, then,
there will be money to help."

After a few humble preparations she
started for London.

Lady Dumpt^^'s keen, narrow glance
criticised her new secretary on the
moment of her arrival.

" Not handsome," she decided : "green
eyes, red hfiir. figure short and insig-
nificant. Too like my tortoise-shell cat.
So much the better."

As the Bee sat opposite to her at
dinner, however. Lady Dumpty was
assured that she had been too hasty
in her verdict as to her guest's lack of
attractions. The girl in her primitive
white frock of cheap muslin somehow
lit up the room with the harmony of
her brilliant coloring and the vividness
of the expressions of life in her changing
countenance.

"No matter," thought Lady Dumpty,
"I do not want to be always looking

at a perfectly ugly vis A vis at table."

To work they went at once in the
lady's "study," where nothing had ever
been studied but the ephemeral publi-
cations of the daj'. At a sumptuous
writing table the Bee took her place,
while her patroness rocked herself, in
a spring chair beside the fire, and
dictated the replies to some notes of
invitation.

It was not long, however, before Lady
Dumpty began to act on her plan.

"This is dull work for you, my dear;
but I have thought of something more
entertaining. In fact, I want to write
a novel and I believe you can put it
together for me. I am full of ideas, but
my health does not permit of sustained
effort."

The Bee was alert and interested. "If
you will g've me your plot and your
notes, I will try," she said diffidently.

"Oh, I was never a plotter! I leave
that to you. And I have no notes. I
am incapable of the fatigue of making
notes. I will outline one or two char-
acters for you, one of which will be
central, so to speak."

"Then you mean that I am to com-
pose and write the novel, altogether,"
said the Bee.

" Not without adequate remunera-
tion," replied Lady Dumpty. "I will
buy the novel from jou." She named
a liberal sum. " If the book prove
acceptable to the publishers, you shall
have a checjue on pu!)liCMtion. But the
novel is to be mine, with my name
on the title-page."

The Bee was startled ; but thought
of Jim at home, with his weak back
and his inventive brain, his hopeless
need of a small bit of capital to further
his lirilliant, if unpractical, schemes.

"I will do my best," she said.

The first step was to understand
thoroughly and to realize in her imag-
ination a personality described by
Lady Dumpty as that of the necessary
central figure. Bee lay awake at night

298

THE AVE MARIA.

struggling with what seemed to her
the utter impossibility of anything so
mean and so bad as this character,
and trying to weave round it a story
w^hich should give relief to the darkness
of its outlines. Into her dreams would
come the breath of primroses in the
dale at home, her mother's smile,
Jim's earnest eyes, her yoimg sister's
gay laugh. Could all these things live
together in the same world ? The girl's
own experiences of life, and her nobility
of faith and purpose, strove with her
imagination which was newly impressed
w^ith unwelcome and unlovely images.
But the money must be earned. She
found at last a plot, and the novel
was begun.

All through one long year, close to
the side of her patroness, the girl
worked at her task, and became inter-
ested in her story. Even the central
figure seized her with a certain fascina-
tion, and the character took striking
shape. Every evening she read aloud
the pages written during the day, and
LadyDumpty approved or disapproved,
amended, suggested, till gradually the
heroine who was the creature of her
invention, a personality that had grown
out of a worldly woman's experience of
the wrong side of the world, appeared
to her sufficiently real, playing satis-
factorily the part assigned to her in
the plot of the novel.

The girl wrote home: "I don't like
the work, mother dear; but I am trying
to weave some good into it. I am
making the secondary people as fair
and sweet as I can make them. Lady
Dumpty likes that, too, as it shows
/orth the unworthiness of her heroine.
I feel that when this is done I shall
be able to try to write something
better. The practice will be useful ; and
was it not Leonardo da Vinci who
studied ugly models before he attempted
to represent the beautiful? I have not
chosen this study, however; only con-
sented to it, for your sake."

The novel was finished and sent to the
publishers: "The Mask of Katherine,
by Lad3' Dumpty." It was soon in
print, and the Bee was busy with
the proofs.

One evening a letter arrived from
the publishers, requesting an interview
with the author of "The Mask of
Katherine"; and next morning Lady
Dumpty, attended by her amanuensis,
appeared in the publisher's office wear-
ing a wonderful hat newly procured for
the occasion.

"I regret to hav^e to inform you,"
said the great maker of books, "that
a difficulty arises as to the issuing of
this novel."

"There must be none," said Lady
Dumpty. "Money is no object tome."

"It is not a matter of money. The
fact is, the book may be said to contain
something like a libel on a person in a
prominent position in London at the
present moment. We could not under-
take the responsibility of producing the
work."

Lady Dumpty had not 'a verj' clear
idea of the nature of a libel or of the
penalties it entailed on the author of
it. The grave looks of the publisher
alarmed her, and her conscience exag-
gerated the cause of her consternation.
Her instinct was to exculpate herself on
the instant. She arose from her seat
in trepidation.

"Then, sir, I must tell you that I am
not the guilty person. This young lady
is the author of the novel. I intended
to lend her my name as an introduction
to the world — "

The publisher smiled. The "Busy
Bee" shrank behind her patron, looking
on the floor. A few minutes, and the
ladies were in their carriage.

"You have ruined my novel," said
Lady Dumpty, angrily. " I shall not pay
you a penny for this fiasco."

The Bee's tears flowed that night.
How could she break the news of such
a misfortune to her mother and Jim ?

THE AVE MARIA,

299

But in the morning a letter from the
publishers expressed a desire to see
the young author of "The Mask of
Katherine," and from the interview
that followed dates the fame and
fortune of a successful novelist who
does not now write under the name
of Lady Dumpty or of the "Busy Bee."

For though " The Mask of Katherine "
might perhaps be considered libellous
(the heroine attained the position of
Lady Mayoress ) and was therefore
unsuited for publication, as it stood,
yet the publishers found it clever and
otherwise attractive; and, with some
alteration, they anticipated a certain
success for it.

In vain did Lady Dumpty endeavor
to recover what she now again claimed
as her property; nor has she ever suc-
ceeded in writing the book which was
to restore her to a position of celebrity ;
giving at the same time expression
to her feelings toward the ungrateful
rival who had been, in earlier years,
her humble protegee.

But who could tell the joy of the little
family at Shortcake?

The spirit of the inner life teaches
all who yield to its guidance, that their
primary duty is the sanctification of
their own souls, and that the holiness
of a Christian consists chiefly in the
fulfilment of the duties of one's station.
These are indispensable: the very end
of devotion is the obtaining of such
graces as are necessary for their fulfil-
ment. It can, therefore, never be a
reason for neglecting them ; on the •
contrar3-, true piety allows that time
only for prayer which can lawfully
be spared from imperative duties; and
bids us in all religious exercises, not
of strict obligation, to accommodate
ourselves to the wishes and weakness of
those whom we are bound to consider,
and, for peace' sake, to sacrifice our
own tastes, be they never so pious.

— Pere Grou.

Lourdes.

By V. McSherry.

"THE maids and matrons in those sad old days

Tlie poet sings of in heroic strain,
Exiled from home, their sorrow tried to cheat,
Rebuilding with old names and memories sweet
The Fatherland in thought. But all in vain !

Illusions only in the soul upraise
Regret for what is real. Evermore
By wistful longing drawn unto the shore,

They looked across the sea with misty gaze
Toward ruined Troy, until there seemed to rise
And span the space a bridge of tears and sighs.

We exiles, in our wanderings here below,
Some height would gain whence we might nearer
view
That favored land where tears shall cease to
flow —
Our Home, where joy awaits us; and we, too.
Are come to Lourdes, that from this holy place

Where Mary stood, an echo of her voice
May reach our souls, and rays of heavenly
grace
Our eyes may open and our hearts rejoice.
That rugged rock, blessed by her rose-dad feet,
Becomes the portal of the heavens above;
The arch is spanned by ardent faith and love.

The tapers form a waving line of light

Against the background of the rocks and sky;
Basilica and tower gleaming white,

And Mary's monogram emblazoned high.
Above the ripple of the Gave, that flows
Just as it did when Mary's voice arose
Upon the quiet air, are heard the hymn
And pilgrim's prayer from morn till twilight
dim.
Time swiftly passes in this tranquil spot.
Where worldly cares and joys are all forgot.

Here at this shrine earth's sons and daughters
meet.

As winged rangers, lost in airy flight.
Or frightened by the darkness or the storm.

Fly for protection to some friendly light.
Here Christian hope and confidence transform

The Grotto, fount and esplanade to-day

To Galilee of old, where by the way
Were healed the lame, the blind; for here re-
sound
Hosannas from these hearts that joy have found.

300

THE AYE MARIA.

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SADLIER.

XXXIII.— Jim Bretherton is Amazed.

^^=s HE interruption, in fact, took the
^^^ form of Jim Bretherton himself,
with a eager look in his face such as
it had often worn when on bright
summer mornings, long before, he had
come from the Manor to play with
Leonora.

He stopped at the gate expectantly,
though he knew that Miss Chandler
was absent, and that it was only Miss
Tabitha who would greet him. As he
stood, and, raising hir, hat, smiled at
his old friend, the spinster's faculties,
wearied by the late strain upon them,
grew bewildered. For a moment she
fancied it was that other Bretherton
who waited thus, eager and ardent,
that the roses of youth were blooming
thereabout, and the clear sky of early
life was shining above in the blue. Was
that sparrow twittering in the bare
branches singing the song of youth?
Was her hair still fair and soft, that he
might steal a ringlet? And her cheek
soft and rounded, that he might liken it
to ivory ? Was her own wasted frame
once more alert and vigorous ?

Ah, no! Years had done their fatal
work upon her face and form, even as
the garden lay chill and drear under
the wintry blast, the roses dead, no sun
of youth shining, no summer foliage
sheltering a singing bird. The Breth-
erton she had loved lay dead this decade
of years; only the sin and shame
w^hich had marred his career survived.
This was his nephew, who had come
a -courting Leonora, whom he might
not wed ; and yonder, from the mill
window, like some evil genius, Eben
Knox, full of rage and malice, was
probably looking down.

Jim Bretherton had come expressly to

talk over matters with Miss Tabitha,
and to obtain her consent — a mere
formality, as he supposed — to his mar-
riage with Leonora. Despite the dark
hints she had once thrown out, it was
natural that he should have very
little doubt of her ready and joyful
approval of his matrimonial projects.
If a Bretherton were always welcome
at Rose Cottage, how much more
so would he be coming to transplant
the fairest rose of all to the stately
pleasance of the Manor? He believed,
moreover, that Miss Tabitha liked him
personally. He hoped — though he was
far from sure, so remote and elusive
was she — that Leonora loved him, and
that all her delay and hesitation would
end in the acceptance of his offer.

In any case, he wanted to have
a long talk with Miss Tabitha. He
was, therefore, not only surprised but
considerably disappointed to see Lord
Aylward in the garden. It w^ould be
-impossible to say anything before him.
After giving, however, a friendly salu-
tation to Miss Tabitha, who turned
pale at sight of him, he greeted his
friend cheerily :

"Hello, Aylward! I thought that
must be your umbrella I saw from
afar."

He mounted the steps and sat down
almost at Miss Tabitha's feet, just as he
had done on that first visit. The two
young men talked and laughed, exchang-
ing a volley of jokes. They treated
the old lady with a cordial deference
which pleased her. It was like those
first days after young Mr. Bretherton
had come home and he and his friend
had frequented the Cottage in a friend-
liness which took no heed of danger. It
seemed good to them both to be there
once more ; and it likewise seemed good
to Miss Tabitha to see them. There
is something vastly reassuring to the
old and timorous in the very presence
of strong and confident youth. Their
hold upon the brightness of the universe

THE AVE MARIA.

301

seems so secure. It is like sunshine
flooding a dark place.

After a time Jim Bretherton remarked
that Miss Tabitha seemed chilled, and
suggested that she should go indoors.
She readily agreed, and the two went
in with her. Presently the young gentle-
man from the Manor, to the giggling
admiration of Mary Jane, was down
upon his knees building up a roaring
fire. He was as a light-hearted boy
kneeling there in the fancied security of
his love and happiness, bantering his
friend, who was awkwardly trying to
assist, and who was bravely stifling
the pain which the sight of that room
evoked.

"That's a pretty good fire!" he
exclaimed, surveying his work with
satisfaction. "That's the way to kindle
a blaze, isn't it, Mary Jane? You'll
have to send for me whenever the wood
doesn't bum. You can send Dave, you
know."

The girl reddened and giggled. The
allusion to her "young man" put the
climax to her delight.

After she had reluctantly retired to
her own dominions, the three fell into
a pleasant vein of talk, while the
day faded without and the shadows
deepened about them. Though Leonora
was absent, the charm of her person-
ality seemed to hover about that room,
and to impress, itself upon the young
men as though she had been there. It
seemed as if at any moment ihey
might see her beautifully expressive
eyes looking at them, or her smiling
lips greeting them. Once or twice there
fell a silence, during which this im-
pression was very strong in the minds
of both. It was after one of these
pauses that Miss Tabitha said, with
a sigh :

"I wish I could ask you both to tea;
but I am afraid, as Leonora is away,
there is ver}- little in the house."

The two 3'oung men caught eagerly
at the proposal.

"Aylward and I can toast bread
here," said Jim Bretherton. "And if
Mary Jane brews the tea, what more
do we want?"

" But it is your dinner hour? " objected
Miss Tabitha, faintly; for she was glad
of their presence, and was, moreover,
of a hospitable turn of mind.

"Oh, dinner be hanged!" cried Jim
Bretherton.

"We had a heavy luncheon," added
Lord Aylward; "and if you will only
let us stop to tea, we shall enjoy it
immensely."

And so it was settled. Miss Tabitha
covenanting that she would add some
peach jam to the bill of fare.

"Peach jam? Hooray!" cried Jim
Bretherton. "One of the pleasantest
recollections of my childhood was being
allowed to taste your peach jam, Miss
Tabitha. Aylward, you're in luck."

Miss Tabitha searched in her silk
apron for the key of the jam cupboard.
She always kept it locked, with a dark
suspicion of predatory instincts upon
the part of Mary Jane. Jim Bretherton
begged the spinster to intrust him with
the key, promising to be very careful.
Lord Aylward held a light, and a pot
of peach jam was brought forth in
triumph. Mary Jane was instructed to
bring in a loaf of bread ; and by the
time the table was laid and the tea
brought into the dining-room, the two
young men could display a pile of toast,
which they proceeded to demolish with
evident relish.

It was a delightful meal, though Miss
Tabitha could not help giving a regret-
ful thought to the best china, the
absence whereof was quite unnoticed by
her guests. Mary Jane, at a mystic sign
from her mistress, had evoked a few
slices of cold ham, which lent a substanT
tial character to the feast.

"I wish Leonora had been here,"
Miss Tabitha remarked, momentarily
oblivious of the complications. "She
would have enjoyed this."

302

THE AVE MARIA

Jim Bretherton echoed the wish deep
down in his heart, for the time of her
absence seemed long to him ; and Lord
Aylward, who might not even wish for
a consummation which would have
banished him relentlessly, exclaimed in
desperation :

"Oh, yes! It is so awfully jolly, I
am sure Miss Chandler would have
enjoyed it."

"You have made fearful inroads upon
Miss Tabitha's jam," observed Jim
Bretherton, striving to carry off the
situation with a jest; though, with
quick, sympathetic insight, he guessed
what his companion was feeling. "I
don't believe j'ou ever tasted any like
it before."

"That jam is ripping!" cried Lord
Aylward, with enthusiasm.

"Leonora made it this year," Miss
Tabitha said, with a sigh. "It is the
first time I have let any one touch the
jam, but I have not been feeHng so well
of late."

There was a silence after that, filled '
deliciously with the mental picture of
Leonora flitting about the kitchen
manufacturing that delectable sub-
stance, which the two were still boys
enough thoroughly to appreciate. There
was the subtle suggestion, too, of
housewifely accomplishment, of the
presiding genius of a home that was
to be, which delighted Jim Bretherton,
while it filled Lord Aylward with a
sudden, passionate regret Better, he
thought, to have been a laborer earning
his daily wage, or a backwoodsman
carving out a fresh existence from the
forest, if only that beautiful creature
might have brightened his daily life,
than to live in luxury without her.

The wealth, the honors which were
his seemed to him then as so much
Dead Sea fruit. He realized, as he sat
and stared at the logs glowing upon
the hearth, the wisdom of Jesse Craft's
advice. It would be best to fly fast
and far from this perilous atmosphere,

and to stifle rather than to feed this
flame which burned within him. If,
indeed, he could do anything to save
Leonora from a marriage with Eben
Knox, then he would gladly stay and
strive to endure what must be endured.
That once settled, he must leave events
to take their course, and put the seas
between himself and this obscure village
of Millbrook, which, like those enchanted
places in the olden myths, had seized
and held him away from the great
world, with its pleasures and cares and
duties and responsibilities.

As the evening wore on, it occurred
to him that he had to make an excuse
for taking his departure, and so permit
Jim Bretherton to have an undisturbed
conversation with Miss Tabitha. He
rightly surmised that this had been his
friend's intention. Reluctantly, there-
fore, he arose and excused himself upon
the plea that he wanted to secure
some fishing tackle before Jackson
closed his shop. Arranging to meet
Jim Bretherton later, he bade Miss
Tabitha a cordial good-bj^e and went
out into the darkness.

Miss Tabitha, left alone with her
other guest, felt suddenly overpowered
by nervousness. What had he come to
say? How was she going to explain,
to deny his suit, to put an end forever
to this pleasant intimacy, and, as it
were, to shut the doo^ of Rose Cottage
in the face of a Bretherton? In the
enjoyment of the evening, she had
forgotten the harassing circumstances
which surrounded her. She became
"all of a-tremble" as she saw Lord
Aylward go forth. His presence had
been as a bulwark of safety against
embarrassing explanations.

For a few moments ^fter the door
had closed upon the tall figure of
the Englishman, Jim Bretherton knelt
upon the hearth and stirred the fire
vigorously. At last he lay down the
poker and said abruptly :

"Do 3'ou remember, Miss Tabitha,

THE AVE MARIA.

303

that the first time I came to the
Cottage after my return from England,
I inquired for the little girl with whom
I used to play?"

Miss Tabitha assented miserably.

"Yes, I remember," she answered.

"You see, she had been in my con-
sciousness all the time I was away.
It was preordained that I was to come
in search of her."

The young man still spoke half-
jestingly. Miss Tabitha leaned back
in her chair and listened, as though
he had been talking of some disaster
which had already befallen, or was
likely to come to pass. And young
Mr. Bretherton presentl}' warmed into
genuine earnestness.

"The truth is," he declared, "quite
apart from our early association,
I fell instantly, abjectly, in love with
Leonora as soon as I saw her again,
standing beside you upon the porch.
I can't describe my sensations, and it
isn't the least use trying. I didn't
quite realize at first why I was always
making excuses to come down to Rose
Cottage and to haunt any place where
I might meet Leonora. When Aylward
and I went away to Newport, I was
only anxious to get back again to
Millbrook. The old station seemed to
me like the gates of Paradise. I knew
how completely infatuated I was only
when another man — a splendid fellow
too, and my own best friend — wanted
to marry my early playmate."

( To be continued. )

"'My life has been cold, careless. I
never lost my faith, but I almost forgot
that I had it. I made little use of it. I
let it rust,' she said.

" Many do that, but a time comes
when they feel that the great weapon
■■^vith which alone we can fight the
sorrows and dangers of the world must
be kept bright, or it may fail us in the
hour of need." — Robert Hichcns.

A Model Wedding.

THE greatest national wedding
of Ireland — as the officiating
priest put it— since Eva MacMurrough
married Earl Strongbow, was the
recent one of the young Marquis of
Bute and Miss Augusta Mary Monica
Bellingham, of Castle Bellingham, Co.
Louth. The bride, whose patriotism
is fervent, elected to have the marriage
festivities held among her own people
and the rite performed by her own
parish priest. Father Patrick Pagan of
Kilsaran, instead of in the Brompton
Oratory of London,where the marriages
of Great Britain's Catholic aristocracy
generally take place. The alliance of
two great Catholic houses of Scotland
and Ireland such as the Stuarts and
Bellinghams could not fail to arouse
interest and sympathy, particularly
in the latter country ; but Miss
Bellingham 's popularity suffices to
account for the extraordinary con-
course of enthusiastic spectators that
covered the hills and fields round Castle
Bellingham on the auspicious morning.
The road to the little village church,
about a mile long, was lined with
every possible species of vehicle from
donkey carts to motors; and the
appearance of the Bute brothers in
kilts, cock feathers and oak leaves in
their bonnets— the Stuart emblem, — was
greeted with wild cheers of welcome.
The Robert Emmet Prize Band from
Dundalk, in gorgeous ancient Irish
accoutrement, made merry music, to
which the Scotch pipers replied by
vigorous skirling. The Irish and Welsh
and Scotch retainers of both noble
families vied with each other in demon-
strating that fealty and affection so
rarely met with in these days of
levelling democracy. Over forty depu-
tations waited on the happy pair,
and to those of the addresses which
-were delivered in Welsh and Gaelic the

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THE AVE MARIA.

Marquis replied in the same tongues.
Among these deputations was one
from the Presb3'terian congregation of
a Scotch town owned by Lord Bute;
and the marriage service was attended
by clergymen of diflferent sects from
England and Scotland, as well as by
the local Protestant minister. Indeed
the note of religious tolerance was
evident throughout, and brought to
mind the lines of the great Irish
poet to the Catholic Church : " Where
shineth th}' spirit, there liberty' shineth
too." These words are as truly borne
out on the Bute estates as in the
birthplace of Miss Bellingham.

Sir Henry Bellingham, formerlj'
private chamberlain to his Holiness
Pope Leo XIII. , has brought up his
family in firm devotion to the Old
Faith. His eldest daughter has em-
braced a religious life; and Lord Bute's
bride has been bred, both figuratively
and literally, in the atmosphere of
Rome. Indeed it was in the Eternal
City that her engagement took place.
In person, she is a handsome, vivacious
brunette of medium stature, with two
remarkably eloquent eyes, expressive
at once of good nature and earnest
purpose. On the morning of her bridal
day she looked all the more beautiful for
the sweet' seriousness of the face beneath
the historic veil which is an heirloom
of her grandmother, daughter of the
Earl of Gainsborough. The prevailing
tone of her attire was simplicity,
and she wore no jewellery. Love
and blessings surrounded her as she
knelt, and fervent prayers for her
future happiness were sent up from
the humblest of the congregation.

The present Marquisof Bute, although
different in many respects from his
father, has inherited the chief charac-
teristics of that illustrious convert;
among which come first a strenuous
devotion to duty, and a fervent attach-
ment to that faith left to him as a more
precioHS heritage than the worldly

privileges of ancient nobility and great
territorial possessions. Educated in a
devout circle, under the wise tutelage
of his mother, the boy's earliest impres-
sions were of the spiritual order,
combined with the exercise of active
benevolence. With no less conscientious
exactitude than she had shown in the
fulfilment of another sacred trust— her
personal consignment of the late Earl's
heart to Jerusalem, — this worthy
daughter of the Howards formed the
mind of her son to all that was pure
and lofty. His natural bent being
toward a simple outdoor life, he was
gratified in this as far as was consistent
with a comprehensive course of instruc-
tion. His love of big game hunting
has taken him as far afield as Central
Africa; but the interest in agriculture
and mining operations which he has
lately developed leads one to anticipate
that he will follow his father in all but
sedentary pursuits.

The literary tastes of the late Mar-
quis— he was the original of Beacons-
field's "Lothair," wherein Monsignor
Capel also figures as the ecclesiastic
instrumental in his conversion — in
nowise hindered his participation in
many successful financial undertakings.
That the earldom of Bute is one of
the few millionaire earldoms of the
British Peerage is due almost as much
to him as to his father, who devoted
nearly half a million sterling to the
building of the West Bute dock in
Cardiff. To both of them the city
owes its prosperit3', as it in turn has
been to them the main source of their
great wealth.

The, present possessor of the Bute
heritage declared with frank modesty,
in the short speech delivered at his
coming -of- age banquet: "I have but
one object, which is to walk in my
father's footsteps and do my dutj- in
like rnanner." Of a naturally retiring
nature, he was not very much in
evidence even during the festivities

THE AVE MARIA.

305

which preceded the wedding at Castle
Bellingham, absenting himself from the
fashionable crowd whenever he could,
to take a quiet stroll in the gardens
with his brothers or with Sir Henry
Bellingham. A true Scotch patriot, he
adheres to the dress and custom of his
native land, wearing the kilt when at
home, and ordering his household to be
awakened every morning by the sound
of the bagpipes.

On the morning of his wedding-day,
the bridegroom, with his mother and
brothers, attended a Low Mass at
eight o'clock in Kilsaran chapel; and
at ten o'clock began the Nuptial Mass,
after which the Pope's special bless-
ing was given. The altar, of white
alabaster, was beautifully wreathed in
lilies; and the choir of the Marlborough
Street Pro-Cathedral, Dublin, gave an
exceptionally magnificent rendering of
the Veni Creator. Although there were
several great church dignitaries present,
and although it was expected that,
owing to the preponderant position of
the contracting parties in the Catholic
world, either cardinal or archbishop
would officiate, the ceremony was per-
formed, as stated, by Father Pagan,
assisted by his curate. Father Murtagh,
in accordance with the bride's special
wish.

When the sacred rite was accomplished
the bridal pair was escorted, to the
tune of "Come Back to Erin," played
by the Dublin Police Band, as far as
the little fishing village of Annagassan,
where they embarked for Stranraer.

Truly, if past and present may be
taken as a safe augury for the future,
the lives of these two devout members
of the Church, the Marquis and
Marchioness of Bute, will be rich in
holy aims and practical works of
charity to those around them.

B. H.

■ 9 ■

The man who suspects his own
tediousness is yet tp be hom,~Aldrich.

A Contrast.

ANY American or English Catholic
who has had the privilege of living
for some time in a Catholic country,
such as Italy or Spain, must find a
great difference when he returns home.
There is something that he misses at
every turn; something that used to
meet his gaze wherever he went ; some-
thing that was so frequent that he grew
quite accustomed to it, and, perhaps,
came to pass it by almost without
consciously noticing it, taking it as
part and parcel of his everyday life
and surroundings.

But when he comes home he misses
it. Glad though he is to see his native
land again, he is saddened by the
absence of what had become so familiar.
It would not be true to say that it is
entirely absent : he may find it, and he
can find it ; but he will have to go into
a Catholic church, as a rule, if he wishes
to find it. In Catholic lands it is to
be seen everywhere: at street corners,
by the side of country roads, on lofty
mountains, in the depths of fertile
valleys, in great towns and little
villages, in splendid squares, and also
in the slums, in the houses of rich and
poor alike, and in the very shops and
markets.

We refer to the image and the face
of our dear Mother, — of Mary, Mother
of God and Mother of us. It was a
worse thing than we can realize
when the Blessed Virgin's image was
banished from England, — torn down,
not only from its place in the
streets and roads, where it could
be seen far and wide throughout the
land ; but even from the very churches
themselves in which our Catholic fore-
fathers delighted to do her honor.
Worse still, that sacred image was
torn, only too successfully, from its
place in the hearts and affections of the
people; and so it was that this great

306

THE AVE MARIA.

nation of America, taking its rise from
a people already Protestant, entered
into a diminished heritage, knowing
not the Mother who was so dear to
its forefathers of old.

It was said that Mary was no part
of the Christian religion ; and devotion
to her, no part of our duties and privi-
leges as Christians. Could anj'thing
be more opposite to the truth? For
the truth is that our dear Mother and
devotion to her are indeed part and
parcel of true Christianity. When the
people of Bethlehem drove Mary away
from their doors, they drove Jesus away
w^ith her ; and when the despotic rulers
of England did away by brute force
with the love and honor hitherto paid
to Mary, they took away also from
our Blessed Lord the love and honor
that belong to Him. Jesus and Mary
are bound up together in our holy
Faith; and so it is no wonder that
when these wicked men banished the
Mother, they also, with an evil instinct,
drove away the Son — banished Him
from the altar and from the tabernacle,
abolishing the Holy Mass, and turning
the Blessed Sacrament into a mockery.

It ought to be one of the dearest
wishes of our hearts to see Mary loved
and honored by our race as she used
to be, and as she is now in Catholic
countries. What beautiful instances of
true devotion to her and fervent love
of her are to be seen in Italy, the Land
of the Madonna, as it has well been
called ! Men and women and children,
the rich and the poor, may be seen
kneeling before her sweet image and
pouring out to her their love and their
desires, making known to her their
troubles and needs, and confidently
expecting her help, which is never want-
ing to those who trust in her. Referring
to a great pilgrimage to the shrine of
Our Lady of Good Counsel, a Catholic
traveller writes:

"I saw thousands of wcrkingmen
and women who had trudged many

weary miles of mountain and valley
to do honor to the Mother of God and
of men, and who made night and day
resound with her praises. How striking
the contrast to a Protestant country!
What a blessed thing it would be if
our working people looked upon Mary
as their Mother! How it would sweeten
and lighten thousands of lives full of
care and worry and trouble!"

The day when America shall have
become so thoroughly Christianized
that images of the Blessed Virgin will
be regarded as congruous adornments
of public places, is as yet in the womb
of a probably far-distant future; but,
in the meantime, individual clients of
Our Lady can compensate in some
measure for the neglect which she re-
ceives from the non- Catholic public.
There is every reason why Protestant
visitors to Catholic homes should
behold in drawing-room and study,
in parlor and boudoir, paintings or
statues of God's masterpiece of beauty,
the Virgin - Queen of Heaven.

General de Miribel's Faith.

WHEN General de Miribel was
called to the command of the
famous Lyon's Division, certain irre-
ligious papers objected because he was
knowfa to be a stanch Catholic.

"Yes, I am a Catholic," declared the
General; "I am and always shall be
proud of the fact."

He considered as a crime against
his country all attempts to introduce
irreligion into the army. "It means," he
said, "to deprive France of the noblest
part of its life, strength and defence."

General Miribel always received Holy
Communion at Easter, in full uniform.

"I have two duties to perform," he
often remarked: "that of a soldier and
that ot_a Christian. I am always ready,
when it is necessary, to give my blood,
but never to sacrifice mv soul."

THE AVE MARIA.

307

Notes and Remarks.

It would appear that, notwithstand-
ing Shakespeare's apparent denial,
backed up b}' the corroborative instance
of the rose, there is considerable in a
name, after all,— at least in the pictu-
resque vocabularj' of diplomats. One
.of the correspondents at Portsmouth
tells his paper that Mr. Witte "declared
over and over again his government
would never pay any indemnity, never
pay tribute, never reimburse Japan
for the cost of the war." Yet the
correspondent states, farther on, that
Russia is to make a money payment to
Japan of several hundred millions "for
the keep of Russian prisoners of war
and other things." The exigencies of
diplomatic usage and the sensitiveness
of Russia's national honor may possibly
necessitate such fine-spun distinctions;
but the world at large will hold to its
own opinion as to the correct name
for the money paid ; and the eminently'
sane Japanese will, we presume, care very
little whether the millions they receive
be termed tweedledum or tweedledee.

Apropos of a new edition of Father
Ryder's admirable little book, "Cath-
olic Controversy" — it deserves the title,
since it covers the whole wide field, —
a writer in the London Tablet quotes
two fine passages illustrating the
learned Oratorian's happy faculty of
being brief without obscurity, and of
compressing a mass of theology into
very small compass. The extracts are
taken from the section of "Catholic
Controversy," which treats of the
" Alleged Excess in the Worship of
Mary":

They arc shfKked that she sliould have more
festivals in the year than Our Lord has; that
there should be more churches dedicated to her
than to her Son or to the Blessed Trinity. They
want something like a decent proportion to Ix-
observed. A proportion ! But what proportion,

I would ask, can there be betwixt the Creator
and the creature, although the highest and
holiest of creatures? Suppose for one motuent
the interest* and honor of Jesus and Mary to
be other than identical, the slightest diversion,
the slightest alienation of devotion, though but
for one /Ire's space in a lifetime, would be
blasphemous. If we are not worshiping Christ
when we pay the "worship of honor" to His
Mother, then let there be no talk of proportion,
no compromise, but away with the saints and
angels and their Queen at once and forev^er.

It is this divinlzation, this capacity of reflect-
ing the brightness of the eternal light, which is
the formal object of the cultus of the saint.
Because, after all, it is a reflection in a created
mirror, — a mirror not hypostatically one with
its object: the worship is of dalia. rather than
Intria. But within this limit there can be no
excess, no insubordination ; for the light that we
worship is virtually one, whether we worship
it in itself or in its reflection. The evening sun
is the more, not the less, admired because our
admiration dwells upon the golden and purple
clouds which are its pomp and circumstance ;
and the God who dwells in light inaccessible has
deigned to weave a rainbow about His throne —
the Iris of Apocalyptic vision — which is the glory
of the saints.

A notable characteristic of many of
the automobile accidents, accounts of
which appear with increasing frequency
in the daily press, is the shameless un-
concern of the drivers as to the nature
and extent of the injuries inflicted upon
their victims. Man's inhumanity to man
has ever, according to Burns, made
countless thousands mourn; but the
specific form of inhumanity displayed
by the utterly reckless driver who
urges his automobile to an extravagant
rate of speed, and, running over a
woman or child, hurries on with a
careless glance, is nowadays causing
hundreds of people in various parts of
this country not merely to mourn but
to curse and clamor for vengeance.
For the credit of human nature in
its normal state, one likes to believe
that such hard-heartedness, not to say
positive cruelty, is the effect, as has
been suggested, of oxygen intoxication.
The inhalation of pure oxygen acts,

308

THE AVE MARIA.

without any question, as a tonic and
exhilarant; and it may well be that
the amount of it forced into the lungs
by the very high speed often developed
by the horseless carriage renders the
occupants literally drunk. Even if
this theory be true, however, it merely
explains, without at all excusing, the
inhumanity referred to. The obvious
comment is that if high speed produces
intoxication, the drivers are bound
either to lower the speed or to incur
the full responsibility of acts of which
in their normal sobriety they would not
be guilty.

There is apparently much to recom-
mend the suggestion made to the New
Jersey State Federation of Labor by
the Rev. Mr. Wight, who was recently
appointed Commissioner of Charities
and Corrections. "I wish," he said,
"that when a man with a family is
imprisoned, the work that he does in
the institution might go for the support
of his family, which otherwise would
have to be sent to the almshouse and
be supported by the county." It is
certainly the case that, in imprisoning a
considerable percentage of criminals, the
State is in sober reality punishing the
criminals' wives and children much
more severely than the lawbreakers
themselves. Were the prisoners made to
earn fair wages which would be paid
over to their families, justice would
impress ordinary folk as being consider-
ably more even-handed than at present ;
and, incidentally, magistrates would not
need to show undue leniency to the
law's transgressor "for the sake of your
wife and children."

There is a pleasant tone of optimism
in the following remarks from an
address delivered by Vice-President Fair-
banks last week at Ogdensburg, N. Y. :

We hear much of defalcations, breaches of
trust, malfeasance in office ; and there are
pessimists who declare that we have fallen upon

corrupt times; that we are decadent; that the
pu1)lic conscience is dulled. On the contrary,
there never was an hour in all our splendid
history when there was more acute moral sense
among the great masses of the people, and
more uprightness in their relations of life, than
there is to-day. The standard of civic duty
was never higher than it is row.

We would not go so far as to
assert that the public conscience is
more sensitive than formerly, but we do
think it is more enlightened on some
points, — that, for instance, it realizes
more fully the essential immorality of
certain business methods which used
to be passed over as a matter of
course, and resented only by those
directly injured; and that acts which
used to be deemed quite natural in men
of power, and gains which used to be
accepted as more or less legitimate
perquisites of high office, are breaches
of public trust demanding severe punish-
ment.

A most interesting and edifying
sermon, describing the labors of priests
from St. Joseph's Foreign Missionary
College, Mill Hill, London, among the
savages of Borneo, is reported at length
in our English exchanges. It was
preached by the Very Rev. Edmund
Dunn, Prefect Apostolic of North Bor-
neo, who was among the first band
of Mill Hill missionaries to that still
comparatively unknown island, one of
the largest in the world. Referring to
a visit made to a heathen town in the
interior of Sarawak, Jie said:

As we passed through the principal thorough-
fare of the town we noticed a Chinese trader
standing at the door of his shop. As soon as
he caught sight of our cassocks he raised a cry
of joy, and, running to meet us, threw himself
on his knees, kissing our hands. We were at a
loss to account for this demonstration ; but,
taking us by the hand, he led us into his shop,
and there in a recess at the back, to our intense
surprise and delight, we saw a picture of the
Divine Mother and Child and two candles
standing before it. This poor man was a Chris-
tian from China. He had lived isolated among
the heathen for twelve years, and now he was

THE AVE MARIA.

309

overjoyed at once more meeting the priest of
God and being within reach of the consolations
of rehgion.

The experiences of the first mission-
ary among the Dyaks, a tribe long
famous for their head-hunting practices,
are so full of interest that we should
like to quote all that Mgr. Dunn had
to tell of them. We must limit ourselves
to a single passage, as follows :

As soon as people from the neighboring villages
heard of the arrival of the white man, they
came in from all sides, and scarcely a minute of
the day passed without a circle of curious eyes
watching every movement of their strange
visitor. In the evening, when the work on the
farm was over, men and women crowded round
the missionary, asking innumerable questions
about the white man and his country. The
Father satisfied their curiosity as well as he
could with the help of his interpreter, and soon
began to introduce the subject of religion,
explaining to them the principal truths of our
holy Faith.

On one of these occasions he unfolded to them
an oleograph of our Divine Lord, to their delight
and astonishment. The old chief took the
picture reverently into his hands, and, looking
at it long and earnestly, at length returned it
to the missionary, with the following curious
remark: "Sir, had you shown me this before
I had eaten my rice, I could not have eaten
any," — his way of expressing the emotion pro-
duced upon him by the gentle countenance of
our Divine Lord.

Mgr. Dunn declared that the schools
established for children, most of whom
are orphans, are the main hope for the
future of religion in Borneo; and, in
concluding his sermon, announced that
he would be under the "bitter neces-
sity " of closing one-half of these mission
schools unless he could obtain more
help for their maintenance. We like to
believe that, instead of closing a single
one, he may be enabled to establish
many more.

advent with admiring acclaim. But —
and here we must come down from
the regions of thought where we
dominate to the territory of earth and
stones and practical industry — but who
will exploit this marvellous instrument ?
Will Frenchmen once more wait until
an Englishman, an American, or some
other Edison makes, out of the discovery
of one of our own, the fortune of every-
body save him to whom it is due ? . . .
It is our duty, to-day, to seek by
every proper means to reconquer in
the industrial domain the sovereignty
which during the nineteenth century
we disregarded. I say duty; for the
advantage to be sought is the retaking,
by a government which belongs to the
most active, of the direction of the
people's material interest. That direc-
tion was ours for centuries : through it
we, the Catholics, made our country
the finest kingdom on earth."

Due allowance being made for the
patriotism of the last sentence — and
possibly M. Hemer is a Gascon,— there
is food for thought in the foregoing.
•M. Maiche, whose invention is in ques-
tion, is a disciple of the celebrated Abbe
Moigno, and for years has been a
specialist in mechanics, steam, chemistry,
and electricity.

Writing of the wireless telephone
and its Catholic inventor, M. Louis
Maiche, X. Hemer says, in the Annalcs
Catholiques : "The world finds itself,
then, in pos.scssion of an instrument of
extraordinary power, and will greet its

A metropolitan journal took occasion
the other day to inform a correspondent
that its editorial utterances are in no
way influenced by the contents of
its advertising columns. Five minutes
after reading this statement, we asked
ourselves whether Chicago editors really
exercise any control over their news
columns. On the editorial page of a
leading daily published in that city we
found an ironical denunciation of the
yellow journal's favorite plan of giving
in detail the most unsavorj' testimony
offered in divorce cases; and yet, on
tuining the page, we were confronted
with glaring headlines of just such
salacious testimony as had apparently

310

THE AVE MARIA

aroused the editor's indignation. Con-
sistency is admittedly a rare virtue;
but surely there might be a little more
similarity between precept and practice
in the same issue of even a Chicago
newspaper.

Regret has often been expressed that
there is no appropriate religious service
for Catholic ocean - travellers. Now
comes a complaint from a Chicago
priest against the White Star Line for
alleged refusals to allow either the cele-
bration of Mass or the holding of any
kind of religious service by a Catholic
priest among the steerage passengers.
Another grievance is that no Catholic
child is admitted into the homes for
seamen's orphans, for which homes
large sums are contributed by the pas-
sengers of the steamships. Concerts are
regularly held and collections sometimes
made for the benefit of these institu-
tions that profess to care for sailors'
orphans; and it may be well for the
Catholics among the passengers to find
out just whom their contributions are
to assist. If the home is a non-sectarian
institution, no creed line being drawn,
their generosity may properly be ap-
pealed to; if it is a sectarian orphan
asylum with a "no Catholic need
apply" motto, they may with equal
propriety resent any such appeal as a
piece of distinct impertinence. There
is not, moreover, any reason of major
importance why our coreligionists
should patronize any line of steamships
on which the usual courtesies to priests
are dispensed with. If it be true that
the White Star Line Company boycotts
Catholics, Catholics will be justified in
boycotting the White Star.

To the current Nineteenth Century
and After, Sir West Ridgeway, former
Under -Secretary' for Ireland, contrib-
utes a rather interesting paper on
" The Liberal Unionist Party." We note
this article merely to quote Sir West —

an unimpeachable authority on the
subject — regarding the real significance
of a term which, in contemporary Eng-
lish usage in Ireland, has a meaning
quite other than that accorded to it in
every other quarter of the globe where
our language is spoken. No reader o^
the papers for decades past can have
failed frequently to see the phrase,
" outrages iii Ireland "; and the phrase's
connotation in most minds has prob-
ably been one of murder, assassination,
arson, mutilation of cattle, and the
like crimes. It is accordingly interesting
to have this sometime Under-Secretar\^'s
word for it that "the reader must
remember that in the technical language
of Dublin Castle an intimidatory letter
is an outrage." The term, it will be
seen, is used by the Castle oflficials in
a Pickwickian sense.

There died at Evansville, Indiana, a
fortnight ago, a venerable religious
whose life and work merit mention.
Mother Mary Magdalen of the Sacred
Heart, known to the Roman world half
a century ago as Countess Annette
Bentivoglio, was the foundress in the
United States of the Order of Poor
Clares. Thirty years ^go, obeying the
command of Pius IX., she acceded to the
request of Bishop Chatard of Indian-
apolis, and, accompanied by her sister,
made the journey to this country.
Trials of various kinds waited on their
efforts at solidly establishing the Poor
Clares on American soil ; but, like most
other strenuous religious pioneers, they
eventually triumphed over all obstacles
and were gladdened by an appreciable
measure of success. Count Creighton, of
Omaha, built them a handsome convent
in that city; but the most important
foundation of the late Mother Abbess is
that of Evansville, -where her last years
were" spent, and where her life-work
was crowned by an edifying death on
the 18th ult. Mother Magdalen was
in her seventy-second year. R. I. P.

THE AVE MARIA.

311

Notable New Books.

Sir Thomas More. (The Blessed Tlibmas More.)
By Henri Bremond. Translated by Harold
Child. Duckworth & Co. ; Benziger Brothers.
We gladly welcome, in "The Saints" series, the
Life of the renowned English martyr, Sir Thomas
More. The old method, once so conspicuous
among hagiographers, of emphasizing the mar-
vellous, the impracticable, and the miraculous,
is rapidly giving waj' to the new and saner
sj'stem of bringing into evidence the ordinary,
the human, and the imitable. The present Life is
an apt illustration of the change in question.
The concluding sentence of the first chapter gives
us the keynote to the book : " By contemplating
Thomas More as he lived, we shall the Ijctter
understand how a Christian can renounce nothing
of what is nobly human, and still remain faithful
to the hard words of the Gospel."

The Christian father in particular will find his
duties clearly mirrored in the noble conduct of
the Blessed More. Married twice, the saint was
a model husband and parent. There was nothing
dazzling in 'his sanctity, but his unseen victories
over self prepared him for the martyr's crown.
His evenness of temijer has been the wohder of
posterity. Addison calls attention to this equa-
nimity of More in a classic passage: "That
innocent mirth, which had been so conspicuous

in his life, did not forsake him to the last His

death was of a piece with his life. There was
nothing in it new, forced, or affected. He did
not look upon the severing of his head from his
body as a circumstance that ought to produce
any change in the disposition of his mind." One
incident connected with his closing hours is
illuminative. As he passed from the Tower to
the place of execution, carrying in his hands a
red cross, a good lady came up to him and offered
him a cup of wine. He politely refused the
kindness, saying: "Christ in His passion drank
no wine, but gall and vinegar." With these
sentiments in his noble breast, he lost his life
that he might find it.

Ireland's Story. A Short History of Ireland. For

Schools, Heading Circles, and General Readers.

By Charles Johnston and Carita Spencer.

Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

We have been particularly and agreeably
impressed, in our summary perusal of this hand-
some volume, by the sympathetic spirit in which
the authors have done their work. As a contrast
to the flagrantly one-sided, antagonistic, or
unconquerably prejudiced view which one has
been accustomed to meet in the average English
historian's chapters on Irish affairs, the story of
Erin as herein related is a welcome surprise.

That the Irish have been and are a spiritual
people, and that their spirituality has moulded
and explains the whole life of their nation, — this
is one truth which the English government has
never been able to understand, but which Mr.
Johnston and Miss Spencer have taken to heart
and have emphasized in their interesting narrative.

The book contains thirty-four chapters, ranging
from The Legendary Races, The Milesians, and
Legendary Story of Emain of Maca, to The Irish
in America, The Irish in the British Empire, and
The Irish Literary Revival. An appendix deals
with some Irish surnames. There are a good
number of excellent illustrations and some half a
dozen maps; and, not the least of the volume's
merits, it has a satisfactory index.

On the whole, the authors have made good the
promise of their preface: "Every reader of Irish
race will find here a tale to make him proud of
his parentage and his inheritance ; a tale of valor
and endurance ; a tale of genius and inspiration ;
a tale of self-sacrifice and faith."

The Common Lot. By Robert Herrick. The
Macmillan Co.

This is easily the strongest novel that has
reached our table in many a day. Without being •
at all a Catholic story, or, in any insistent sense,
even a distinctively Christian one, it eloquently
enforces an ethical lesson that very certainly
needs learning in the business and professional
circles of twentieth-century cities. Vibrant with a
realism as graphic as it is inoffensive, the story
takes forceful hold of the reader's interest,
captivates his sympathies, and eventually satisfies
his growing desire for the symmetrical rounding
out of the narrative.

A few minor details of style rather mar the
general literary excellence of the work. On page
423, for instance, Dr. Everest, a New England
university man, speaks of Chicago as "this
greatest of industrial metropoli," — a plural form
which is assuredlj' not now, and presumably
never will be, sanctioned by good usage.

Sennons Preached at St. Edmund's G>llege. Col-
lected and .\rranged by Edwin Burton, Vice-
President. Benziger Brothers.
This neat volume contains several sermons
that would seem to have been written for all
time rather than for any specific occasion. As a
sufiicient recommendation of the work, we need
only mention among the names of the preachers
represented. Manning, Hedley, and Ullathornc.
Fourteen discourses make up the entire collection.
While all were delivered on various memorable
occasions in the college chapel of St. Edmund's,
Westminster, their local color detracts but little,
if at all, from their general interest. It should be
stated that these sermons are directed particularly

312

THE AYE MARIA.

to priests and to ecclesiastical students. We
venture to say that both these classes of readers
will find that their hearts burn within them as
they peruse these fervent appeals to the anointed
of the Lord. Especially unctuous are the dis-
courses on "The Holy Ghost," "Devotion to the
Holy Ghost," and " Disciples of the Holy Ghost."

The Life of St. Patrick, Apostle of Ireland. By

Canon Fleming. R. and T. Washbourne;

Benziger Brothers.

The author's apology for presenting this book
to the public is most acceptable, — "that he
has devoted a great deal of time and study
to its composition." The work shows the
scholar's hand. The old lives of St. Patrick,
and the saint's own writings, are carefully sifted
and critically analyzed, and the results are
blended into one interesting whole. The judg-
ments and opinions of such authorities on the
ancient accounts of Erin's Apostle as Colgan,
Usher, Keating, Ware and Lanigan, are noted
and compared. Canon Fleming concludes that
St. Patrick was born in Amoric Gaul, A. D. 373,
and died in Ireland, A. D. 493, at the advanced
age of one hundred and twenty years. A study
of this life readily discloses the remarkable
parallel between St. Patrick's apostolate and
that of St. Paul.

A comprehensive synopsis of the contents
answers the purpose of an index. We sincerely
recommend this little volume to the children and
clients of St. Patrick.

Some Little London Children. By Mother M.

Salome. Burns & Gates.

The gift of writing up to children's eager
imagination is not quite the same as the gift
of writing in general ; there is an undefinable
difference instantly felt by the young reader,
and also by the older reader who is at all in
sympathy with child life. Mother Salome, in her
far-away English convent, is in touch with the
young folk, and her pictures of these little London
children are delightfully natural. Perhaps the
qualities with which she has endowed them em-
phasize some of the less desirable traits that we
see once in a while in American children ; but the
lessons suggested are interesting and salutary.

The Building of the Mountain, and Other Tales.
■ By William Seton, LL. D. O'Shea & Co.

This collection of nine short stories by the late
author of " Komauce of the Charter Oak" was
dedicated by him, as "probably the last I shall
ever write," to past and present students of
Mount St. Mary's, Maryland. The first of the
nine, that which gives its name to the book, tells
of the origin and early days of the college which ;
Mr. Seton always cherished as his .\lma Mater, r

and the narrative is an historical romance in
miniature. The other tales in the volume are:
"The Poor Millionaire," "Caroline Sibaldus,"
"The Wizard of Sainte Marie," "Barbara
Redwood," " Etienne Brul€," "The Fault of
Minneola," "The Solitary Baron," and "Catholic
England in the Olden Time." All are interesting,
and the book merits a place on the shelves of the
fiction department of every Catholic library. .

The Yoke of Christ. Readings Intended Chiefly

for the Sick. By the Rev. Robert Eaton.

First and Second Series. London : Catholic

Truth Society.

In attempting to express our keen appreciation
of the superior merits of "The Yoke of Christ,"
we are forcibly reminded of the "Imitation's"
"What are words but words!" Language will
not serve our purpose ; for we should like to
convey the "feeling" that we experienced after
reading a few selections from these two admi-
rable little volumes. They are destined to
brighten and better the lives of many. Old truths
are remoulded and given a new setting, as may
be seen in the following quotation: "'In the
place where we are crucified,' with Our Lord,
' there is a garden,' wherein, by those ' who
choose the better part' and 'leave all things'
for the love of Jesus crucified, flowers and fruits
shall grow in the dim light of Calvary, and
show their beauty 'when the sun has risen' on
our Easter Day. And in this garden let there
be 'a new sepulchre,' — a new heart, made large
by Our Lord to hold His love, hewn out of the
hard rock of self; ' a new sepulchre wherein no
man has yet been laid,' — no earthly love, only
the love of Jesus and Him crucified ; or if an
earthly love, then only such as leads to God
and is blest by Him."

We predict some measure of spiritual joy and
peace to those who "take 'and read" all or any
of the selections in " The Yoke of Christ."

Jubilee Gems of the Visitation Order. Christian
Press Association Pul)lishing Co.

The holiness of the Church is attested by the
sanctity of her children, and the same may be
said of the religious Orders. Among those marked
by special signs of divine approval must be
ranked the Daughters of the Visitation; and
from the days of the founders, holiness has been
one of their striking characteristics. This little
book, "Jubilee Gems," sets forth in brief the life of
St. Francis of Sales, St. Jane Frances de Chantal,
Blessed Margaret Mary Alacoquc, Venerable
Sister Anne Madeleine Renunzat, and the Vener-
able Mother M. de Sales Chappeus. The spirit
of the Order established by the saintly Bishop
of Geneva shines out in these records, and
must be an incentive to faith, hope, and love.

At Night.

BY FATHER CHEERHEART.

I KNEW a boy, his mother's joy,

A little lad of three,
Who spent the day in constant play,

As busy as a bee.
At night to bed with drooping head

Full slowly would he creep;
And, told to pray, would sometimes say:
"'Ail Maywy! 'et me s'eep."

I know a man, half through life's span,

With many cares beset,
Who oft at night, from ^eft to right

Will, wakeful, toss and fret.
Till, tired out, with heart devout

He sinks to slumber deep
Won by the prayer, forgotten ne'er :
"Hall Mary! let me sleep."

Catholic Heroes of Land and Sea.

BY MAY MARGARET FULLER.

VI. — Hugh O'Neill, Patriot.

BELLE! don't you think the
fish must be done? I forgot all
about it until just now, and the
kitchen is filled with smoke."
" Not only done, but burned, I think,"
was the answer. "Bessie, why were
you so foolish as to boast of your
cooking ? The boys will be wild if the
dinner is spoiled, — they had such luck
catching the fish this afternoon."

It was the opening day of the " float-
ing clubhouse"; and truly the little
craft was a pretty sight as, rising and
falling gracefully on the waves, it shared
in the glor}' of the setting sun. But
Bessie cared little for the beauty o
clouds purple, rose, and gold. Her
clouds were of a different sort, and,

rolling out of the oven in masses of
depressing blackness, were not to be
admired.

When finally they cleared away, she
drew out the pan, and beheld a few^
cinders! Naturally, she wept over the
sad spectacle ; while Frank and George
sighed over the loss of the best catch
they had ever made. Captain Morris,
in his usual comforting way, suggested
that, as the larder was not yet empty,
they might still enjoy their dinner. So
they did, in spite of the mishap; and
evening found them seated "on deck,"
cooled by the gentle breezes, ready to
make their journey into the land of
Memory.

"Now for Hugh O'Neill, Earl of
Tyrone, and one of Ireland's immortal
heroes! " exclaimed the Captain. "Who
can grow tired hearing of all he did
for his Faith and his people?"

"What seems most wonderful about
him. Captain," remarked George, "is
that he became so noble a character
after being taught deceit and meanness
during all his early life. Why, when
only a small boy he was brought to
England by order of Queen Elizabeth,
whose plan was to train in the arts
of war a certain number of the members
of the ruling families of Ireland, so that
she might have people of power there
on her side. Hugh learned all the tricks
which the English army was to play
when the clash came between the two
countries. He was the one chosen to
overthrow Ulster, the state most desired
by the Queen. He entered into all the ^
plans, and meant to accomplish the
great work set before him. But the
minute he was sent to Limerick with
a company of cavalry, his love for
his own people forced him to devote
himself to their cause. They were suf-

314

THE AVE MARIA.

fering great hardship ; and their Faith,
which they valued above everything
else, was being attacked on all sides.
Monasteries were suppressed, priests
and. nuns were expelled, and even the
Blessed Sacrament was desecrated.
Hugh began by training his clansmen
into soldiers, and soon nearly all the
men in the provinces were ready to
take their places in the ranks."

"And while he was doing that,"
put in Bessie, "he gave his house as a
shelter for the homeless priests. He
had a secret cellar built, and there on
Sunday the people assembled to hear
Mass. Many times the English officers
came to capture the priests, but they
could never find the entrance to the
cellar. One day an old man was dying
in a hut near O'Neill's house. His only
wish was to receive the Last Sacra-
ments; and as the soldiers of the
enemy knew this, they kept constant
watch. Finally Hugh invented a vsray.
He asked the doctor if the old man
would have a better chance of recovery
if he were in more comfortable sur-
roundings. The doctor answered in the
affirmative; so Hugh helped to carry
the man to his own home, where the
priest attended him."

"Well, I'm going to tell you about
the first important action Hugh O'Neill
took against the English," announced
George. "You see, as a result of all the
drilling he had given the natives, the
entire North was bound together by a
strong army, ready to move against
the enemy at a moment's notice. With
these men Hugh marched to For tm ore
and Armagh, which were in possession
of the English, captured the fortresses
in both places, and made a complete
conquest. The opposing forces were
taken aback by the sudden action,
and tried to gain time by oifering
terms of peace. Hugh demanded the
free practice of the Catholic religion
throughout Ireland, and also that the
territories be governed by native chiefs.

The English refused to agree, so the
campaign reopened. The invaders had
gained the Castle Monaghan ; and
O'Neill, after a severe hand-to-hand
fight with Segrave, one of the English
leaders, captured it. O'Neill's life was
wonderfully preserved; for a sword,
which would otherwise have pierced
his heart, caught in a large medal
of the Blessed Virgin which he wore
around his neck, and bent it out
of shape. Many desperate struggles
followed in the next two years, during
which the English were so often defeated
that they again sued for peace."

"You see," remarked the Captain,
"Hugh was familiar with all the
manoeuvres of the invaders. That was
the secret of his success. But he was
never accused of cruelty. The favorite
methods of his opponents were to invite
prominent inhabitants to banquets
and stab them as they rose from the
table; or else accept the hospitality of
Irish noblemen and at the close of the
evening murder them and their families.
The best lands in the district of Ulster
were confiscated and handed over to
English and Scotch colonists, while the
native Catholics were driven to the
barren hills and bogs. But what has
Bessie to say of our hero?"

"In 1598," answered Bessie, "O'Neill
decided to take even a firmer stand
against the oppressors. Combining his
forces with those of his heroic friend
Hugh O'Donnell, he marched against
Marshal Bagnal at Yellow Ford on
the Blackwater. Here was fought one
of the greatest battles in Irish history,
and it ended in a defeat of the English,
Bagnal himself being among the killed.
This victory, which inspired one of
Aubrey de Vere's most beautiful poems,
was talked of for months in all the
courts of Europe."

"Ulster was now free," observed the
Captain; "but the people in southern
Ireland were still suffering. They ap-
pealed to Hugh, and he sent two of

THE AVE MARIA.

315

his best leaders with bands of men who
were reinforced by English Catholics.
Together they were able to expel the
invaders who had settled on the stolen
land. About this time Pope Clement
VIII. rewarded O'Neill for his defence of
the Faith with a letter of commendation
and a crown of phoenix feathers."

" All this time," said Frank, " England
was preparing for a fresh attack. Two
new men, Carew and Mountjoy, had
been sent by the Queen as lord deputy
and lord president of Munster, and
they proved to be the ruination of the
Irish cause. They were cruel and crafty,
and thej' tried in every underhand way
to make Hugh's trusted chieftains
betray him. Some of them did yield
to the bribes offered them, and their
going over to the English greatly
weakened the power of the patriots.
But O'Neill never lost heart, and finally
aid came from Spain. The foreign army
landed at Munster, which was strongly
fortified by Mountjoy; and there they
awaited the arrival of Hugh, who was
away off in the north collecting his
troops. His men were really too weak
and exhausted to make the long march ;
but the Spaniards declared that if he
did not come soon they would let
Mountjoy make his own terms. So
O'Neill, much against his will, hurried
down with his forces. When finally
he came face to face with the English,
he decided that the surest way to
victory was to besiege the enemy. But
the impatient Spaniards would consent
only to a pitchetl battle, for which
O'Neill was in no way ready. He held
out as long as possible, but was finally
defeated with severe losses."

"The English made the most of their
triumph," went on George; "but
O'Neill had stipulated that the Catholic
religion be unmolested, and that the
Irish be allowed to retain their estates."

"O'Neill became an object of intense
hatred among the English," said the
Captain ; "and nothing was left undone

to ruin his character. They even forged
his name to a plot authorizing the
assassination of the English deputies.
He was thus persecuted till the Arch-
duke Albert of the Netherlands sent a
ship to convey him and his family to a
place of safety. They found a refuge in
Rome, like so many other Irish exiles.
Now, Belle, tell us of O'Neill's death."

"His last years were filled with
sadness ; for, besides being afflicted with
bUndness, he was very unhappy over
the fate of his country. When he died
in 1616, the whole world mourned him.
His funeral was ordered by the Pope
to be arranged as if for a king, and the
highest honors were paid him. He was
buried in the Franciscan churchyard
on the hill of Janiculum."

"And his grave has never been for-
gotten," the Captain added. " The
tombstone was defaced when the
lawless Garibaldi brought his cavalry
horses into this hallowed spot and
stabled them in the beautiful Church of
San Pietro. But Irish pilgrims still go
there, and bless the memory of one of
the most valiant champions of their
liberty and their Faith. Ireland has had
many other heroes, clinging to their
religion amid the terrors of war and
the keenest pangs of stiffering, when a
single word surrendering their Faith
would have gained for them peace and
prosperity ; but none was braver or
truer to God than Hugh O'Neill."

Mother Carey's Chickens.

This is a term applied by sailors to
flocks of the stormy petrel. Mother
Carey is "Mother dear" {Mater cara);
and the term, of course, signifies the
Blessed Virgin, who is the patroness
of sailors. Portuguese sailors piously
believe that Our Lady gives notice
to seamen of approaching storms by
sending flocks of the stormy petrel to
warn them.

316

THE AVE MARIA.

The Little Hungarians.

BY MRS. MARY E. MANNIX.

XVIII.— At the Ranch House.

The three days that followed were
bright spots in the darkness of the
poor children's subsequent experiences.
Alfredo came home to dinner, followed
by his harvesters, who, however, did not
enter the house, but branched off in the
direction of the tents, where a Chinese
cook had their meal in readiness. The
children learned later that these men did
not belong to the ranch, as they had
supposed, but went from place to place
harvesting, as is the custom in the East.

"Formerly," said the senora, "every
ranch had its own dependents, mostly
Indians, sometimes as many as a
hundred. These people were all to be
clothed and fed, tended in sickness
and made comfortable in health. It
was an ideal life, but it ended before
my time."

They were seated in an arbor after
dinner, of which the children had par-
taken in company with young Bandini
and his mother. Everything was new
and strange to them : they seemed to be
in a foreign land. Yesterday they had
been among people like themselves, the
atmosphere and architecture modern
if a little crude; to-day they were to
all appearances in another land and
century. Louis very frankly commented
on the fact, and the senora said :

"You find us strange and old-
fashioned ? Well, we are, and we like
that, — we like it. Yet I was educated
in Philadelphia, with Americans. How-
ever, my heart was alw^ays here. We
are a family — at least our branch of it —
that does not change. We keep to
our old ways. We try to live simply, as
our fathers did. Yet I have children-
boys and girls, some living in San
Francisco, some farther East, — who
could not live as we do ; who would die

here, they say, at the ranch. Yet they
like to come back to us for a while now
and then ; we have some of them every
year. The grandchildren love it. Two
of my sons are lawyers, one is a doctor.
I have two daughters well married to
merchants in San Francisco. Alfredo
alone of all my children remains with
me. He is old-fashioned like myself. He
likes the ranch life."

"I could live no other," said Alfredo,
lighting a cigarette. "All that frets
me is that our acres are so few."

"How much land have you, sir?"
asked Louis.

"Only two thousand acres."

"Two thousand!" exclaimed the
children.

"Yes. Does it seem a great deal to
you? Once we had thirty thousand —
before the Americans came. It was a
stock ranch. I wish that, like my grand-
father, I could be able to ride all day
around my own possessions without
coming to the end of them. I am a
born ranchero. I am never so happy
as when in the saddle."

"His father was like that," said the
senora. "And so was my father."

"I would never go to school like my
brothers," said Alfredo. "To be sure,
I went for a while, but I did not learn
much. At last they sent me to Santa
Clara, like the other boys. And one
morning I got up early and walked the
greater part of the way home."

"Was it far?" asked Rose.

" About seven hundred miles. But I
had the time of my life. Sometimes I
got a lift, but not so often. When I
got here my mother was crying. The
shoes were nearly worn from my feet.
And here they let me stay ever since. I
was fifteen then, now I am thirty."

"Yes, my husband did not try to
make a scholar of Alfredo any more,"
said the senora. "But he has a good,
clear head for figures, and no one can
cheat him."

"You may say not, mother," rejoined

THE AVE MARIA.

317

the young man. "And I will cheat no
one."

"God forbid," said his mother, piously.

"And I am American in every bone
of my body," continued Alfredo. "And
so is my mother. We like to live in
this pastoral way — keeping up the old
customs ; but we are Americans all the
same. It used to be thrown up to the
Bandinis in the beginning — that is,
when the United States first got a hold
here — that they were traitors to Spain,
or rather to the Mexican government.
And why ? Because they welcomed the
newcomers who were to teach them
many things."

"It was my great -aunt who made
the first American flag in Southern
California," said the senora. " Her
husband, Don Juan Bandini, who
owned many ranches, was travelling
from one of them, with his family.
It was from Lower California they
were coming, which is still part of
Mexico. Commodore Stockton w^as
then in San Diego. This was in 1847.
The Mexicans were very angry with
Bandini because he favored the United
States government, and they went so
far as to threaten his life. Commodore
Stockton, who was at the presidio,
heard of this, and sent down an escort
of United States soldiers to meet the
party and escort them to San Diego.
As the3' came close to the frontier
dividing Upper from Lower California —
or, in plainer language, the new United
States territory from Mexico, — it was
thought best to carry some kind of a
flag. But there was none to be had.
And then what do you think my aunt
did, little Rose?"

"I can not think," replied the child.
"But it was something very brave,
I am sure."

"Not so brave, but very ingenious,"
said the senora. "She was a woman
always full of resources. She took the
white petticoat of one of her little
girls, the red petticoat of another, and

a blue shirt of her boy's. And then
Aunt Refugio tore them into strips,
and made very neatly the first home-
made American flag of California.
Commodore Stockton was so pleased
when he heard of it, that he asked
for the flag, which was given him. He
sent it to Washington, where it still
is, they tell me. Perhaps you may go
there some day, children. If you do,
you must ask to see -it."

"Indeed we shall," said Louis. "But
we are so far away from home that
it looks as though we were never to
get back."

"Do you want to go back?" asked
Alfredo.

" Oh, yes ! " replied Louis. " We have a
home there, at least; and our brother — "

"Tell Alfredo all about it," said the
senora. "But wait till evening, for he
must go back to the field now. Stay
with us a while till you are rested, and
we may be able to advise you. Natalia
will prepare rooms for you, and you
will be comfortable at least."

"That is right, mother," said Alfredo.
"Always doing something for others."

"But who sent them here?" asked
the senora, laughingly. " It was not
you. Oh, no, Alfredo : it was not you ! "

The children enjoyed these sallies
very much ; it was beautiful to see the
affection that existed between the
mother and son.

"And we shall have music this
evening," said the young man, as he
placed his broad sombrero on his head.
" It will be fun. I have a mandolin
and can play a little."

The afternoon passed quickly, there
was so much to be seen and enjoyed.
The senora took them down to the vine-
yards, where the grapes were ripening,
and showed them the orange and
lemon groves at the south side of the
house. They helped her pick beans and
strawberries for supper, and afterward
watched Natalia as she prepared some
delicious cream - cheeses.

318

THE AVE IVfARIA

Alfredo came in at six. And when
-•* supper was over, all the family, includ-
ing Natalia, sat on the piazza in the
moonlight, while Louis once more told
the story of their flight and its sad
consequences.

"I would not have thought it of so
sensible a boy as you seem to be," said
their host. "But you were only a child ;
you could not bear to be separated from
your little sister, and the prospect of
finding your brother was very tempting.
That Steffan is a great rascal— a great
rascal! "

"Do you think he may come here?"
asked Rose, apprehensively.

"I can not tell that," said Alfredo;
"but I can tell you that if he does, I
will make it hot for him. He shall not
take you away, you may be certain
of it."

"Could he have us arrested?" asked
Louis.

"I do not think so," was the reply.
" If he should, we can get ahead of him.
But I do not believe he would dare to
do it."

"He might," said the senora. "These
children make money for him, and he
will not easily let them go."

"We will hope that he does not find
them," said the young man. "It is as
well not to look for trouble. The next
thing to do is to think about what
steps will be best to take toward letting
their friends know where they are."

"Without finding Florian?" asked
Louis quickly.

"My dear boy, you can not go on
wandering about the world in search of
your brother," said Alfredo. "If you
have that kind priest for friend, and
those good Irish people you have told
us about, you are not altogether alone.
Let me write to them for you ; or write
yourself, and stay with us till you get
an answer. You are welcome. Is it not
so, mother?"

"Very welcome, indeed," rejoined the

senora. "A month with us will be of
great benefit to you."

"But we have no money to go
home," said Louis.

" And that may come also," replied
Alfredo. "Something will be done."

"But even so," continued Louis.
"Where is that 'half to come from?"

"You were cut out for a lawyer,
boy," said Alfredo. "Mother," he went
on, "I have a plan. Next week will be
the fiesta of San Luis Rey, then comes
San Domingo, and in the middle of
August La Asuncion. All three fine
fiestas, and these little ones can earn
a lot of money going from one to
the other, provided they can play.
Come, let us hear you."

The children went joyfully to get their
instruments. While they were absent
the senora said :

"I can not bear to think of those
dear little ones playing like that,
Alfredo. Is there no other way?"

"But, mother," expostulated Alfredo,
"sometimes your good heart runs
away with you. Don't you know they
have been doing it for months among
all kinds of people? And here, in
this neighborhood, it will be only for
decent farmer -folk."

"That is true," rejoined the seiiora.
"Here they come. I will tell Natalia to
prepare some fruit for them when they
have finished."

For more than one hour the gifted
brother and sister delighted their small
but appreciative audience with the
dances and songs of their father's
native land.

"It is great, it is wonderful!" said
Alfredo, when, fearing that they must
be fatigued, the senora bade them pause
and refresh themselves.

And after the children had gone to
their much -needed rest, he and his
mother talked about them and their
music till Natalia came to remind them
that the clock had struck eleven.

(To be continued. J

THE AVt MARIA
With Authors and Publishers.

319

— Mrs. Mary E. Maples Dodge, who died recently
at the age of sixty-seven, will be best renieinbered
as the author of "Hans Brinker; or, the Silver
Skates." This young folk's book has been trans-
lated into five European languages, and was
crowned by the French Academy. It is recognized
as a classic in juvenile fiction.

— The second volume in the Photogravure and
Color Series, issued by E. P. Dutton & Co., is
"The Following of Christ," translated by Canon
William Benham of Canterbury. The book is
printed on imitation Japan paper, and the
twelve pictures, reproduced from celebrated paint-
ings, look like old fashioned mezzotints, having
been done by the new photogravure process.

— The opening of the Tenth International Con-
gress of the Press in the palace of the prince-
bishops at Liege drew from M. Demarteau an
interesting r6sum6 of the connection which for
centuries has existed between that splendid
building and the local press. Fifteen printing
presses were at work there in the eighteenth
century ; and when, in 1830, the national union
of Belgium was achieved, it was a bishop of
Liege who, with his purse and his influence,
upheld and established the pioneers of Belgian
press freedom.

— We rejoice to see the announcement of a new
edition of "Catholic Controversy: A Reply to
Dr. Littledale's 'Plain Reasons,'" by H. I. D.
Ryder of the Oratory, a work which we remem-
ber reading with great eagerness when first pul>
lished, and which will hold its own with the later
productions of controversial writers. Most of
the charges and objections that figure in Dr.
Littledale's pages are still repeated, and they
are nowhere more satisfactorily refuted than in
"Catholic Controversy." The permanent value
of this book is enhanced by an adequate index.
The new edition should secure a host of new
readers.

— The Inland Printer makes mention of an
important invention by a printer of Bucharest
(Roumania) who was stricken with blindness
and placed in a charitable institution. He grew
despondent from inactivity and threatened to
take his own life. The Roumanian queen-author,
Carmen Sylva, had him removed from the asylum
and put to work in translating her works in
characters for the blind. At the end of some
weeks the queen was agreeably surprised to find
that the blind man had invented a new machine
for the |)rinting of books for the blind, the con-
struction of which cost no more than $6, while
those now used cost from $50 to $75. The queen

secured the necessary patents for the inventor.
The low price and simplicity of the machine
will make it possible to develop the education
of the blind upon a much wider basis than is
now the case.

—Three interesting booklets recently issued by
the Australian Catholic Truth Society are: "The
Blessed Virgin in English Poetry," a fairly well-
selected score of poems; "The Miraculous Con-
ception and Virgin Birth of Christ," a doctrinal
argument; and "Louise de la ValliJre, Duchess
and Magdalen," a biographical sketch by the
Rev. E. J. Kelly, D. D.

— The completion of the new Dominican convent
and house of studies in Washington, D. C, lends
timely interest to "A Century's Record," a
pamphlet of thirty pages by the Rev. J. R. Volz,
O. P., S. T. L. We have read it with much
pleasure, and commend it to all who care to
know of Dominican activities in this country
during the past hundred years. It would be
hard to instance a more glorious record of saint-
like virtues and golden deeds. The pamphlet is
enriched with a number of excellent portraits of
eminent Dominicans.

— "Letters on Christian Doctrine," by Father
De Zulueta, S. J., is an excellent supplement to
the ordinary catechism, an extremely useful
handbook of Catholic belief and morals. We
particularly admire the wealth of practical details
with which the author answers just such ques-
tions as the average Catholic who is not a
theologian is likely to ask. It was well to
reprint these "Letters" from Stella Maris, the
supplement to the English Messenger of the
Sacred Heart ; and we predict for the volume
an extensive sale. Published bj- Benziger Bros.

— Denunciation of yellow journalism may
eventually have an effect on the public mind ;
at present, however, such denunciation seems a
waste of energy. The newspaper having the
largest circulation in New York is the yellowest
of all, and the public endorses its course by
liberal patronage. The policy of all journals of
this class is unlikely to change until people come
to prefer news to rumors, truth to fiction, the
edifying to the scandalous. The only remedy
for yellow journalism lies in fostering a taste
and creating a demand for its opposite.

— The reviewer of a new Life of Cranmer, by
Prof. Pollard, writing in the Athenaeum, wisely
observes that "the mere perusal of a manuscript
does not of itself put an historian in the first
rank, if his judgment be so marred by prejudice
that he is incapable of appreciating the force

320

THE AYE MARIA.

of evidence — a state of mind by no means
uncommon." A markedly Protestant tone per-
vades Prof. Pollard's book; and, besides being
partisan, the author is acridly sarcastic and
contemptuous of historians whose opinions are
entitled to quite as much consideration as his
own. He is rightly severe, however, on the
ring of swindlers who exploited Protestantism
in their own interests. "Never did Henrj' VIIl.
or Charles I. or James II.," he says, "aim such
blows at English liberties as the men who
controlled the fate of the Reformation in the
latter days of Edward VI." Against those who
regard the Reformation movement as an uprising
of the religious spirit against the worldly-minded,
Mr. Pollard declares with emphasis the largely
political and still more the essentially laicizing
character of the European development. He lays
the ghost of the notion that the era of Philip of
Hesse, Maurice of Saxony, Catharine de' Medici,
was an era markedly and fundamentally relig-
ions. "Religion, in fact, was not so dominant
in the sixteenth as it had been in the twelfth
century, and the age was really one of secular-
ization." "Nobody who fails to perceive this
truth can ever hope properly to understand the
turbid struggles of that strange century," says
the reviewer of Prof. Pollard's work. "The
apprehension of this fact is, indeed, the key to
the character of Cranmer."

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
appear at the bead, older ones being dropped out
from time to time to make room for new^ titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will be imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad.
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"Sir Thomas More. (The Blessed Thomas

More)." Henri Bremond. $1, net.
"The Yoke of Christ." Rev. Robert Baton.

$1, net.
"Some Little London Children." Mother M.

Salome. 75 cts., net.
" Ireland's Story." Charles Johnston and Carita

Spencer. $1.55.
"The Life of St. Patrick, Apostle of Ireland."

Canon Fleming. 75 cts., net.
"Sermons Preached at St. Edmund's College."

$1.60, net.

"The Common Lot." Robert Herrick. $1.50.
"Jubilee Gems of the Visitation Order." $1.
"Plain Chant and Soltsmes." Dom Paul Cagin,

Dom Andrd Moccjuereau, O. S. B. 45 cts., net.
" Reminiscences of an Oblate " Rev. Francis Kirk,

O. S. C. 75 cts , net.
" The Mirror of St. Edmund." 80 cts., net.
"The Saint of the Eucharist." Most Rev. Antoine

de Porrentruy. $1.10.
"The Cenacle." 54 cts.
"The Christian Maiden." Rev. Matthias von

Bremscheid, O. M. Cap. 50 cts.
"Elizabeth Seton, Her Life and Work." Agnes

Sadlier. $1, net.
"Daughters of the Faith." Eliza O'B. Lummis.

$1.25.
"The Tragedy of Fotheringay." Mrs. Maxwell

Scott. $1, net.
" A Gleaner's Sheaf." 30 cts., net.
" A Story of Fifty Years. " $ 1 , net.
"The Ridingdale Boys." David Bearne, S. J.

$1.85, net.
"The House of Cards." John Heigh. $1.50.
"By What Authority?" Robert Hugh Benson.

$1.60, net.
"Historical Criticism and the Old Testament."

P6re J. M. Lagrange, O. P. $1, net.
"Divorce. A Domestic Tragedy of Modem

France." Paul Bourget. $1.50.
" Wandewana's Prophecy and Fragments in

Verse." Eliza L. Mulcahy. $1, net.
"Notes on Christian Doctrine." Most Rev.

Edward Bagshawe, D. D. $1.35, net.

Obituary.

Remember tbem that are in bands. — Ubb., xlil. 3

Rev. P. J. Gehrardy, of the diocese of Peoria;
and Rev. Theodore McDonald, O. C. C.

Sister Mary du Bon Pasteur, of the Sisters
of the Incarnate Word; and Sister M. Dolores,
Sisters of the Holy Family.

Mr. Henry Argus, of Buffalo, N. Y.; Mr. Andrew
Johnson, Lead City, S. Dakota; Mr. Kieran
Phalen, Newport, R. I.; Mrs. Anna Ahrensbeumer,
New York; Mrs. John O'Brien, St. Clair, Pa.;
Mrs. Mary Kuttner, Fort Wayne, Ind. ; Miss
Esther O'Neill, Patterson, N. J. ; Mr. J. M. Leisser
and Mr. John Blattner, Pittsburg, Pa. ; James
and Elizaljeth McGushin, San Francisco, Cal. ;
Mr. John Stanton, Cleveland, Ohio; Mrs. Mary
Mar.or, Toledo, Ohio; Mr Matthew Maloney,
John and Michael Gannon, Akron, Ohio; Mrs.
M. A. Herbert, Muncie, Ind. ; and Mr. James
Bellew, Mansfield, Mass.

Requiescant ia pace !

HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUKE, I., 4S.

VOL. LXI. NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, SEPTEMBER 9, 1905.

NO. 11.

[ Published every ^lurday.

Ave Maria!

BY HAROLD HUGHES.

UAIL, Mary, full of grace!
The Angel's song
We echo, as thy festival we greet;
And on thy Birthday, holy Maid, repeat
Both loud and long,
Hail, Mary, full of grace !

Here in our struggling race
Toward the goal,
Dear Mother, pray thy Son with strength to fill
Us wearied with our striving 'gainst what ill
Impedes our soul,
O Mary, full of grace I

Hail, Mary! Love and praise
To thee we bring,
Whom Gabriel the Archangel praised, and whom
Christ Jesus loved, the Offspring of thy womb.
For aye we sing.
Hail, Mary, full of grace !

Copyright: Kev. D. E. Hudson, C.S.C.]

if ever can express in words, except,
perhaps, in prayer.

Nearer my Father's House,
Where the many mansions be, —

mansions wherein, we trust, we shall
meet our dear ones in aeternae claritatis
gaudio,— "in the joy of eternal bright-
ness,"— to quote the most beautiful
of all prayers for those "who sleep
in Christ."

The second was Roundel! Palmer's*

"Hymns for the Church on Earth."*

nv FRANCIS W. GREY.

T has been my fortune on two
recent occasions to attend a lecture,
on literary subjects, delivered in a
Catholic convent. Each lecture was
preceded by music and singing; and
each time the words sung were those
of a hymn composed by a non-Catholic
author. The first was a great favorite of
mine, "One Sweetly Solemn Thought,"
redolent of memories such as one seldom

hymn :

My faith looks up to Thee,
Thou Lamb of Calvary,

Saviour Divine I
Now hear me while I pray,
Take all my sins away ;
Oh, let me, from this day.
Be wholly Thine !

One may be allowed, surely, to note,
in passing, as evidence of the religious-
ness of Englishmen — a quality praised
so highly by Montalembert, — that the
author was no less distinguished as
a jurist than as a hymnologist, and
was Lord Chancellor of England in
two administrations of another great
and pious Englishman, his friend,
William Ewart Gladstone, — namely,
from 1872 to 1874, and again from
1880 to 1885. t

That there are distinctively Protes-
tant as well as distinctively Catholic
hymns, must be admitted ; since heresy
and Truth in all ages have made
effective use of "psalms and hj'mns
and spiritual canticles," there being no
popular method to compare to them

• Selected and arranged by the Right Rev. John Charles
Ryle, D. D., Lord BUhop of Liverpool Eighth enlarged
edition. London: Chas. J. Thynne.

• Earl of Selbornc, jurist
("Cycl. of Numes.")

and

hymnologist,
t Ibid

iSii-t895.

S22

THE AYE MARIA.

for the inculcation of dogma, orthodox
or otherwise. In the CathoHc category
I should, of course, place all hymns in
honor of our Blessed Lady or of the
saints, — those by Anglican authors
included ; most if not all Eucharistic
hymns, and "Faith of Our Fathers,"
to name one special example. In the
Protestant category, we should find
"doctrinal" hymns, Methodist chiefly,
I fancy, — those, that is, which incul-
cate any purely Protestant tenet, such
as "justification by faith." Of these,
"Just as I Am" may serve as an
instance.

Setting aside, however, hymns which
can be so labelled, we shall find the
vast majority, no matter by whom
composed, to be utterances of Christian
devotion, — of love to the one Lord,
whose sheep we all are, whether safe
in His one Fold, or of those "others"
of whom He said : "Them also must I
bring; and they shall hear My voice,
and there shall be one Fold and one
Shepherd." And, in truth, do not all
really sincere Christians belong, at least,
to "the soul of the Church"?

If, then, we admit that such hymns
as these belong of right to all mem-
bers of the Christian family, we shall
confess a debt of gratitude to one
who, not of the Household of Faith,
was yet of our brethren, though he
knew it not, — the late Bishop Ryle,
of Liverpool. Narrow he may have
been ; staunch and of strong convic-
tions, one would rather say ; intolerant
of that which, honestly, he held as
false — an attitude hard to distinguish
often from bigotry, —he was loyal to
Truth, as he knew or conceived of it ;
loyal, above all, to his Lord and ours.
It is to him we owe this collection of
"Hymns for the Church on Earth";
and, dwelling rather on our common
faith, our common devotion, than on
the differences which separated him
from us, we shall set out to examine,
briefly, these utterances of the human

soul, — of those, for the most part, out-
side the visible unity of Holy Church,
which he has brought together for
general use and study.

It would be impossible, of course,
within the limits, however generous,
of a magazine article, to note more
than a small percentage of the four
hundred hymns contained in this book.
I have, therefore, ticked off in the index
those with which I myself am most
familiar, and which may, I trust, prove
of interest to my readers. The hymns
chosen will, consequently, be referred to
in alphabetical, in preference to any
other order.

Into all lives there comes, sooner or
later, "the burden of the day and the
heats," — weariness, depression, longing
for rest, for the end of the conflict.
Dormitavit anima mea pras tsedio, —
"My soul fainteth away because of
heaviness." "A little while," the Master
said ; but, as St. Augustine comments : *
"This little while seems long to us,
because we are now in the midst of it ;
when it shall have ended, then we shall
realize how little [how short] it was."

'Tis but "a little while"; the way is dreary,
The night is dark, but we are Hearing land.

Oh, for the rest of heaven; for we are weary,
And long to mingle with the deathless band

"Having a desire to depart and to
be with Christ " ; then, indeed, we shall
realize that the time of pilgrimage,
long as it seemed to us, was but "a
little while."

"Oh, let man in exile feed upon Thee
according to his measure; that, being
strengthened with such pilgrim food, he
may not faint by the way."t Rather,
like Elias, he shall go, "in the strength
of that food, . . . unto the mountain of •
God."t So we have, next, Newman's
Eucharistic hymn, " Alleluia, Sing to
Jesus! " written while still an Anglican:

* I'um. Ill post Pascha, Lectio IX. (Tr. 101
in Joan, sub tin.)
t Prayer of St. Ambrose, before }Aa.ss, Saturday .
t III Kings, xix, 8.

THE AVE MARIA.

323

Alleluia! not as orphans

We arc left in sorrow now ;
Alleluia! He is near us, —

Faith believes, nor questions how.

What does St. Thomas say? Credo
quidquid dixit Dei Filius, — "! believe
every word the Son of God has said."

Can our hearts forget His promise,
"I am with you evermore"?

With which we may compare a hymn,
on the same subject, written by a Pres-
byterian minister. Dr. Horatius Bonar:

Here, O my Lord, I see Thee face to face!

Here I would touch and handle things unseen ;
Here grasp with firmer hand th' eternal grace.

And all mj' weariness upon Thee lean.

Too soon we rise, the symbols disappear,
The feast, but not the love, is past and gone.

Feast after feast thus conies and passes by ;

Yet passing, points to the great feast above,
Giving sweet foretastes of the festal joy.

The Lamb's great bridal feast of bliss and love.

Most of the hymns, however, are
more generally devotional, appropriate
for all times and seasons. Thus, alpha-
ljeticall3' — an order from which, for the
moment, we have departed, — we note
next Gladstone's favorite:

Art thou weary, art thou languid,

Art thou sore dist-.est?
Come to Me, saith One ; and coming.
Be at rest.

This, I believe, is a translation from
the Greek. That which follows one may
call meditative, — a meditation which
might, however, serve to teach us
resignation when times are hard, and
we know not, as we saj', " which way
to turn" :

Birds have their quiet nest,

Foxes their holes, and man his peaceful bed.
All creatures have their rest, —
But Jesus had not where to lay His head.

Let the birds seek their nest.

Foxes their holes, and man his peaceful bed ;
Come, Saviour, in my breast

Deign to repose Thine oft-rejected head.

Come, give me rest. And take

The only rest on earth Thou lov'st, within
A heart that, for Thy sake.

Lies bleeding, broken, penitent for sin.

"Father, I know that all my Hfe,"
is an expression of personal trust in
God, bringing to mind, it may be,
Whittier's beautiful lines:

I only know I can not drift
Beyond His love and care.

Faber's hymn in honor of the Pre-
cious Blood, "Glory be to Jesus," is
too well known to need quoting here;
but one notes, with thankfulness,
its inclusion in such a collection, as
indicative of how much the compiler,
and his non- Catholic readers, must
have in common with the sweet singer
of the Oxford Movement, to whom
the Church in all English-speaking
lands — in his own most of all — owes
so much.

That which follows is a prayer "for
the good estate of Christ's Holy
Church," — the Church "militant here
in earth," to use a phrase familiar to
every convert from Anglicanism. The
hymn itself was written, or translated,
Ijy Philip Pusey, son of the great
Anglican leader :

Lord of our life, and God of our salvation,
Star of our night, and hope of every nation.
Hear and receive Thy Church's supplication,
Lord God Almighty!

Grant us Thy help, till foes are backward driven;
Grant them Thy truth, that they maj- be forgiven ;
Grant peace on earth, and, after we have striven.
Peace in Thy heaven.

Two more quotations must bring
this paper to a conclusion. The first I
shall give in full, both because of its
devotional beauty of thought and
because of its beauty of expression ; a
combination, all too rare in modern
hymnology, of true piety and true
poetry. The last quoted, Philip Pusey 's,
is a good specimen of what I mean.
Newman's "Lead, Kindly Light," is, I
suppose, the most perfect in the English
language, ranking with the Stabat
Mater or the Fen/, Sancte Spirit us.
This which follows has, however — or
so it seems to me, — a strong claim to
the second place:

324

THE AVE MARIA.

The sun is sinking fast,

The daylight dies ;
Let love awake, and pay

Her evening sacrifice.

As Christ upon the Cross

His head inclined,
And to His Father's hands

His parting soul resigned :

So now herself my soul

Would wholly give
Into His sacred charge.

In whom all spirits live;

So now beneath His eye

Would calmly rest,
Without a wish or thought

Abiding in the breast;

Save that His will be done,

Whate'er betide;
Dead to herself, and dead

In Him, to all beside.

Thus would I live; yet now

Not I, but He,—
In all His power and loye,

Henceforth alive in me.

One Sacred Trinity !

One Lord Divine !
May I be ever His,

And He forever mine !

Of the last hymn to which I shall
venture to refer, "Thou Knowest,
Lord," and which, personally, I have
found suitable for repetition after
Holy Communion, I will give only the
first verse:

Thou knowest, Lord, the weariness and sorrow
Of the sad heart that comes to Thee for rest :

Cares of to-day and burdens of to-morrow.
Blessings implored, and sins to be confessed, —

I come before Thee at Thy gracious word.
And lay them at Thy feet, — "Thou knowest.
Lord!"

Do not those three simple words
contain all that we need to say, — all
that, at times, we can say? — "Thou
knowest, Lord ! "

Will my patient readers forgive me if,
notwithstanding my promise, I further
add two short quotations, not on
account of their poetical merit, but as
in each case an indication of commu-
nity of speech, in some sense, as of
thought, between us and those for
whom principally the work under con-

sideration was compiled ? The first of
the two is specified as "Sacramental":

Be known to us in breaking Bread,

But do not then depart;
Saviour, abide with us, and spread

Thy Table in our heart.
Then sup with us, in love divine.

Thy body and Thy blood.
That Living Bread and Heavenly Wine,

Be our immortal food.

Domine, ut videant ! If they could
only understand those words as we do !

Of the second, I need give only a
single line, to which one may surely
add the same prayer as above:

Still on Thy loving Heart let me repose.
Pax hominibus bonae voluntatis.
"Grace be with all them that love our
Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity."

Worth AA^ile.

BY AUICE DEANE.

fT was only a Cinderella dance, not
a brilliant gathering like that for
which an invitation lay on Helen
Langton's table; only a homely party
of some twenty couples of boys and
girls, who would dance and be happy
under the mild chaperonage of Mrs.
Lane. Had it been the big ball for
which Helen had sent an uncompromis-
ing refusal, instead of to this homely
entertainment that she was bound, she
could not have been more particular
over her toilette; yet at last even
she herself could think of no further
improvements, Und Bridget pronounced
her perfect.

Her dress was snowy white, so simply
made as to be almost severe; and her
hair, parted and drawn softly back
from her face, made her look more like
an Italian maiden of olden times than
an American girl of to-day. Yet there
was ho lack of animation in her face :
it was aglow with life; and in her eye
was the dawning of a great happiness.

THE AVE MARIA.

325

To-night it was but the dawning;
to-morrow the fulfilment might be there,
if— and therein lay the secret of her
acceptance of Mrs. Lane's invitation
rather than that of the Van Buren's.
To-night there would be at Mrs.
Lane's a guest who had yet to win for
himself entrSe to such houses as the
Van Buren's. Some day he would be
an honored guest at such receptions,
but now he had his name to make;
and, although he was rising rapidly in
his profession, he was still too young
to take a place amongst the foremost
doctors of the city, — a place which in
the future would most surel3- be his.

Mr. Langton knew and approved of
the friendship that had sprung up
between the young doctor and his
motherless daughter. Things had gone
happily with them from the first, and
Helen guessed with unerring instinct
that the words just wanting to com-
plete her happiness would be spoken
to-night.

She was ready half an hour too soon,
waiting with ill -concealed impatience
for the carriage, when Bridget brought
her a note, so soiled and crumpled that
for a moment she hesitated to touch
it. But, checking her first impulse of
disgust, she took and opened it ; and as
she read, the scene around her seemed
to change.

She was no longer in her own luxuri-
ous room, but in a cold, bare attic; the
rose-tinted electric light faded away,
and a single guttering candle burned in
its place; her own bed, draped in white,
with pink ribbons here and there,
became a low, dingy pallet, on which
a woman, old before her time, tossed
restlessly to and fro.

The letter that had conjured up this
picture contained a message from a
woman who had once been in Helen's
service, and whom she had lately
befriended. Margaret Cammell had been
her nurse, and had f)nl3' left her to be
married. Often during the first years

of her new life she had come back to
see her nursling; then she had drifted
away from Boston, and only a few
months ago she had returned, a widow
with two children, broken in health
and penniless. Helen had helped her,
paying for the boy's schooling, and
finding work for the mother and the
little girl, a child of twelve and the
writer of the letter.

"Mother is ill," it ran, "and calling
all the time for Miss Helen. She won't
eat or speak to us, only always call-
ing. Honored Miss, you are our only
friend, and you told us to send for
you. — Maggie."

Ill-written so as to be almost illegi-
ble, it was a cry of entreaty straight
from the childish heart.

"O Bridget," cried Helen, "look what
little Maggie writes!"

She handed the note to the maid
who had been with her for years, and
who was the confidante of many of her
charitable schemes, and the companion
of her charitable expeditions.

"What shall I do? I am afraid poor
Margaret . must be very bad. But
what good could I do if I went to her
to-night? The child herself says that
she would not know me." She cast a
troubled glance at her white dress, at
her long gloves, and at the white
slippers in which she was shod. "If I
could do her any good, I" — she paused,
and then went on, with an effort :
" Yes, then it would be worth while,
and I would go." She looked entreat-
ingly at Bridget, the color coming and
going in her cheeks, torn with conflict-
ing feejings, and anxious that some
one should agree with her, that such a
sacrifice as this visit would be to-night
was not expected of her.

"No," — Bridget spoke slowly, con-
sidering her words; for she knew the
whole state of the case. " I guess you
couldn't do much for the creature. No
one could expect j-ou to go to-night ;
yet it's hard to refuse a friendless,

326

THE AYE MARIA.

maybe dying woman what she asks."

It was hard, very hard, to refuse, but
harder still to accede to this request.
The young girl had looked forward for
days to this dance. Dr. Bruce expected
her to be there; and, though she was
too certain of his love to fear that her
absence would make any lasting differ-
ence between them, still she could not
bear that he should think even for
one night that she was careless of his
feelings, or indifferent to meeting him.

There was a pause ; but Bridget could
read, as plainly as if her young mistress
had spoken, the struggle that was
going on within her.

"Don't you worry. Miss Helen," she
said. "Go to your ball and enjoy
yourself; and if you have any message
for Margaret, I'll take it there myself.
I can see to the children, even if the
poor mother does not know me."

"O Bridget, will you?"

For the moment Helen was satisfied.
After all, what good could she do to a
delirious woman? And to the child,
Bridget would probably be of more use.
Her poor friends need not be neglected ;
and she could go to the dance in the
carriage, which was now at the door.

Quickly she arranged that, after leav-
ing her at Mrs. Lane's, Bridget should
be driven to the far-away street where
the sick woman lived, and the maid
left the room to don her outdoor
clothes. She was not five minutes gone,
but, returning, she found a change
awaiting her. She had left Helen
standing in her long white cloak, a soft
lace scarf about her head : she found her
now clad in a dark fur coat, her white
slippers replaced by a pair of rubber
boots, a fur cap hiding the jewels in
her hair.

"I couldn't, Bridget," she said in
answer to the maid's exclamation of
amazement. " I couldn't go off to amuse
myself. Margaret would have been in
my mind all the time ; and even if I can
do nothing for her, I shall not have

refused what ma\' be her last request."

"But Mrs. Lane and those who are
expecting you?" said Bridget.

The color flew to Helen's cheeks, but
she answered steadily:

" If there is time, I will go in later; if
not, m}' explanations must wait until
to-morrow."

She had not arrived at this decision
without a hard struggle with herself;
but now that the sacrifice w^as made,
she would not allow herself to regret it.

Driving through the long, dark
streets, she could not keep her thoughts
from the dance in which she had made
so sure of taking part to-night; but
when she reached her destination all
was forgotten in the misery of the scene
before her. The room was desolate, just
as she had pictured it; but the face
upon the tossed and crumpled pillow
was changed almost beyond recogni-
tion ; and the voice that fell upon her
ears, even before the door was open,
was agonized in its entreaty, as it
called her name.

"Margaret!" — the girl bent over the
bed, laying one cool hand upon the
burning forehead. "Don't you know
me, dear? You Avere asking for Miss
Helen, and she has come to you." She
stretched out her other hand to little
Maggie, who, overcome by her vain
attempts at nursing, clung to her,
crying novvr from very weariness.

"Miss Helen, for God's sake! — Miss
Helen!" moaned the sick woman.

"I am Miss Helen," repeated the girl,
clearly and with gentle insistence.

Margaret did not, could not, under-
stand ; yet the cool touch, the strong,
soft voice seemed to quiet her, and she
held weakly to the hand that was
now laid firmly on her own.

Neither priest nor doctor had been
sent for, — so much did Helen extract
from the worn-out child ; and Bridget,
after some demur at leaving her young
mistress, went off to seek them, and
to supply the most indispensable wants

THE AVE MARIA.

327

of the invalid. The carriage had gone,
taking to Mrs. Lane a pencil line of
apology from Helen; and Bridget,
having to do her errands on foot, was
gone a long time.

The moments passed slowly in the
attic. Little Maggie, freed from the
burden of responsibility, had fallen
asleep from pure exhaustion, with her
head in Helen's lap ; whilst the mother,
quiet so long as her hands were held
in that soothing clasp, grew calmer,
less fevered, till at last she too fell
asleep. The fire crumbled away to ashes
on the hearth, but the one watcher
dared not rise to put fresh fuel to it.
Fearful of waking the woman who for
the moment was free from pain, or
the child who in sleep had forgotten
her anxieties, she dared not stir. Time
passed, and she too grew tired, chilled
by the growing coldness of the room,
cramped until her limbs began to ache.

It seemed to Helen as though half
the night had passed before steps
paused outside the room, and a hand
was laid upon the lock. In reality, it
was scarcely two hours since Bridget
had left her; and now, though it was
she that Helen expected, another figure
stood in the doorwaj', — a figure which
had been so much in her mind all the
evening that, unexpected as it was here,
she was not conscious of any feeling
of surprise at seeing it.

"Oh, hush!" she whispered, as Dr.
Bruce stepped toward her. "They are
asleep so quietly now, poor things!"

But he, smiling down upon her, lifted
the child gently from her lap and laid
her, still sleeping, on the heap of straw
that since her mother's illness had been
her resting-place.

Crossing again to the bedside, his
experience of sick people enabled him to
do what Helen in her ignorance had
not dared. Margaret, like little Maggie,
was not disturbed at his touch ; and
then the weary watcher was free to
move. But for a moment her cramped

limbs refiised to hold her, and alone
she could not have risen.

Then, as Dr. Bruce put his arm about
her and drew her to her feet, it struck
her for the first time to wonder what
had brought him to her here. That
was easily explained. He had been
attending a case with the district
doctor, and had been at his house when
Bridget had called. Learning from her
of Helen's whereabouts, he had offered
to relieve his confrere of the case, instead
of going on to Mrs. Lane's dance, which
now had no attraction for him.

Nature's own restorer, sleep, was
doing more for mother and child
than any doctor's skill could do; and
in the darkening room those two, so
strangel}' out of place, spoke together in
breathless whispers, — he speaking first,
she listening; and both were happy.
Then she too spoke, telling of her
struggle, of her victory over inclination.

"I thought truly that I could do
nothing further," she said; "but I was
wrong. Even for this hour's sleep, it
was worth while."

"Worth while?" he repeated. "I
should think it was worth while ! Why,
this hour's sleep that your presence has
won may be the turning-point with
the woman, without which recovery
would have been impossible. Besides,"
he added, speaking very low, "it has
proved me in the right. I always
thought that you were perfect. Now
I am sure!"

The phrase Dei gratia, meaning "By
the grace, or favor, of God," has been
a part of the royal style of the sover-
eigns of England from the time of Offa,
King of Mercia, A. D. 780. Some of
the kings varied the phraseology to
Dei dono, Divina providentia, and
Christo donante. Dei gratia was also
part of the style of the Archbishops
of Canterbury, from the time of Theo-
dore, A. D. 676, to that of St. Thomas
a Becket, A. D. 1170.

328

THE AVE MARIA.

Joan the Maid.

BY MAY I, O W E.

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SADLIER.

A LL day she watches flocks upon the hill,
A simple peasant maid; but to her ears,
The air, which hovers round her, sweet and still.
Is filled with sounds of strife. She hears
The rush and roar of arms,
And all the dread alarms.
Which fill a camp upon the eve of war.

And, to her eyes, the quiet field around

Becomes a field of battle; trees change form,
And march, a mighty .irrny, o'er the ground.
Against a city which they take by storm.
An armored maiden fair
Leads on to victory where
Bold men will follow, though they ne'er would
lead.

Not for herself she dreams ; but her loved land

And that young prince whose glory is forecast.
She knows will gain their honor by her hand.
The field gives place to a cathedral vast;
She sees her hero crowned.
While all the air around
Is rent with loud huzzas of armed men.

Ah ! If her vision now could pierce the cloud

Which swiftly lowers o'er her, would her heart
Still beat with rapture and with courage proud?
Or would she quail beneath the fatal dart
Those whom she led shall send,
As on her they shall bend
Looks filled with wrath, whom they so late
obeyed ?

But see! with head erect and firmest tread,

The erstwhile leader follows one more great —
The warrior Death,— whose flaming banner red
Leads through a siege of sorrow her who late —
Too late — her foemen see.
Like Christ upon the tree.
Crowned, not an earthly leader, but a saint.

Mere strength of body is not a test
either of endurance or of vitality. We
die from sensual excess, or from despond-
ency, or from both. Indulgence and
disappointment kill more than work,
which, if it be full of joy and hope, brings'
length of days. — Bishop Spalding:

XXXIII. — (Continued.)

SOUNG Mr. Bretherton began to
stir the fire again, as an outlet
to his feelings, before he resumed :

"I stood aside then. There was
nothing else to be done. My friend had
met her first that summer. They seemed
on a friendly footing. It's no good
talking of how I felt during that time.
I'm afraid I was not so plucky about
it as Aylward has been since. On the
evening of those marriage tableaux I
was transported to the seventh heaven.
Leonora almost admitted that she
cared a little for me, — not half so much,
heaven knows, as I care for her. I
don't even expect that. She has kept me
in suspense, though, ever since. I am
never quite certain of her. She seems
sometimes as if she were away off in
a world of her own. But don't you
think. Miss Tabitha, she must mean
to take me, or she would have put me
out of pain long ago?"

There was something so genuinely
boyish and sincere in this appeal that it
went straight to Tabitha's heart. It
made her feel as if she were a wicked
enchantress about to destroy the hap-
piness of these two people. How
handsome the young man looked in
the firelight! How winning was that
eagerness of his, so free from coxcombry
or from that innately underbred con-
sciousness of wealth and station ! Miss
Tabitha barely repressed a groan of
anguish.

"Do yoti think she cares forj^ou?"
she asked, merely to gain time.

Jim Bretherton reflected. He recalled
the look which met his that evening
when _she had thrown him the rose,
and the sweet pallor of her face and
the expression which had crossed it
when she thought he was in danger

THE AVE MARIA.

S29

that evening upon the road. He
remembered, too, the moonlit lawn at
the Manor, and the half pledge she
had given him, so much more precious,
more winning than any fulsome decla-
ration of her love.

"Will you think me a conceited fool,"
he asked in reply, "if I say 'Yes'?
There's no earthly reason why she
should care for me. She's far too
good for me, but I venture to hope she
does."

Miss Tabitha pondered. She paid
no heed whatever to that lover's
extravagancy by which the young man
thus exalted Leonora. Beautiful and
attractive as Miss Tabitha knew her
to Ije, she did not think any woman
too good for this last and, if possible,
most perfect of the Brethertons. She
was wondering whether it would be
wise to let him know that beyond doubt
Leonora did care for him. She finally
decided that it would not, and left the
young man to find out definitel3' for
himself the delicious certitude.

Uncertainty is assuredly the spur of
love; and it was one of the secrets of
Leonora's immense power over this
most favored of her admirers, that she
surrounded her own feelings with a
barrier of reserve which even he dared
not penetrate. The sweetness that lay
beyond, the true love and tenderness,
were revealed to him, as it were, in
glimpses. Her slightest mark of prefer-
ence was received as a something rare
and costly.

"Even if she does care for you," Miss
Tabitha declared, "and you are very
devoted to her, as you say, still you
can never marry."

" I should like to see who would
prevent us," exclaimed Bretherton, the
young face showing those resolute lines
so like his father's, and a masterful
note ringing through the harmoniously
modulated voice. "Not even you, dear
Miss Tabitha, even though you wanted
to keep us apart. You know, if we get

married, Leonora and I will take care
of you all the rest of your life."

The poor woman's face quivered
pitifully. The promise, just then, meant
to her so much, and opened before her
declining years so fair a promise. She
loved this young man ; and in her
eyes, save and except his father, the
Governor, he was the greatest per-
sonage she knew. Lord Aylward's
importance appeared to her almost
visionary, a matter of which she took
little cognizance ; whereas the greatness
of the Brethertons had been impressed
upon her since childhood. Still, out of
her very love and admiration for this
suitor and his family, must she not
save them from impending evil?"

"There are so many obstacles!" she
murmured.

"Who cares for obstacles? As if
anything worth having were ever ob-
tained without them," said gallant Jim.

"Your mother and father — "

"My father has already assured me
that they will both consent, and accept
my Leonora with open arms."

Miss Tabitha's breath was fairly
taken away. She had scarcely hoped
for so much, at least without a long
and tedious time of probation.

"Yes, they are only waiting, as I
requested, till everything is settled
between myself and Ivconora, to pay
you a visit of state. And you mustn't
go making objections and putting
difficulties in the way, or I shall never
forgive you."

Miss Tabitha gazed at him earnestly.
What could she say ? Oh, if that haunt-
ing spectre of a sinister mill -manager
could be ehminated from the landscape !

"There is some one who will forbid
the banns!" she cried.

"Only Death can do so
the young man ; adding, w
glance upward: "and G
us that."

While the old woma
listened to his confident

330

THE AYE MARIA.

cheerful room, with the blazing fire
seemed to fade away. It was chill
night down by the brookside; a
moaning wind was sounding in the
alder bushes ; a waning moon was
dispelling the darkness. And there stood
two men engaged in a passionate
contest, high words, a scuffle, a blow,
and a pallid face, marked by a crimson
line, sinking under the waters. A strong
shuddering seized upon Miss Tabitha,
as one in an ague fit. She could scarce
restrain the chattering of her teeth.
That night rose as a phantom before
her, with all the horror it had brought
in its train ; and the old woman seemed
to see, balefully triumphant, smilingly
malignant, the face and form of Eben
Knox. Was that the dead beside him —
Reverdy Bretherton, who in the course
of years had filled an honored grave ?
And was he begging of her now for
silence ?

"No, no!" she cried, extending her
hand as if to keep off these visions.
"No, no! A marriage between you and
Leonora would bring down upon your
family and upon us all disgrace and
misfortune."

She spoke in a quick, gasping voice,
and her young guest stared at her
anxiously. He feared that she had
sundenly gone crazy.

"How can that be?" he said,
soothing] 3'.

"I can not tell you any more," Miss
Tabitha answered. "But I have said
sufficient to my niece to convince her
that this marriage can never be. She
has gone away to think it over, and
I hope and trust that when she returns
she will see the wisdom and necessity
of marrj'ing Eben Knox."

"Marrying Eben Knox!" repeated
Jim Bretlierton, as if he had been
.Stung' by. a1\ adder. He had heard the
rumor bruited about, but never given it
serious, attention, except as offensive to
Leonoraj^ '/' You can not be in earnest,
Miss Tabitha," he added. " Leaving me

out of the question altogether, you can
never hope for such a thing as that."

"But I do," Miss Tabitha answered,
steeling herself against him, and sitting
upright in her chair, as the figure of
some Puritan ancestress. "It will be
best for everyone — in the end."

"I shall never permit it!" cried Jim
Bretherton, springing to his feet. "By
our mutual love, I shall demand that
Leonora keep faith with me, and pre-
vent this hideous sacrifice to some
vain chimera."

Miss Tabitha's pallid and wrinkled
face had assumed that expression of
obstinacy which betokened a surpris-
ing tenacity in one of her apparently
feeble character. Years ago she had
held out, in the matter of keeping
silence, when all her associates, even
Eben Knox, had vacillated. Now she
was called upon to sacrifice her dearest
inclinations to insure the continuance
of that silence.

"And he, — he of all men!" cried Jim
Bretherton. "I could understand if it
were Aylward. Oh, a thousand times
better Aylward, who would make her
happ3% who is honest to the core
and kind-hearted ! Apart from my love
and my hopes altogether, I beg of you.
Miss Tabitha, if you have any friendship
for our family, any regard for me, to
prevent this sacrifice."

This was an appeal which Miss
Tabitha found very hard to resist, but
which nevertheless strengthened her
decision.

" It is for the sake of all of you that
I hold firm," she declared huskily.

"Then throw us all to the winds and
save Leonora," begged Jim Bretherton.
" Whatever this mystery may be, confide
in me and let me help you."

Here was the selfsame offer which had
been made twice before in the course
of that day, respectivelj' by Jesse Craft
and Lord Aylward. Sincere as was
their good will and powerful influence,
the help of all three was in that contin-

THE AYE MARIA.

331

gency unavailing. Miss Tabitha turned
away her gaze, that she might not see
the pallor of young Mr. Bretherton's
face, whence the light had gone out.

"There is nothing to be done," she
said, slowly and deliberately. "Leonora
must make up her mind to marry Eben
Knox, or at least gain time by refusing
you."

" Refusing me ! Gain time ! Why, Miss
Tabitha, you speak like some sphinx,
some character in a sensational play!"

"I speak the truth."

"But Leonora will never consent."

" If she does not, the worse for us all,"
Miss Tabitha answered. "But I have
known her from childhood; and, every-
thing considered, I believe she will."

"Consent to marry Eben Knox?"
cried the hapless lover, in horror.

"Well, perhaps not that, just yet,"
Miss Tabitha said; "but I believe she
will consent to break oflF all relations
with you, and in course of time Eben
Knox will gradually force her to do
his will."

She said these last words rather to
herself than to the young man, who
stood amazed, seized upon by a sudden,
helpless bewilderment. What did it
all mean ? What was he to do ? It
was like one of those cruel webs woven
by some vile enchanter, — webs appar-
ently of silken threads, but in reality
stronger than steel. He onlj' felt that
he must leave this unreasoning old
woman and see Leonora as soon as
possible. With her he could at least
throw into the scale that most potent
of all arguments, love, — his love, strong
and ardent and greater probably than
hers. He took his hat and prepared
to go.

"I warn you. Miss Tabitha," he said,
"that I shall war against this decision
of yours bj' ever}- means in my power.
I love Leonora, and if she loves me I
will marr\- her in spite of everything."

He turned and left the room, repent-
ing before he had got down the steps.

and returning to take a kindlier leave
of this poor old creature, for whom he
felt an instinctive compassion, as the
victim of untoward circumstances.

But Tabitha had fallen upon her
knees, and tears — the infrequent tears
of age — were streaming down her
withered cheeks. He would have spoken
cordially and cheerfully to her, but
something in her aspect awed him,
and he caught the almost inarticulate
murmur :

"My sin has found me out! O Lord,
my sin has found me out!"

(To be continued. )

Friendships of the Saints.

St. Jerome, St. Paula and Her
Dau(;hters.

NO one questions St. Jerome's great
genius, or his exalted virtue
carried to the utmost limits of self-
sacrifice ; but while praising the sacred
writer, the faithful translator of Holy
Scripture, the unflinching athlete of
Catholic truth against error and heresy,
a veil is drawn over the tenderness of
his great heart, which under a chill and
sometimes rude exterior kept alive and
nourished the sacred flame of every
legitimate affection. This will appear in
a strong light if we give only a cursory
glance at his life in Rome and Bethlehem,
and his relations with St. Paula, both
amidst the gayeties of Roman society
and the austerities of a Judean desert.
Born in Dalmatia about the year
331, his body and mind both bore
the impress of the frank energy and
indomitable vigor of a race still in
its prime, and uncorrupted by the
usages of pagan society. He came to
Rome in early boyhood, and received
his literary education under the most
famous rhetoricians of the age of the
Decline, when the descendants of heroes,
though no longer walking in the foot-

332

THE AVE MARIA.

steps of their illustrious progenitors,
still cultivated and enjoyed the beauties
of oratory.

Jerome, like Augustine, delighted in
the charms of the old Greek and Latin
writers. He was infatuated with the
poetry of Homer, Horace, and especially
Virgil, whom he continued to quote in
his writings and letters to the very
end of his life. His ardent youth
could not be spent amidst the mire of
Roman corruption without contracting
some blemish; and it was with full
knowledge of his subject that he later
on inveighed against the errors and
false pleasures of a world that he had
loved all too well.

But his wanderings, which the sacred
waters of baptism were soon to correct,
were only passing; and his great soul
could not long hang in the balance
between paganism and Christianity, — ,
between the manners and allurements
of idolatry' and the pure enticements
of the Gospel. Impressed by the exam-
ple of his master, Victorinus, whose
combats and victories St. Augustine
touchingly relates in his "Confessions,"
Jerome, searching the truths of the
Christian religion, gave himself up
with passionate ardor to the study of
the Holy Scriptures; and soon, under
Pope Liberius, he asked for baptism.
From that day he devoted himself and
his vast stores of learning to the service
of the Catholic Faith, and for sixty
years proved her indefatigable cham-
pion, her oft persecuted, yet never
discouraged, apostle.

Once baptized, he felt the urgent
necessity of leaving Rome, to give
himself up freely to penance, prayer,
and the study of the Holy Scriptures.
He went into Gaul and spent some
time at Aquileia, in the midst of a
miniature Thebais, where he breathed
in the spirit of monastic life. With
several companions he then set out
for the East, the native land of the
Incarnate Word, the home of learned

doctors and sainted monks. After long
and painful journey ings, he reached the
desert of Calchis, where, surrounded
by its wild solitude, he remained for
several years. There, by mortification,
labor and tears, he finally overcame
his impetuous nature. One immortal
page of his works depicts his struggles
and the enthusiastic delight of his
victories. The old man and the new
are represented in their entirety.

"How often in the solitude of the
desert, parched by the rays of a burning
sun, have my thoughts not reverted
to the pleasures of Rome! How oft
have I not shared the dances of the
Roman ladies! Alas! while my cheeks
were blanched with my austerities, and
my attenuated body almost chilled by
death, the flame of passion rekindled.
Then, not knowing where else to seek
help, I cast myself at the feet of Jesus
Christ ; I bathed them with my tears,
I wiped them with my hair. I crucified
my rebellious flesh with weeks of
fasting. I remember to have passed
nights and days striking my breast,
until calm was restored. If I discovered
some lonely valley or some rugged
• rock, I betook myself thither to pray;
and often, the Lord is my witness, after
shedding abundant tears, and fixing
mj^ gaze oft and long on the heavens,
I felt m\'self transported amidst the
angelic choirs; and, filled with joy, I
exclaimed: 'We will run, 0 God, after
the odor of Thy perfumes ! ' "

Heliodorus, one of the young friends
who had accompanied him from
Aquileia, could not make up his mind to
remain. Every natural instinct recalled
him to his native city, — his aged father,
his mother, a sister, a young nephew,
the family servants who had waited
on his childhood. How could he resist
their legitimate pleadings ? He therefore
parrfd from Jerome, whom he left
desolate, bathed in tears. The event
proved that in following his natural
bias he had not been wanting to his

THE AVE MARIA.

333

grace of vocation; for he afterward
became a priest, then a bishop, and
served God in the same ministry as
Jerome did in his solitude.

Jerome, fearing the effect of the world's
temptations on his friend, used every
endeavor to recall him to Calchis. Read
the charming picture he draws of his
solitude, in a letter Ml of tenderness
and regrets, which he sent to his beloved
friend: "0 desert, enamelled with the
flowers of Christ ! O solitude, in which
are found mystic stones to build the
city of the great King! O holy retreat,
where man treats familiarly with his
God ! My brother, what place is there
in the world for you, who are greater
than the whole world ? How long will
you remain in the shadow of the
home-roof, in the darkness of the city's
reeking prison ? Believe me, there is
light here. Freed from worldly cares, the
soul here wings her flight to heaven."

After a long sojourn in Calchis, St.
Jerome went to visit the holy places
in Judea, where he was destined after-
ward to take up his permanent abode.
At Antioch he was ordained by St.
Paulinus, and then went to Rome, to
assist at a council convoked by Pope
Damasus, in the year 382. He was
then fifty-two. It was at this time that
he made the acquaintance of St. Paula :
the friend, consoler, and support of the
latter half of his long life.

Paula, mother of four daughters and
one son, widowed for many years,
was thirty-five when Divine Providence
introduced her to St. Jerome, from
whose biography of her we learn the
touching history of their relations and
joint labors. The very first lines of
this history sum up in words of gold
the virtues and greatness of St. Paula:

"Were all my members turned into
tongues and endued with speech, I could
not )^et fittingly tell the virtues of the
holy, venerable Paula. Noble by birth,
she became nobler by her sanctity ;
elevated by her riches, the poverty of

Jesus Christ rendered her yet more
illustrious; sprung from the Gracchi
and Scipios, heiress of Paulus Emilianus,
whose name she bore, a lineal descend-
ant of the famous Martia Papyria, wife
of the conqueror of Perseus, and mother
of Scipio Africanus the Younger, she
preferred Bethlehem to Rome, and the
humble roof of a poor abode to a gilded
palace."

Of her youth, marriage, and first
years of wedd:d happiness, passed in
the bosom of a luxury to which our
age can furnish no parallel, one trait
will suffice to prove that, if not already
a saint, she was even then a fervent
Christian. "Never was voice raised
against her virtue, either amid the
Roman people or in the prying, slan-
derous circle of the society in which
she moved. She was unequalled in her
gentleness and kindness toward little
ones, the common people, and her own
slaves." Thus charity and kindness
were the first-fruits of her sanctity. Her
widowhood added the touches that
were wanting, — the spirit of prayer and
penance, detachment from the goods of
earth, and active devotion to the poor
of Jesus Christ.

Tenderly attached- to her husband,
she mourned his loss with bitter tears ;
and, perhaps, in the first days of her
sorrow, she overstepped the bounds of
legitimate grief But her love for her
children soon asserted its rights over
her heart, and to the consolations of
nature were added the divine balm of
faith and hope. From that hour she
devoted her life to prayer, works of
mercy, and the education of her children.

Another noble widow, Marcella, and
her venerable Mother Albinn, had
devoted their palace on Mount Aven-
tinus to the accommodation of a
number of holy women whom they
gathered there to pray, sing the Psalter,
and, while employing their hands in
working for the poor of Jesus Christ,
serve as a mutual incitement to advance

334

THE AVE MARIA

in His love. Some of these maidens
or childless widows had left their
homes and formed themselves into a
regular community under the guidance
of Marcella.

What St. Jerome relates of the life led
by the virgin Asella, one of the oldest
and most fervent of these religious,
surpasses all imagination. She slept on
the bare floor, fasted the entire year,
ate only bread and salt, and drank
nothing but water. "And, incredible to
relate," writes her saintly biographer,
"despite this hard regimen, she reached
the age of fifty without suffering any
pain or infirmity, — her body sound as
her mind, her soul joyous, cheerful yet
grave, serious yet mirthful, charming
in her unaffected simplicity. Her silence
spoke volumes ; her speech never inter-
rupted her recollection. Her manner
was uniformly the same; her care of
her exterior was devoid of all vanity ;
her whole deportment bespoke perfect
equanimity of life. Such was Asella,
a pearl of great price, whose worth
all Rome appreciated ; for virgins,
widows, women of the world alike,
held her in veneration."

A rare pearl, indeed, as St. Jerome
charmingly says; for she offers an
exquisite example of the most gracious
amiability amid the most austere
mortification.

St. Jerome did not delay long before
entering into close relations with these
holy women, especially St. Paula, whom
he sought from out their number, on
account of her rare intelligence, earnest
piety, and aspirations after a more
perfect life. He had brought back from
his sojourn in the Holy Land the ardent
desire, it might almost be said the fixed
resolution, to people the holy places
with monasteries that would rival the
Thebais; and he saw in the recluses
of Mount Aventinus providential in-
struments for the realization of his
enterprise.

Paula was not the only one to share

his passion for the solitude of the
desert, — for life in that East that had
cradled the Faith of Christ and now ■
guarded His Sepulchre. Of her four
daughters, one at least, Eustochium,
trampling under foot the seductions
of the world, shared her aspirations
toward the religious life. Paula in-
trusted her for a time to the guidance
of Marcella among the virgins of
Mount Aventinus; and she returned
imbued with the love of Jesus Christ,
to which, and her tenderness for her
mother, she gave up her whole heart.
Her sole delight was to accompany
her mother in her visits to the Cata-
combs, the basilicas, and the poor.
She left her neither night nor day.
Although she was only fifteen when
St. Jerome came to Rome, she was
still of an age to answer the call of
the Spouse. This "flower of virgins,"
as he calls her, expanded under the
rays of the Sun of Justice ; and Paula
did not delay presenting her to Pope
Damasus, who questioned her, and,
with his blessing, clothed her in the
habit and veil of consecrated virginity.

Blesilla, Paula's oldest daughter— -an
ardent soul, capable of the heights of
virtue, and endowed with a brilliant
mind, rare penetration, and an amiable,
cheerful disposition, — enamored with
the splendor that surrounded her
during her father's lifetime, grew fond
of dress, luxury and diversion. Her
love for pleasure was so intense that,
married at an early age, and left a
widow some years later, she gave
herself up anew to all her former
frivolity.

St. Jerome, who in his heart of hearts,
loved St. Paula and her daughters,
prayed earnestly for this imperilled
soul ; but all his eff"orts were frustrated
by her careless frivolity. What the
frienii had failed to do, however, God
accomplished directly by means of a
serious illness. Attacked by a conta-
gious fever in the July of the year

THE AYE MARIA.

385

384, she alternated between life and
death for an entire month, — a month
of terrible agony to St. Paula, who
trembled for the soul as well as for
the body of her child. We will let
St. Jerome, with the mingled ardor of
nature and faith, relate the stor3' of
this triumphant agony:

"For thirty consecutive days we saw
Blesilla tortured by a burning fever,
panting, almost lifeless, seeming to be
left only to learn to despise the delights
of a body so soon to become the food
of worms. Death had already laid his
icy clutch on her fragile body. Where
now was the aid of her worldly friends ?
Where their promises lighter than
smoke ? Jesus Christ came and laid
His hand upon her as she lay in the
winding cloths of riches ready for the
tomb. He sighed and troubled Himself
as He had done before for Lazarus,
and said : ' Blesilla, come forth ! ' She
obeyed the call, and understood that
her after-life must be His to whom she
owed its restoration."

Who can depict the joy of St. Paula
when her daughter was given back to
her body and soul ? Blesilla passed from
her life of frivolity to intense love for
divine things and an ardent spirit of
penance. "She who before spent long
hours in adorning herself before her
mirror, now contemplated herself only
in the face of God. She for whom her
sumptuous couch of down was too hard
a bed, now watched in prayer, and rose
betimes, the first to sing the praises of
God, kneeling on the bare ground, her
tears the only adornment of a counte-
nance on which the costliest cosmetics
had been lavished before. A simple,
dark -colored habit and white woollen
cincture replaced the rich jewelled attire
of former days, whose price she dis-
tributed in alms to the poor."

Under the direction of St. Jerome,
Blesilla drank deep draughts from the
Holy Scripture, and learned Hebrew
with incredible case. "What the East

had found such a prodig} in Origen,
was repeated in the young woman of
twenty. A few days sufficed her to
master the difficulties of that language
well enough to understand and chant
the i)salms as well as her mother
Paula." Pope Damasus, Marcella and
her religious, Pammachius, her sister
Pauline's husband, and the holy priests
whom Jerome counted among his
friends, — all sympathized in the joy of
this conversion.

The example of Blesilla soon found
a number of imitators, either among
the protegees or slaves of Paula, or
outside of her family circle; and her
home became a sort of monastery that
St. Jerome delighted to call "the house-
hold church." No distinction of rank
was recognized ; and Blesilla and her
sister Eustochium devoted themselves
to the service of the others with rare
huinility and tenderness. This heavenly
joy lasted for but a moment, as if too
beautiful for earth. After four months
of preparation, the soul of Blesilla was
ready for heaven. The fever attacked
her anew in November, and in a few
daj'S carried her to the grave; but her
death was that of the elect.

Her mother, sisters, relatives, friends,
Marcella, and Jerome formed a weeping,
prayerful circle around her deathbed,
where she lay as if transformed, sighing
ever for her eternal home. At the last
moment a shade passed over her
countenance, and a large tear coursed
its way down her cheek, as, gathering
together all her strength, she besought
them to beg Our Lord to have com-
passion on her soul, since she died
without being able to accomplish what
she had resolved to do for Him. Her
soul went out in that earnest prayer;
and, as St. Jerome says, "bursting the
bonds of flesh, the spotless dove winged
its flight to heaven, and the exile entered
on the fruition of unending joy."

The grief that followed on her death
beggars description. Paula especially

336

THE AVE MARIA

seemed bereft of reason, and would not
be comforted. In the first moments
of -uncontrolled sorrow, when nature
seemed to stifle faith, she ordered, or
rather permitted, the preparations for
the funeral to be of the most extrava-
gant character, in accordance with the
luxurious usages of the patrician rank,
but quite unbecoming the simplicity
of Christianity. While deploring the
vanity of such empty pomp, St. Jerome
offered no remonstrance, out of respect
for the despairing grief of his a filleted
friend. Despite the urgent solicitations
of her friends, Paula wished to fill her
place in the obsequies, at which the
entire population of Rome assisted.
But she counted too much on her
strength ; and after going only a short
distance she fainted, and was carried
back insensible to her home.

The public grief was universal; and,
as might be expected, the people, not
content with pitying the bereaved
mother and weeping with her, broke
out into murmurs, almost into threats,
against Jerome, whom they accused of
forcing Paula and her daughters into
this foolish life of penance. "Has it
not more than once been said," writes
St. J:rome, "that the poor mother
weeps over the loss of a child torn
from her by the rigors of her fasting :
that no grandchildren gather around
her knee, because she has been pre-
vented from marrying again; that the
detested race of monks who have
seduced her should be expelled from the
city, stoned, thrown into the Tiber;
that force made her a recluse, for never
pagan mother wept more bitterly over
her lost ones?"

There is nothing new under the sun ;
and ever since the very first ages of
the Church, popular ingratitude has
turned, viper-like, against the generous
servants of Christ, who, in their noble
detachment from the things of earth,
have given, or procured for, the poor
aod destitute riches once devoted to

immoderate pleasure and unmentionable
vice. But in presence of Paula's heart'
rending grief. Christians can not be
accused of ceasing to love their deaf
ones when they begin to love their God.
"The image of her cherished child,"
writes St. Jerome, " was ever befoffi
her eyes. She incessantly recalled her
words, her caresses, her delicate cour^
tes}-, her charming conversation. The
* thought of losing all this was insupport-
able, and her tears burst forth afresh
at every moment. Sometimes, when a
more vivid recollection seized ott hef,
she not only wept, but cried aloud, and
refused all nourishment. Fears were
now entertained for her own life."

vSt. Jerome forgot his personal sorrow
to devote himself, through prayer and
the most touching remonstrances, to
overcome a grief so terrible in its inten-
sity that it threatened to wreck her
faith, and shut off the flow of countless
graces from her soul. Often detained
at a distance from her by his connection
with Pope Damasus, he wrote her
admirable letters, one of which amongst
many will remain as an eternal monu-
ment to Christian eloquence, tenderness
and sorrow. You who have lost your
dear ones, read and ponder and be
consoled. At first he gives free vent
to hi's tears :

"Who will give water to my head
and a fountain of tears to ray eyes,
not to. weep with Jeremiah over the
evils of my people, nor with Our Lord
over the misfortunes of Jerusalem, but
over holiness, gentleness, innocence,,
charity,— all virtues, borne to the tomb
in the person of Blesilla ! Yet we must
not grieve for her who is gone, but for
ourselves who have lost her. My cheeks
are loathed in tears, sobs choke my
voice, and hold the words suspended
On my lips. Alas! woe is me! I, who
would dry up the fountain of a mother's
tears, weep myself How poor a com-
forter is he who can not master his
own grief,— whose words are changed

THE AVE MARIA.

337

to sighs ! Yet Jesus wept over Lazarus,
because He loved him.

"But the Lord, in whose presence
your daughter now Hves, is my witness
that I share all your sufferings. Was
1 not as her father? Did I not mould
and fashion her soul with all the tender
charity that Jesus Christ had implanted
in my heart ? * . , The waves have beat
against my poor heart, and tears have
dimmed my cj^es before the judgments
of God, and with the prophet I have
cried out : ' In vain have I washed my
hands and my heart among the inno-
e^tit. I sought to penetrate the great
mystery, and found only immeasurable
anguish, until I entered into the sanct-
uary of my God, and pondered well the

end of all things ' But God is good,

and all that comes from Him is essen-
tially good, and destined for our welfare.
This should be the comfort of the
mother bereft of her child, the wife torn
from her husband,— of every poor soul
suffering from poverty, sickness, and the
other ills that fall in showers upon
human nature. . . . We say that we
believe in Christ : let us, then, abandon
ourselves to His holy will.

"We may mourn the dead, save those
whom the abyss has swallowed up.
Troups of angels attended the going
forth of the loved one lent us by God.
Let us, then, yearn onl3' to follow

her Let us congratulate our Blesilla,

who from darkness passed to light,
and hardly entered the lists before
she bore off the victor's crown. If a
premature death — from which may
God preserve all who love her! — had
surprised her in the midst of her world-
liness, drunk with the wine of its false
pleasures, then, indeed, would she have
been tit subject for tears. But, by the
grace of God, for four months she has
trampled the world under foot to give
herself entirely to God. Do you not
fear lest He ask you : ' Paula, do you
grieve that 3'()ur child should become
Mine J* You are roufcd against Mv

judgments, and your tears outrage the
merciful love through which I recalled
Blesilla. You refrain from food, not^
through a spirit of penance, but throogb
excess of grief Such fasting rejoices
My enemy, but is not pleasing to My
Heart. Is this the promise of your
monastic profession ? For this did you
separate yourself from the matrons of
Rome ? Leave inordinate weeping to
those who are clad in silken attire.
Were your faith not shaken by My trial,
would you not believe your daughter
truly lives ? And would you repine
that she has passed to a better life ? . . .'

"Faith does not forbid our mourning,
but mourning as the Gentiles did,
because they had no hope. We pardon
a mother's tears, but we expect modera-
tion even in her grief When I recollect
that you are a mother, I blame not your
sorrow ; but when I remember that
you arc also a Christian, I could desire,
Paula, that that higher character should
have a soothing influence over the
claims of nature. If the assured happi-
ness of Blesilla does not suffice to dry
your tears, spare at least the young
and gentle Eustochiura, whose tender
years need a mother's guidance and
a mother's support."

Blending firmness with his tenderness,
his consoling thoughts oft couched in
harsh language, he continues:

"While loving your children so pas-
sionately, beware lest you love God less.
The wily enemy may surprise you by
the charmed bait of tears. In keeping *
constantly before your eyes the image
of the loved one you have lost, he aims
at the soul of the bereaved mother,
and of the orphaned sister left desolate
by her mother's neglect. I would not
inspire you with vain terrors, and God
is my witness that I speak as if we
were both before His tribunal; but the
unmeasured tears that are hurrying
you on to the verge of the tomb,
are a breach of your fidelity and a
sacrilege. Your sobs and cries would

338

THE AVE' MARIA.

lead one to believe that you wish to
end your days. Listen to Jesus Christ,
who comes to 30U full of goodness
and says : ' Your daughter is not dead
but sleepeth.' But no: you cling to
her tomb weeping, like Magdalen at
the sepulchre of the Lord ; and the
angel must ask you as her : ' Why seek
you the living among the dead?'"

After thus bringing Our Lord before
Paula, to console her with tender
w^ords, St. Jerome makes Blesilla herself
speak : " O my mother, if ever you loved
me, if ever you nourished me at your
breast, and formed my soul by your
lessons of virtue, envy me not my
present happiness ! You weep that I
have quitted the world : I mourn yet
more for you, detained within its prison
walls. If you wish still to be mj
mother, think only of loving and pleas-
ing Jesus Christ."

Having thus drained the cup of divine
consolation, St. Jerome ended, as he had
begun, by a very allowable return to
himself: "I have the sweet hope that
she prays for me in return for what I
have done for her, and will obtain the
pardon of my sins from God ; for you
know full well, Paula, m3^ devotion to
her soul's welfare, — the exhortations I
made her, the anger I braved for her

salvation As long as the breath of

life shall animate my mortal frame and
detain me on my earthly pilgrimage, I
pledge mj^self that my lips shall speak
of Blesilla, my labors shall be devoted
to her; and wherever my writings go,
they shall bear her name beside those
of Paula and Eustochium, that her
memory may be immortal."

Thus the master -genius, the austere
monk, the rugged soldier of Christ,
whose faith subdued his nature, without
destroying or lessening its legitimate
affections, knew how to love, to weep,
to console. He mourned Blesilla not only
by word of mouth and writing, but
her loss affected him so sensibly that,
even to the end of his days, he could

never finish his Commentary on Ecclesi-
asticus, which he had undertaken at
her recjuest. Time and time again he set
himself to the task, but at each attempt
her image occupied his thoughts, tears
blinded his eyes, the pen fell from
his fingers, and the work remained
incomplete.

We shall not pursue further the study
of these two holy, tender souls, Jerome
and Paula. In the desert as in Rome,
in Bethlehem, whither both went to end
their days in the exercise of monastic
virtues, as on Mount Aventinus, we
should ever find the same tender human
affection pervaded with the light and
love of Jesus Christ, — the same combats,
tears, and victories. There is one page,
however, of this charming history that
we can not pass over unnoticed, — the
record of the conversion of Albinus,
whose daughter, Lasta, was married to
Toxatius, Paula's son.

La;ta was a Christian, like her
mother, and a worthy daughter-in-law
to Paula. From her childhood, and
especially from the time other marriage,
she had prayed for the conversion of
her father, an honorable, upright man
according to the world's v^ay of
judging; but a pagan, a priest of
Jupiter, attached to the interests, tra-
ditions, prejudices of the old Roman
superstition. What he prized in his
pagan worship was not the honor of
his god, in whom he placed no faith;
but the rank his priesthood gave him,
the jJomp of the sacrifice, the olden
memories of Roman prestige, and the
laxity of morals, the practical epicu-
reanism that Paganism permitted to
her votaries.

Against such a bulwark of habit and
prejudice, Lfeta's prayers would have
proved powerless, and she would have
lost all hope, had not the letters of St.
Jerome, sustained her b}' a prophetic
assurance of their future happy result.
What she could not accomplish a little
child brought about, unwittingly and

THE AVE MARIA.

339

almost in play; or, rather; what the
mother had sown in tears the child
reaped in joy.

After several years of marriage,
Laeta had a little daughter, who was
welcomed by all the family with trans-
ports of delight, and named Paula,
after her grandmother. The aged priest
of Jupiter received the child of bene-
diction with unspeakable happiness.
He had her always in his arms; and
when her infant lips began to lisp their
first accents, he delighted in making
her repeat the sacred names her father
and mother taught her, and his own
soul flooded with tender joy. "Who
could have believed," writes St. Jerome,
"that Albinus should have a grandchild
in answer to a vow made at the tomb
of the martyrs; that in his presence
and by his aid she should stammer
the Alleluia of Christ, or that the old
man would so cherish a virgin of
the Lord?"

"We have him at last!" he wrote
again in a transport of holy joy. " With
his bevy of Christ's little ones around
him, he is already a candidate for the
holy faith. Jupiter himself in such
company would be a convert." And
again, to La*ta: "The same faith that
brought you the child will bring you
the father too. Is it not written that
what is impossible to man is easy to
God ? No matter how late the conver-
sion, it will mean salvation."

And that hour of salvation for
Albinus did come. Detached from the
vanities of earth by old age and the
approach of death, he concentrated all
his tenderness on his little grandchild,
became imljued with the spirit of Chris-
tianity that surrounded him.

The pious Lfcta had the consolation
of seeing the loved father who had
cost her so many tears imbued with
the faith of Jesus Christ, and filled
with a peace and hapjiiness until then
unknown. His conversion caused ec|ual
joy to the holy solitaries of Bethlehem.

Paula blessed God for this new favor;
and Jerome repeated his thanksgiving :
"How good for us to have waited in
full hope! How surely the atmosphere
of a holy, faithful household converts
the unbelieving! "

Immense labors on the Holy Scripture,
especially the translation of the Old
Testament adopted by the Catholic
Church under the name of Vulgate,
filled up the rest of St. Jerome's life.
His old age was clouded by three great
sorrows, — the death of Paula, that of
her angelic daughter Eustochium, and
the destruction of Rome by Alaric.

Prematurely aged from watching,
fasting and prayer, and the establish-
ment of several monasteries in the
Holy Land, St. Paula hailed the hour
of her deliverance, toward the end
of the year 403. Eustochium, who had
never left her, nursed her with a ten-
derness remarkable even in a daughter.
Night and day she was at her bedside,
fanning her, cooling her fevered head,
chafing her chilled feet, smoothing her
pillows, and rendering her every possi-
ble service. St. Jerome describes her as
running distractedly from the sick bed
to the Holy Crib, weeping, sobbing;
begging Our Lord, on the very spot
where He came into the world, to leave
her her mother, or at least to strike
both with the same blow, and let them
lie together in the same tomb.

The last day came. The Bishop of
Jerusalem with all the bishops of
Palestine, a great number of priests,
monks, religious women, hastened to
the monastery. The saint, absorbed
in God, saw and heard nothing that
passed around her, a slight motion of
the lips showing that she held collo-
quies with her Beloved. When several
(|uestions were put to her without elicit-
ing an answer, St. Jerome approached
the bed and asked why she remained
so silent, or if she suffered. She replied
in Greek, "No: I feel neither pain
nor regret, but an unutterable peace,"

340

THE AYE MARIA

and then relapsed into her recollection.

At the last moment she opened her
eyes, her countenance grew radiant, and
she fixed her gaze on some celestial
apparition, murmuring with the Psalm-
ist: "I believe to see the good things
of the Lord in the land of the living."
Then, with a peaceful smile parting her
lips, she gently breathed her last. It
was at sunset, January 26, 404, at the
age of fifty-six.

The grief of St. Jerome was so keen
that for a long time he was unfit for
any labor, and the remembrance of his
gentle friend never quitted him the rest
of his life. He yielded to the wish of
Eustochium that he should write her
mother's funeral oration. But, in the
violence of his grief, his trembling hand
could not guide the stylus, nor his
blinded eyes follow the words traced on
his tablet; so he had recourse to the
aid of a stranger, who, for two nights
without intermission, wrote at his
dictation the admirable account he has
left to posterity of the virtues and
good works of St. Paula.

Eustochium survived her mother fifteen
years, then died the same happy, holy
death, strengthened by the blessing and
tears of St. Jerome, then eighty -eight
years of age, who, in accordance with
her request, buried her in the same
tomb with her saintly mother.

Three years before this the heart of
St. Jerome had been crushed by a blow
of another kind. He had long watched
with anguish of spirit the decline of
Roman virtue, the growth of corrup-
tion of morals, the disorganization of
pagan society, which had to expiate
three centuries of persecution and
streams of martyr blood; and he felt
that God's day of vengeance could not
long be delayed. Already he could
hear from afar the tramp of barbarian
hordes that poured down on the
Empire of the West, unmanned by the
death of Theodosius the Great; and, in
the ardor of his patriotism, he asked

himself what fate awaited poor Italy.
The event exceeded his gloomiest fore-
cast, and struck him like a thunderbolt.

He soon saw around him, in Bethle-
hem, crowds of exiles who in the fall
of Rome had lost their all, — home,
riches, family, friends. Patricians, men
of consular rank, noble matrons,
widows, young maidens, orphans, — all
destitute and miserable, came as slaves
to crave shelter in the monasteries
founded by St. Paula. Many amongst
them had blamed her for banishing
herself to the East, little thinking that
she went to prepare them a place of
refuge from hunger and despair, under
a Judean sky. So does it please Provi-
dence to avenge His saints!

Jerome left everything — prayer, medi-
tation, solitude — to welcome this poor
fragment saved from the wreck of
Rome. He multiplied himself to meet
all their pressing needs. His monas-
teries were crowded with fugitives of
all conditions, as those of Paula were
with widows and young maidens.
The hospice, too, founded by their joint
efforts, was filled to repletion; and
yet many wandered shelterless and in
need. "Bethlehem," he writes, "sees at
her door the most illustrious people of
Rome begging their daily bread. Alas!
we can not supply all their wants.
But we open our hearts to them, and
mingle our tears with theirs."

In the midst of these tears, consoled
by the promises of Our Lord to His
Church, and by the blessed hopes faith
holds forth, St. Jerome met his end.
In 420, four years after the burning of
Rome, and one year after the death of
Eustochium, weighed down by age and
labors, but crowned with glory and
merits, he slept in the Lord.

By a sweet dispensation of Provi-
dence, a granddaughter of St. Paula
assisted him in his last moments.
Paula, the baby instrument of the con-
version of her grandfather, Albinus, the
priest of Jupiter, was called, like Paula

THE AVE MARIA.

34l

and Eustochium, to the rdigious life,

and joined them in Bethlehem, where

she remained after her aunt's death. At

the age of twenty she closed the eyes

of the dying servant of Christ, and

placed his mortal remains near those

of his illustrious friends, in the grotto

which is now called the Oratory of

St. Jerome. Faithful to the trust of

guarding their sacred relics, she every

day visited their tombs, until death

restored to her the fellowship of those

kindred souls, Eustochium, Paula, and

Jerome, amid the unending joys of

heaven.

■ » ■

About Buddhism.

THE following paragraph, translated
from a Buddhist journal {Kyokuai
Jiji) and published in the Japan Mail,
w^ill be read with interest by those who
hold that Buddhism has a message to
the Western World :

Numerically speaking, Buddhism far outranks
Christianity ; but, by reason of actual work
accomplished, the balance of power is in favor of
the Christians. Generally, hatred against Chris-
tianity is passing away ; and the lielief that it is
better adapted to the new condition of things is
daily gaining ground. Buddhist customs and
rites are becoming more alien to the interests of
society ; and priests are often the subject of public
ridicule. The war correspondents declare the
unfitness and inability of the Buddhist priests,
and the more thoughtful of these priests who
are at the front lament bitterly their co-workers'
ignorance, senselessness and idleness which have
caused the soldiers to ridicule them and also to
become tired of them. On the other hand, the
quarters of the Christians ' are regarded as a
paradise for the soldier, and they arc welcome
everj- where. The enormous amount of 200,000
yen has been expended by the Honganji [the
largest Buddhist sect in Japan] for work
among the soldiers ; but it is far inferior to the
work of the Christian association, whose expend-
iture amounts only to a few thousand yen. The
work of the Christians has attained such success
that it has reached the Em[>eror's ear, whilst
that of the Buddhists is always attended by
debts and disturbances.

That Buddha was a singularly win-
ning personality, there can Ije no

question. "Had he been a Christian,"
wrote Marco Polo, "he would have
been a great saint of our Lord Jesus
Christ, so holy and pure was the life
he led." But his religion is essentially
a people's religion ; and a people's relig-
ion, as Newman pregnantly observed,
is ever a corrupt religion. If it be
true, however, that, in spite of the tes-
timony just quoted, Buddhism is not
yet spiritually impotent, and that its
missionaries are far from assuming
an aggressive attitude toward the
Christian Faith, we should be inclined
to welcome a propaganda of their
religion among the great multitude
of highly educated and half educated
Europeans and Americans who do not
hold Christianity at all.

We share the opinion of Mr. Lilly,
writing in the current Fortnightly
Review, "that the teaching of the
Buddha even in its most fantastic and
corrupt form, is infinitely wiser, sweeter,
and more ennobling than the doctrine
of the school — unhappily the predomi-
nant school among us — which makes
happiness, or agreeable feeling, the
formal constituent of virtue, and seeks
to deduce the laws of conduct from the
laws of comfort; which insists that
not the intention of the doer, but the
result of the deed, is the test of the
ethical value of an act ; which, reducing
the moral law to impotence by depriv-
ing it of its distinctive characteristic,
necessity, degrades it to a matter of
latitude and longitude, temperament
and cuisine; which robs it of its
essential sanction, the punishment
inseparably bound up with its viola-
tion, and denies the organic instinct of
conscience that retribution must follow
upon evil doing."

Who would not rejoice to have the
Buddha's teaching work the same
change among all classes of materialists
that it is said to have effected among
the Burmese, Siamese, and Singhalese?
The " Four Noble Truths " would

342

THE AVE MARIA.

doubtless appeal to many who hold
Protestantism in contempt and have as
little notion of a church as Gotama him-
self. The confusion of sectarianism has
had the effect of driving a multitude of
persons farther and farther away from
the Christian camp. For such as these
the return may be only in a roundabout
way. If Buddhism is still a spiritual
influence, and this influence has begun
to wane in the East, a wide field
for its exercise is left in the Western
World, toward which the more earnest
votaries of Buddhist teaching are now
turning with hopeful gaze.

We are not told which sect of Buddh-
ism it is proposed to propagate. There
are many of these, as also of Moham-
medanism. The numerical strength of
Buddhism is great in Japan, Ceylon,
etc. ; but the number of Buddhists, all
told, does not exceed 120,250,000.

A Striking Epitaph.

"My drawing -master," narrates the
French Academician, Rene Bazin, "was
an abbe, an excellent man, a holy man
indeed, who was simplicity itself; and
on one occasion his modest}^ touched
the sublime. It was on the day of
his death. He had been appointed
pastor of a parish that was anything
but devout. His people respected him,
even sent for him at the approach of
death; but they did not live as he
would have them do. Above all, they
ploughed and sowed and reaped on
Sundays. My old master was much
distressed about this violation of the
Third Commandment. On his death-
bed he said to his executor: 'I don't
want my name on my tomb, I don't
want any date,— I don't want anything
that will recall my personality. You
will place on it only this inscription,
Abstain from work on Sunday. Perhaps
they will read it.' And his desire was
carried out."

Notes and Remarks.

Many persons who admit the right
of laborers to organize for protection
against injustice and oppression are not
willing to concede that trade unionism
constitutes an influence for good. It is
contended that higher wages and more
leisure mean less thrift and increased
demoralization among laborers. Reply-
ing to this contention in a recent
speech, Mr. John Mitchell insisted that
associations of labon should be judged
by the benefits they confer rather than
by the errors they commit ; by the high
purposes of the majority of members
rather than by the low aims of a
minority. "We are forced," he said,
"by bur necessities and by conditions
beyond our control, to admit to
membership every man employed in
our industries." There is something
to be considered in this statement.
Why should it be demanded of labor
unions, any more than of other mutual
benefit associations, that as a right
to existence they be free from . any
element of lawlessness ?

Concluding his speech, Mr. Mitchell
said: "To find justification for our
existence or for the policies we pursue,
we do not rely upon the claims we
ourselves make. Abraham Lincoln, in
a speech delivered at Hartford in 1860,
while addressing the striking shoe-
workers, said: 'Thank God! we have
a system of labor where there can be
a strike! Whatever the pressure, there
is a point where the workman may
stop.' Wendell Phillips is quoted as
having said: 'I rejoice at every eff'ort
workmen make to organize. I hail
the labor movement; it is my only
hope for democracy. Organize and
stand together! Let the nation hear
a united demand from the laboring
voice.' William E. Gladstone said:
'Trade unions are the bulwarks of
modern democracies.' And so we might

THE AVE MARIA.

343

go on with indorsements from the
great men of the world, whose hearts
beat in sympathy with their strugghng
fellowmen."

At a recent meeting of the Congrega-
tion of Rites, the following subjects
were presented for the consideration of
the Cardinals : 1. The resumption of the
case of Blessed Jeanne de Lestomar's
canonization. Blessed Jeanne was a
widow, and foundress of the Daughters
of Notre Dame. 2. The introduction
of the cases for the beatification and
canonization of the servants of God,
Antonio Pennachi, secular priest of
Assisi; and Magdalen, Archduchess of
Austria. 3. The revision of the writ-
ings of the following servants of God :
Venerable Pierre Julien Eynard, founder
of the Priests of the Blessed Sacrament ;
Jean Marie Robert de Lamennais,
founder of the Brothers of Christian
Instruction ; and Gaspard Bertoni,
secular priest of the Congregation of
the Priests of the Blessed Sacrament.

One is inclined to surmise that the
process of the Blessed Cur€ d'Ars has
awakened exceptional interest in the
holiness of other secular priests notable
in their day and generation for perfect
conformity' to the model high -priest,
Christ.

While the conclusion of peace between
Japan and Russia has naturally rejoiced
the world at large, it is noticeable
that neither of the powers primarily
concerned is indulging in demonstra-
tive expressions of unalloyed jubilation.
The prevalent opinion seems to be that
the magnanimou.sly broad and liberal
spirit in which Japan conducted the
conference at Portsmouth has resulted
nevertheless in her signal diplomatic
defeat. Within the next quarter of a
century, when the true inwardness of
the recent demands and concessions, the
agreements and refusals of both high
contracting parties shall have become

known, there will perhaps be a revision
of this opinion. It is quite conceivable,
even now, that Russia did not really
desire and did not expect peace, that
the Czar did expect that his refusal to
consent to an indemnity would effectu-
ally put an end to the negotiations, and
that Japan would accordingly alienate
much of the world's sympathy by being
placed in the unenviable position of
continuing a most disastrous conflict
simply for money. If Russia's hearken-
ing to the invitation of bur President,
and her sending peace plenipotentiaries
to Portsmouth, were, as it is not
improbable they may have been, simply
diplomatic moves to secure, not peace,
but a reversal of the world's opinion
as to the responsibility for further
warfare, the agreement of Aug. 29 was
really a notable diplomatic triumph for
those with whose names most brilliant
victories on land and sea have been
associated since Feb. 9, 1904, — the
thoroughly capable and astute officers
of the Mikado.

Be this as it may, peace is a blessing
for which both countries, and their
partisans the world over, may well be
thankful. President Roosevelt's influence
in securing the blessing gives him an
additional claim on the admiration
of his fellow - citizens, and indeed his
fellowmen without distinction of
national lines.

"It is nothing if not frank" might
be said of our Anglican contemporary,
the Lamp. "We make no attempt to
justify Anglicanism as a system distinct
from the unity of Peter's Fold," remarks
the editor in a leading article. And
the Rev. Spencer Jones, M. A., in a
paper dealing with the Oxford Move-
ment, writes: "I am not speaking
offensively when I point out that
Newman and some others detected in
the writings of the Anglican divines
the same fault which some of us are
now beginning to detect in ourselves, —

344

tH^ AVE MARIA.

narael}', a habit of misquoting the
Fathers, and 'shrinking from the very
doctors ' to whom we appeal ; of
Hstening to some of the Fathers at
Chalcedon when they are debating the
28th Canon, and yet ignoring the
w^hole body of them when they formally
recognize the Pope of their day as
'Guardian of the Vine,' 'appointed by
our Saviour.' "

It is to be hoped that the readers of
the Lamp do not take offence at such
frankness as this; and surely they
should not, since the writers are at
pains to state that they do not "speak
offensively." Still, the Lamp must be
very unconsolatory reading sometimes
for any class of non- Catholics.

While it is probable that the advo-
cates of rural free delivery of the mails
did not insist upon the moral good
that would result from its adoption,
it would appear that in at least some
country districts free delivery makes
for increased temperance. A Wisconsin
journal declares that before the present
system was adopted, the farmers who
"went down to the store" to get the
mail usually remained to swap gossip
and incidentally do a little, or even
considerable, drinking. Now, it appears,
when the mail is delivered at the farm,
the paper is read after supper, the
visit to the store is omitted, and rural
sobriety is accordingly notably pro-
moted.

The following impressions of a dis-
tinguished London journalist travelling
for the first time in Ireland are not
without interest for Catholic readers:

There is a common theory that Roman Cath-
olic Ireland is retrograde and Protestant Ireland
prosperous. I have convinced myself that there
is no connection between creed and prosperity,
for I found the Catholics just as thrifty and
well oft" as their neighbors. I saw no sign of
hopeless, soul-destroying poverty in the Catholic
East of Ireland. In the hotels where I stayed,
servants of both persuasions worked together

with good humor and friendship; while I know
the priest of a large and straggling parish who
lives on terms of cordial, almost afl'ectionate
friendship with the Presbyterian minister. I
talked with each and learned from each that
the other was a " real good fellow." The con-
gregation of the minister is scattered and very
meagre. I made the mistake of sympathizing
with him a,s a stranger, in a strange land. "My
dear sir," he said in reply, "I wouldn't be
happy anywhere else. I like the people here so
niAch." And the people, who would not for
worlds enter his church, like him too . . . and
say he is "a dacent sowl." No, there is no
bigotry here. I asked him if he approved of
Home Rule. "It must come," he said; "but it
would be better in another generation, when
the bitterness between North and South will
have ceased." I asked the priest, an Irishman
of the Irish, with fun bubbling out of every
pore of his face. He only smiled benignantly
at me, and hoped I liked the whisky !

Among these people it is a delight to ask a
favor, a pleasure to start a chat. I know and
admire the French, but I say without the
least hesitation that within my knowledge the
Irish are the best -mannered people in the world.
Full of humor and kindness, with little bigotry
and few unreasoning prejudices, laughing at
themselves sometimes, and at other people in
a nice friendly way nearly always; in a word,
real good fellows, — these are the men I have met

in Ireland.

* ■ «

A study in the proportion of children
in the United States by Prof. Wilcox,
of Cornell University, shows that since
1860 there has been a marked decline
in the birth rate. The study is based
upon data furnished by reports of the
twelfth census. At the beginning of the
nineteenth century the children under
ten years of age constituted one-third,
and at the end less than one-fourth, of
the total population. The decrease in
this proportion began as early as the
decade of 1810 to 1820, and continued
uninterruptedly, though at varj'ing
rates, in each successive decade. This
of itself, however, is not enough to
prove a declining birth rate, as the
decrease in the proportion of children
in Lfle total population may indicate
merely an increase in the average
duration of life and the consequent
survival of a larger number of adults.

THE AVE MARIA.

345

But by taking the proportion of chil-
dren to women of child-bearing age, we
are able to get a more satisfactory
index of the movement of the birth rate.
Between 1850 and 1860 (the earliest
decade for which figures can be ob-
tained), this proportion increased. But
since 1860 it has decreased without
interruption. The decrease has been
very unequal from decade to decade;
but if twenty-year periods are con-
sidered, it has been very regular. In
1860 the number of children under five
years of age to 1000 women from fifteen
to forty -nine years of age was 634 ; in
1900 it was only 474. In other words,
the proportion of children to potential
mothers in 1900 was only three-fourths
as large as in 1§60.

Advocates of the simple life have a
striking example of it in the Holy
Father, who, in spite of tremendous
responsibility, unceasing cares, and con-
finement within the Vatican, enjoys
excellent health and possesses his soul
in peace. His day is thus described
by the Rome correspondent of the
London Tablet:

His Holiness continues to be a very early riser.
His attendant finds him, when he knocks at the
door shortly after five every morning, engaged
in reciting the Little Hours of his Breviary.
The daily Mass (and Pius X. has never omitted
to celebrate during the last two years) begins
at six ; the Mass of thanksgiving, offered by one
of his private secretaries, is over shortly Ix-fore
seven. The Pope's breakfast is truly Italian — a
cup of coffee and milk and a slice of bread, —
and occupies a bare five minutes of time; after
which, when the heat of the morning is not
too intense, he takes a walk for half an hour
or so in the Vatican Gardens, never failing to
kneel for a few minutes at the shrine of Our Lady
of Lourdes, Before eight he is back again in
his study, immersed in the mass of correspond-
ence which every morning brings him. About
nine he begins to receive the reports of the
different Congregations, to sign their various
decisions, and to decide any complicated questions
that may have been left over for him.

Little more than an hour is left for this part of
the day's work; and immediately it is over
Cardinal Merry del Val appears with a heap of

papers of all kinds — diplomatic documents,
episcopal appointments, reports of nuncios or
delegates, financial statements, extracts from the
daily press, and so on, — all of which are carefully
examined by his Holiness. Meanwhile the ante-
chambers are being peopled by Cardinals, Bishops,
Prefects of the Congregations, and private
individuals waiting for the audience arranged
for them by the Maestro di Camera; and with
all these the Holy Father is engaged until about
half- past twelve. He dines usually with his
Secretary, shortly after one ; and the very frugal
meal, with conversation, never lasts a whole
hour. Like all Romans and Venetians, the Holy
Father sleeps for an hour in the oppressive noon-
day. Before resuming work he finishes the day's
Office, and then remains at his desk, writing and
stud3ing uritil half-past five.

Another crowd is usually awaiting him when
he leaves his private library. There may be a
few private audiences to accord, but they are
brief. At half- past six the Pope is alone with
his Secretary in the Loggia. Through the open
windows they have a wonderful view of Rome
and the Tiljcr, and the chain of Latin hills in
the distance, as they walk to and fro for the
best part of an hour. Then Pius X. returns to
his apartment, works again at his desk until
nine, takes supper, recites his Breviary, skims
a few of the day's newspapers, and at half-past
ten retires for the night.

"And he has no holidays!" adds the
writer. Perhaps his simple manner of
living is what renders them unneces-
sary. The great amount of relaxation
required at frequent intervals by persons
who follow what they all are pleased
to call the strenuous life leads one to
suspect that there is a great deal of
humbug about it.

Questioned recently as to the relations
that ought to exist between France
and Canada, Drumont, the anti-Semitic
publicist, replied: "What is there in
common between you Canadians and
this France of to-day, which no longer
believes in God or the family, which
abjures everything ? What will be said
by your people, laborious, energetic,
and so magnificently prolific, when they
learn that the race from which they
sprang, and in which they long took
pride, recoils from every duty, even
that of perpetuating itself? "

Our Lady's Birthday.

The Little Hungarians.

BY NEALE MANN.

BY MRS. MARY E. MANNIX.

"THERE were glory-laden mornings in the baby-

liood of Time,
When the sun and stars were new-born and the

world was in its prime ;
There were dawns of wondrous beauty to irradiate

the earth,
But the fairest day as yet to break was that of

Mary's birth.

On all previous gladsome mornings, change from

gloom to light was slow;
Faint at first, the Eastern" pearl -tints grew and

spread their lustrous glow ;
But upon Our Lady's birthday, Night upfolded

swift her shroud.
And forthwith was earth resplendent, compassed by

a golden cloud.

All the sky was clad with sun-mist, holding men's

enraptured gaze.
Though they guessed not myriad angels poised

within the magic haze,—
Poised and sang triumphant pteans, all unheard by

mortal ears,
Greeting her, the peerless Virgin longed-for through

the weary years.

Mystic shadow of the love God bore the Mother

of His Son,
Floated still that golden cloud-rack till the gracious

day was done;
And, each year. Our Lady's clients, as her natal

feast draws nigh.
Echo still the songs that angels sing before her

throne on high.

Many English verbs are metaphors
derived from the names or habits of
animals. Thus, we "crow over" a
victory like a cock; we "quail," as
that bird does in presence of danger;
■we "duck" our heads; we "ferret"
a thing out; we "dog" a person's
footsteps; we "strut" like an ostrich
{strouthos) ; and so on.

XIX. — Entrapped Again.

SO two days jiassed ; the children
were happy, their entertainers no
less so. At first the senora had
thought of having their ragged clothing
washed and mended ; but, upon exami-
nation, she found it too bad.

"It would not pay to do it," she
said. "There is enough and to spare
here, which the grandchildren have
outgrown."

At noon of the third day, when
Alfredo came to dinner he asked what
kind of looking man Steffan was.
Louis described him.

"I saw him this morning talking to
Juan Carisso, that Portuguese Negro
who is such a good worker — when he
is not drunk. I asked Juan what
the man wanted. He told me he was
looking for some children. Then I felt
sure it was Stefifan. He had gone away
before I could get across the field to
him ; but I told Juan to let me know
if he came again, saying that he had
kidnapped this little boy and girl, and
I wanted to settle with him."

"Do you trust the Negro, Alfredo?"
asked the senora.

"Well, I know nothing against him,
mother ; but he is a stranger to us, of
course. We can't tell much about him.
We will watch out for Stefifan, though.
And now, chiquitos, you must be very
careful. Stay close to the house, and
wait till he comes forward boldly and
openly to ask for you."

Rose was very much alarmed, but
Louis felt secure. He knew Steffan to
be a coward, and was confident that he

THE AVE MARIA.

347

would not dare to claim them while
they were under the care of the Bandini
family. His own nature was so open
that, though he had become familiar
wi_Jh treachery and double-dealing since
his connection with Steffan, he never
anticipated it till it arrived.

The proposed letter had not yet been
written ; for young Alfredo, like many
others of his race, was disposed to
procrastinate.

After an evening spent in playing and
singing, the family retired as usual,
about ten o'clock. The children occu-
pied rooms side by side, both opening
on the garden at the other side of the
house from the rooms in which the
sefiora and Alfredo slept. The windows
of their sleeping rooms were only a
few feet from the ground.

Louis had been asleep about two
hours when he was awakened by the
touch of a hand on his face. He sat
up, only half awake, to find himself
confronted by a huge Negro with gold
rings in his ears.

"Do not cry out," whispered the
man. "I will do you no harm."

"What do you want?" inquired the
terrified boy.

"There is a man over there who
wants to speak to you."

"Over where?"

"Behind the orchard."

"Who is he?"

"He calls himself SteflFan."

"Tell him to go away, or I will call
the master of the house."

" He is going away. He only wants
to tell you something first. He says
he does not care to have you with him
any more. He has some good news
for you ; it is about your brother."

"About my brother?" exclaimed
Louis. "Oh, if it only were true!"

"Yes, it is true. He knows where
your brother is, and will tell you how
to get to him. He is not very far
away, — somewhere in California."

Louis was already dressing himself.

He forgot all danger in the thought
that he was going to hear something
about Florian.

"But why didn't Steffan come and
tell me this before it grew so late?"

"He was afraid. Down there they
told him that Bandini is a justice of
the peace, and would arrest him for
kidnapping you two. It is true he
threatened that in the presence of all
of us in the hayfield. And he would do
it. He is not afraid to do what he
thinks right."

At that moment Rose put her head
out of the window.

"Who is talking?" she asked.

"Hush, little one! Your brother will
tell you after a while. Go to sleep,"
said Juan.

Peering through the darkness. Rose
began to distinguish the face of the
Negro. She did not know what to
think.

In his turn, Juan did some reflecting.
The plan had been for Steffan to seize
Louis and then have the Negro return
for Rose. But Juan had foreseen danger
in this. He knew it was possible that
Rose might awake as he was carrying
her away, and thought it safer to take
her with them at once.

"Maybe it is better that you let the
little one dress and come along too,"
said Juan to Louis. "I am afraid she
will not stay here alone while we
are gone."

"Very well," rejoined the boy.

Climbing out of the window, he told
Rose to get up and dress.

"I will tell you. Rose," he said. "It
is Steffan who wants me."

"Steffan!" she exclaimed. "And you
are willing to go with him again,
Louis?"

"Oh, no!" responded Louis. "He
does not want us to go away. He
is going alone. All that he wants is
to tell us about Florian."

"What about Florian?"

"He knows where he is. He is in

348

THE AVE MARIA.

California; now we shall be able to
find him. StefFan is afraid to come
himself. They have told him that Senor
Alfredo will have him prosecuted for
stealing us."

"And it would be right," answered
Rose. "He ought to be in prison."

"Anyway it is kind of him to tell us
what he has heard about Florian,"
said Louis.

"Why doesn't he tell this man where
Florian is, and let him tell us ? I
don't want to have anything to do
with Steflfan."

"Will you stay here, then, till I come
back?" asked Louis

"No: I am afraid. I will go with
you."

She was almost dressed, having begun
the moment Juan appeared at her
window.

"What pretty music you play!" said
the Negro. " I hope you don't leave
your instruments in the night air; it
is bad for them. I had a banjo once —
a very good one, too, — and I left it
outside the tent two or three times.
It was ruined by the damp night air."

"We never leave ours outside," said
Louis, carelessly. "There it is in that
corner."

"If you are ready, we will go now,"
said Juan. "Steffan will be uneasy till
he gets out of this."

Rose clambered over the window-sill,
and Louis took her hand.

"Take that path through the orchard.
You will find Steffan at the other side,"
said Juan, falling a little behind. "I
have dropped my pipe: I must find it."

The children walked on unsuspect-
ingly. Juan vaulted over the sill into the
room Louis had left, seized the violin,
guitar and mandolin, all carefully put
away in their cases, and was out
again in a moment, like a cat. But
he did not follow in the footsteps of
the brother and sister. Running swiftly
through the orchard, he soon came
out on a by-road, where stood one

of Alfredo's lightest wagons, with two
of his best horses. After placing his
burden carefully in the bottom of the
wagon, he skirted the in1 ervening dis-
tance; and when the children reached
the end of the orchard path, he was
already standing close to another man
who peei*ed anxiously from behind a
tree. The wagon was not far away.

"Now!" whispered the other, who
was Steffan, handing something to the
Negro. "You take the boy. I will
manage the little one."

They sprang forward at the same
instant, a gag was placed in the mouth
of each of the children, and before they
could realize what had occurred they
were lying in the bottom of the wagon,
while the seat was occupied by Juan
and Steffan, who began to drive rapidly
awa}'. For at least half an hour they
lay there, stunned and scarcely able
to breathe. At length Rose made a
gurgling noise in her throat which
reached Steffan's ears.

"Stop, Juan," he said. "I want to
talk to them a little."

He drew the gags from their mouths.

"Sit up," he said. "You can get your
breath better."

They obeyed him, and looked around
wildly, unable to utter a word.

"See here," he said. "I am going to
take you to your brother. He is in
Lower California. It's no use grumbling
or crying, because this is the only way.
You'll thank me for it later. If you
scream or cry, or tell a living soul that
you don't belong to me, till we get
down there, I'll never let you know
where he is. If you behave right, and
help along as you used to till we get
to him, I'll only be too glad to be rid
of you."

Rose was crjnng silently, but Louis
remarked :

" Ivljr. Steffan, I do not know what
the good, kind people at the ranch will
think of us. You could have come after
us in the daylight, and we would have

THE AVE MARIA.

349

gone with you — to reach Florian. They
would not have prevented us, — they
could not have done so."

"Yes, thej' could," answered Steffan.
"They'd have gotten us into a peck of
trouble first; and kept me in jail, I'm
certain, till they'd straightened things
out to suit themselves. If I had served
you right, ungrateful little wretches
that you are, I'd have gone off and
left you. But it seemed such a stroke
of luck when I heard about your
brother that I just bad to get hold of
you. Keep quiet and everything will
be all right."

"I don't believe you, Mr. Steffan,"
sobbed Rose, — "I don't believe one
word you say."

"You are a bold little creature," said
Steffan. " But I shan't punish you,
because you're not much more than a
baby. If you don't believe me, you may
perhaps listen to Juan here. He knows."

"Yes," said the Negro. "I'm the man
that told Mr. Steffan about your
brother. Last night I went up town,
and we met there. We had a little game,
and Steffan cleaned out the bank."

"Do you mean that he robbed the
bank?" asked the horrified Louis.

The Negro laughed, but Steffan said :

"Whip up, Juan! Don't lose time."

And they resumed their journey.

" I was talking about you two, and
the injustice you'd done me, and making
up my mind to start looking for you,
when Juan told me where you had
put up at. And after that, in the
course of conversation, I found that he
knew your brother quite well, — in
Lower California. And he's that kind-
hearted he's offered to take us to him."

"Did you know Florian?" inquired
Louis, eagerly, kneeling up in the
wagon and touching the Negro on the
arm. "When did you see him last?"

"About three months ago," said Juan.

"Where was he?"

"Just on the other side of the line."

" What is he like ? "

"He's a pretty good-looking fellow."

"What is he doing?"

" Resting, just now," said the Negro,
glancing at Steffan.

"Has he been sick?"

"Yes, I believe he has."

"Not very sick," added Steffan.

" Did he ever speak of us ? " continued
Louis.

"Not to me," said Juan.

"How did you know he was our
brother, then?"

" From the name, when Steffan men-
tioned it."

"Is he tall?"

"Quite tall."

" With dark eyes, dark skin, and black
curly hair?"

"Yes, always taken for a Mexican."

"And has he a beautiful smile?"

"Oh, beautiful!" replied Juan.

"Then it must be Florian," said
Louis, — "it must be Florian!"

(To be continued.)

The Pigeons of St. Mark's.

In front of the Church of St. Mark,
where fair Venice smiles over the
lagoons, lies the Piazza, an open square
extending to the water's edge. Here
the people gather at sunset to see the
beautiful view across the water, and
to watch the pigeons of St. Mark's at
their evening meal.

The Church of St. Mark was built
many years ago, and it looks like a
Turkish mosque, with its dome and
many little cupolas. Beside it stood
the campanile, before that wonderful
bell - tower fell to the ground ; and at
the other side is the Doge's Palace. The
Doges were the old rulers of Venice
before the city became a part of Italy.
Some of them were great men, although
others were very stem and cruel. One
seems to have been kind and full of
gentle thoughts, and it is due to him
that we have to-day the pretty pigeons

350

THE AVE MARIA.

of St. Mark's, fluttering like white-
winged angels over the great square.

The story tells how there was a
terrible war between the brave people
of Venice and the cruel Turks, who
captured many Christians and made
them slaves, whipping and beating
them; forcing the women to marry
heathen men, and killing such as would
not become Mohammedans. The Vene-
tians sent out a great fleet under the
command of Admiral Dandalo, and he
fought and captured the island of
Candia. Great was the rejoicing in the
fleet, and loud cries of joy were heard
from all sides; for Candia was then a
most important island. All desired to
send home word of the glorious victory,
but knew not how; for no ship could
be spared to sail away to Venice with
the news. At last they hit upon a plan.

There were with the fleet two
pigeons — lovely, snowy things, — belong-
ing to a young officer who had thought
to send them to his beloved wife, and
these he offered to the Admiral. A
letter was tied about the throat of
each pigeon — one to the officer's wife
and one to the Doge, — and they were
tossed into the air. All watched eagerly
to see what they would do. A moment
each hovered aloft, poised over the
ships ; then, with a glad whir of wings,
away they flew toward their home
upon the sapphire Adriatic, bearing
the glad news of the young officer's
safety and of the great victory. Then
great was the rejoicing of all the city.
Flags and banners were unfurled in
every square, houses and palaces were
decorated, and a crowd of happy people
sought St. Mark's Square to hear the
Doge make his proclamation.

The splendid old fellow stood forth
upon the Piazza, robed in red velvet,
w^earing a massive golden chain and
the Doge's cap, and said to the people :

"By a white -winged bird of peace
learned we this gracious news, and
henceforth it is our good pleasure that

such be called forever the pigeons of
St. Mark's. To them we tender the
hospitalit}^ of our city. Queen of the
Adriatic; and every day shall they
and their descendants be fed at public
expense. Their home shall be the
Palace of the Doges; their dining -hall,
Venetia's Piazza; their title. Friends
of the Queen of the Adriatic."

All the people shouted lustily, and
rejoiced greatly; and men, women and
children vied with one another as to
who should throw corn to the little
messengers whose flight had brought
so much happiness.

The pigeons nested in the eaves of
St. Mark's ; the chirps of little broods
chimed in with even-song and Matins,
and there they grew and thrived. When
their young sought to nest, some built
in the Doge's Palace and some in the
Lion of St. Mark's ; and so careful was
the city of them that no one was
allowed to hurt or kill them, and every
day they were fed at the public expense.

That w^as nine hundred years ago,

and still the pigeons hover and flutter

above the great square. Each evening

they are fed, — jnen with baskets of com

selling it to the bystanders, who love

to feed the pretty creatures. So tame

are they that they will crowd about

the square and light upon the shoulders

of the passer-by, whole flocks of them

fanning his face with their w^ings. One

of the prettiest sights in Venice is

St. Mark's Square, white as snowdrift

with the fluttering snowy wings of the

columbi (doves). ,,r ta vr t^

^ ' M. F. N. R.

Agenda.

This word in its original signification
relates to the order of the offices or
services of the Church. In ordinary life,
it ia. the memorandum of the various
items of business which are to be
brought before a council, or committee,
for discussion or settlement.

THE AVE MARlA
With Authors and Publishers.

351

— No efforts of the press agent and no extrava-
gant advertising by the publishers will Ije needed
to recommend to the American reading public
a volume to be issued shortly by Charles Scrib-
ner's Sons — "Outdoor Pastimes of an American
Hunter," by President Roosevelt.

— Lemerre, Paris, has brought out, in a charm-
ing little volume, Derniers Podmes (The Last
Poems) of Abb^ Jean Barth&s. Francois Copp^e
provides an appropriate preface to these exquisite
verses, which have won for their regretted author
— Abhi Bartb&s died in 1904 — the admiration
and esteem of a large portion of Catholic France.

— A "Bishop Spalding Year Book," compiled
by Minnie R. Cowan, is among the autumn
announcements of A. C. McClurg & Co. The
works of the Bishop of Peoria provide abundant
material for such a volume, and we feel sure
that Miss Cowan's selections will include many
aphorisms, not only of striking expression, but
of some actual helpfulness to the reader.

— Methuen & Co.'s list of new publications
includes "A Book Called in Latin Enchiridion
Militis Cbristiani, and in English the Manual
of the Christian Knight, replenished with most
wholesome precepts, made by the famous clerk
Erasmus of Rotterdam, to which is added a new
and marvellous profitable preface." This new
edition is from the one printed by Wynkin de
Worde in 1533.

— The current Messenger pays a warm and dis-
criminating tribute to its late associate editor,
the Rev. James Conway, S.J. The deceased Jesuit
was a capable linguist, a distinguished theologian,
and an exceptionally able essayist. He wrote
several important pamphlets on educational
matters, translated German works on morals
and socialism, and edited, in English, Father
Wilniers' " Handbook of the Christian Religion."
The Messenger is to be condoled with on the
loss to its editorial staff of so capable a writer.
R. I. P.

— Sir Edward Elgar, who sailed recently for
Europe, will return to this country next spring,
to serve, jointly with Mr. Frank Van Der Stucken,
as one of the conductors of the Cincinnati May
biennial festival. This is the result of a series
of negotiations conducted by the Cincinnati
Musical Festival Association, of which Mr.
Lawrence Maxwell, Jr., is president. An impor-
tant clause in the agreement provides that the
well-known English composer is not to appear
as conductor elsewhere during this visit, which
will lie signalized by the performance of his ora-
torio The Urcuni of (jcronlius, and The Apuslles.

An interesting biography of Sir Edward has been
published by John Lane Co. The book is written
by R. J. Buckley, and has just appeared in the
series entitled "Living Masters of Music."

— "Credo" is not an especially happy title for
a volume of stories for the young, even though
the stories be religious ones. That, however, is
the name which Mary Lape Fogg gives to a
charming collection of tales "illustrative of the
Apostles' Creed." The Angel Guardian Press has
issued the book in handsome form.

— An important admission made by Mr. Charles
Henry Lincoln, editor of the "Calendar of John
Paul Jones' Manuscripts," is noted by the Cath-
olic Messenger. In an article contributed to the
Review of Reviews, Mr. Lincoln remarks: "Jones
was not the founder of the American navy. This
claim, to l^e sure, has been made for him by cer-
tain biographers ; but let us be just rather than
generous."

— In the Macmillan Co.'s announcement of new
publications we note two books by Mr. Marion
Crawford — "Fair Margaret: A Portrait," and
"Venice," a companion volume to "Ave Roma
Immortalis" and "The Rulers of the South."
The same publishers will issue Mr. William
O'Brien's "Recollections," the story of his life
from his birth in 1852 down to 1883, when
"the I'arnellite movement was in full swing."

— The library of Judge Pennypacker, of Phila-
delphia, soon to be sold at auction, contains the
largest collection in private hands of books
printed by Benjamin Franklin, and also a large
number of important documents and letters
written by him. The Washington items are
headed by an autograph diary kept by George
Washington. The library is also remarkable in
that it is said to contain the largest known
collection of early Pennsylvania imprints, among
them the Saur Bible. Early almanacs and early
American magazines and newspapers will be
further features of this sale.

— A complete translation, the first to be made,
of Antonio Pigafetta's account of Magellan's
voyage around the world, is announced by the
Arthur H. Clark Co. The original text, with
numerous maps, plates and facsimiles, will accom-
pany the English version. I'igafetta was an
Italian of noble family, interested in navigation
and fond of travel. Happening to be in Spain
when Magellan was about to sail, he secured
permission to accompany the expedition. Piga-
fetta kept a detailed account of the incidents of
the voyage, and faithfully recorded his observa-
tions on the geography, climate, and resources

352

THE AVE MARIA.

of the numerous strange countries visited or
described to him. This important work has been
translated, edited, and annotated by James A.
Robertson, of the editorial staff of "The Jesuit
Relations and Allied Documents," and co-editor of
"The Philippine Islands: 1493-1898." In order
to insure a faithful version of the text, Mr. Rob-
ertson paid a visit to Milan and personally under-
took the task of transcription.

— The erudition of the London Atbeaeeum is
illustrated by the following paragraph, which
we find in a lengthy review of a recent work on
ivories, by Alfred Maskell, F. S. A.:

The celebrated ivory " Virgin dc las Batallas," preserved
in the Royal Chapel <>i S. Fernando of Seville, has, unfortu-
nately, escaped the author's notice This is Spanish of the
thirteenth century, 43 centimetres (=1697 in.) in height,
and represents the Blessed Virgin seated on an octagonal
seat, bearing on her knee the Infant Saviour, whom she
supports with the left hand. Each figure of this statuette
wears a crown of silver gilt, which ornaments, although
ancient, do not appear to be the original ones. There are
holes which indicate that this ivory was fixed by means
of an iron cramp to the bow of a saddle, and thus carried
by a warrier into battle, in order that, in the height of
the combat, he should not be parted irom the beloved
objects of his Christiaajtvorship,— a pious practice used in
olden days in Spain. It has been conjectured, probably
with accuracy, that this relic signalizes the presence of a
new style in Spain, and the separation from Byzantine
influences, which were so long a dominant characteristic
in the arts of that country.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

Tie object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
appear at the head, older ones being dropped oat
from time to time to make room for ne^v titles.
As a rale, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not he indexed.

Orders may he sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will be imported with as Utile delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a fall supply of works issued abroad
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"Sir Thomas More. (The Blessed Thomas

More.)" Henri Bremond. $1, net.
"The Yoke of Christ." Rev. Robert Eaton.

$1, net.
"Some Little London Children." Mother M.

Salome. 75 cts., net.
"Ireland's Story." Charles Johnston and Carita

Spencer. $1.55.
"The Life of St. Patrick, Apostle of Ireland."

Canon Fleming. 75 cts., net.
"Sermons Preached at St. Edmund's College."

$1.60, net.
"The Common Lot." Robert Herrick. $1.50.

"Jubilee Gems of the Visitation Order." $1.
"Plain Chant and Solesmes." Dom Paul Cagin,

Dom Andr^ .Mocquereau, O. S. B. 45 cts., net.
" Reminiscences of an Oblate " Rev. Francis Kirk,

O. S. C. 75 cts., net.
" The Mirror of St. Edmund." 80 cts., net.
"The Saint of the Eucharist." Most Rev. Antoine

de Porrentruy. $1.10.

" The Cenacle." 54 cts.

"The Christian Maiden." Rev. Matthias von

Bremscheid, O. M. Cap. 50 cts.
"Elizabeth Seton, Her Life and Work." Agnes

Sadlier. $1, net.
"Daughters of the Faith." Eliza O'B. Lummis.

$1.25.
"The Tragedy of Fotheringay." Mrs. Maxwell

Scott. $1, net.
" A Gleaner's Sheaf." 30 cts., net.
"A Story of Fifty Years." $1, net.
"The Ridingdale Boys." David Bearne, S. J.

$1.85, net.
"By What Authority?" Robert Hugh Benson.

$1.60, net.
"Historical Criticism and the Old Testament."

Pere J. M. Lagrange, O. P. $1, net.
"Divorce. A Domestic Tragedy of Modem

France." Paul Bourget. $1.50.
" Wandewana's Prophecy and Fragments in

Verse." Eliza L. Mulcahy. $1, net.
"Notes on Christian Doctrine." Most Rev.

Edward Bagshawe, D. D. $1.35, net.

Obituary.

Remember tbem that are in bands. — Heb., xiil, 3.

Rev. Gregory Zern, of the diocese of Fort Wayne.

Brothers Charles and Vincent, C. P.

Sister M. Gregory, of the Servants of the Heart
of Mary ; Sister M. of St. Seraphine, Sisters of the
Holy Cross; and Mother M. Marcella, O. S. U.

Mr. August Smith and Mrs. Mary Butler, of
Hartford, Conn. ; Mrs. Margaret Egan, Colum-
bus, Ohio; Mr. Peter McCarvill, N. Cambridge,
Mass. ; Mr. Clement Heiny, Fort Wayne, Ind. ;
Mrs. J. N. Muchland, Cheyenne, Wyo. ; Miss
Katherine McCarthy, Toledo, Ohio ; Mr. Michael
Ryan, Cashel, Ireland ; Mr. Frank Hamel, WilH-
mantic. Conn. ; Mrs. Margaret Huber and Mrs.
Julia Spallane, Wilmington, Del.; Miss Sarah
Falsey, Waverly, N. Y. ; Mrs. Anna Rogers and
Mr. Patrick Murnane, Troy,N. Y.; Mrs. Margaret
Cnok, Pittsburg, Pa. ; Mr. Francis Walsh, Prov-
idence, R. I.; Mrs. H. Brady, New Rochelle, N. Y.;
Mrs. David Russell, Bridgeport, Conn. ; and Mr.
Jacob Plunkard, Canton, Ohio.

Requiescant in pace !

;^(»itwS^W'^5^

HENCEFORTH «Ll GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUME, r., M.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, SEPTEMBER 16, 1905.

NO. 12.

[Published every Saturday. Copyrieht: Rev. D. E. Hudson, CSC]

Ave Maria!

iOn a painting of the Blessed Virgin and Child.)
BT BENJAMIN COCKER.

LJAIL, Holy Mother, full of grace!

The light that shines from out thy face
Tells of a love divine.

Give me a spark of that same fire,

Give me the grace to lift me higher

To share thy trust sublime.

The look the Child gives back to thee,
Oh, may He give it once to me,
And may He too be mine!

The Apostle of the North.

BY DARLBT DALE, AUTHOR OF " ANCHORESSES OF

THE WEST," " MONASTERIES OF GREAT

BRITAIN," ETC.

.WEDEN, owing to the recent
royal marriage, is just now
a topical subject; so that a
brief account of St. Ansgar, the
Apostle of the North, may be of interest.
Anglican writers are fond of claiming
that Sweden, now so bitterly Lutheran,
owes its Christianity to England;
but, though English missionaries did
certainly contribute to the conversion
of all Scandinavia, French missionaries
had quite as much to do with it, and
the Apostle of Sweden and Denmark
was a Frenchman.

St. Ansgar, whose name takes the
various forms of Anschaire, Eske, Asker,
and Asgeir, was a French Benedictine

monk. He was bom at Amiens on the
feast of Our Lady's Nativity, 801, and
was nearly connected with the French
royal family. His mother died when
he was five years old; and his father
sent him to the Benedictine school at
Corbie, about ten miles from Amiens.

The legend of his life* tells us that,
as a little boy, he was very fond of
play and of jokes, until one night he
had a vision, in which he seemed to
be in a slippery, muddy place, from
which he could not escape. Outside
this swamp he saw standing a most
lovely lady of surpassing grace and
beauty, and with her many other ladies,
including his own mother. When, child-
like, he wished to run to his mother,
the principal lady, whom he believed
to be the Blessed Virgin, spoke to him,
and told him that if he hoped to
belong to her company, he must give
up vain and frivolous things, and lead
a more serious life; and from that
time a great change took place in him,
and he began to shovf signs of future
sanctity.

At thirteen he received the Benedictine
habit, and was tonsured, after which he
gave himself to prayer and abstinence,
and began to languish with divine
love. The next thing that influenced
him was the death of the Emperor
Charlemagne, for whom he had a great
admiration and affection.

The Abbot of Corbie, at that time
one Adalhard, and his brother Wale,
were relations of Charlemagne, and

• Scrlptores Rerum Succicarum. I'ant. Vol. ii.

354

THE AVE MARIA.

celebrated men.* Thej' were splendid
teachers; and under them, and other
learned monks at Corbie, Ansgar studied
very hard, and with such success that
at the age of seventeen he and his
friend Witmar were promoted to be
teachers ; Ansgar being afterward made
master of St. Peter's School in Corbie,
with Witmar under him.

When he was seventeen he had
another vision, in which he saw heaven
open, and heard a voice telling him to
go back to earth, and promising him
that he should return to heaven with a
martyr's crown. Hereafter he ardently
desired martyrdom. But his desire was
not literally granted; for he did not
die a martyr's death, though for many
years he did what is harder — he lived
a martyr's life.

When he was master at St. Peter's,
a tragic occurrence caused him great
pain. One of the boys was killed by
a companion; and, ds he was under
Ansgar's care, he was greatly grieved.
But he was comforted by another
vision, in which he saw the boy, who
had borne his sufferings very patiently,
carried to heaven by angels, and
numbered among the martyrs, f

In 822 Hoxter founded the monastery
of Paderborn, in New Corbie. Dom Wale
w^ent there as abbot, and took Ansgar
with him as a teacher ( scholasticus )
in the monastery school attached to
all Benedictine abbeys. He was now a
priest, and his work in the new monas-
tery was greatly blessed; but he was
not allowed to remain there more than
a few years.

In 826 Harold became King of Den-
mark. His wife and his suite came to
Ingelheim, one of the principal .seats of
Charlemagne, where his successor, the
Emperor Louis, was now holding a
parliament. While here, Harold and
all his party were baptized; and the
Danish King asked the Emperor for

• Kirchen Lexikon, Wetzer and Weltc,
t Scriptores Rerum Suecicarum.

I'ol. i.

missionaries to propagate the Faith in
Scandinavia. This, somehow, came
to the ears of the Abbot Wale, and
he at once suggested Ansgar as the
best person to be entrusted with such
a mission. Accordingly, Ansgar was
sent on what was an expedition of
much danger; and with him went
another monk, named Autbert, from
the old monastery at Corbie.

The}' began their apostolic labors at
Rinstri in Nordalbingen, the name
given in the Middle Ages to the country
north of the Elbe. Their first act was
to found a school, in which heathen
boys could be educated for the priest-
hood. Autbert, who had asked to
accompany Ansgar, died in 829 ; and
in the following year Ansgar was sent
by Louis to Sweden as a missionary,
and another monk named Gislebert
took his place in Denmark. There is a
great discrepancy in the date assigned
for this mission to Sweden by the
Icelandic historian of Sweden, trans-
lated into Latin by Eric Pant,* who
places it at 845, and Wetzer and Welte,t
who put it fifteen years earlier.

Bjorn, King of Sweden, had sent legates
to Louis to ask for some suitable men
as missionaries, to come to Sweden to
preach Christianity to his people, who
had heard of the Catholic religion from
prisoners and merchants of our Faith,
and desired to embrace it.

Ansgar, at Louis' request, gladly
undertook this mission; and his friend
accompanied him. One night before they
started, Ansgar was rapt in ecstasy,
and saw a brilliant light brighter than
the sun, and heard a voice saying:
"Go and preach the word of God."
On their wa^' to Sweden, they were
attacked by robbers, and stripped of
all they possessed, so that they reached
Birchoe, or Birka, on the Malarsee,
empty-handed; but they were kindly
recciyed by the Swedish King.

* Scriptores Rerum Suecicarum, tom. iii.
t Kirchen Lexikon, vol. i.

THE AVE MARIA.

355

Eric, the prefect, was baptized, and
built a church; and in 831, following
the German chronology, Ansgar was
made Archbishop of Hamburg; Louis
having, with the consent of Pope
Gregory IV., decided to erect an arch-
bishopric there, as the metropolitan
See for all these Northern nations, for
the confirmation of Christianity among
them. After his consecration Ansgar
went to Rome to receive the pallium,
and the Holy Father bestowed on him
also the dignity of Apostolic Legate
to Denmark, Norway, Sweden, and
Slavonia.

The Emperor Louis endowed him
with the monastery of Turholt; and
Ebbo, Archbishop of Rheims, gave him a
monastery he had founded at Welamo.
He now began his apostolic labors in
Nordalbingen ; while Gautbert, whom
he consecrated bishop under the name
of Simon, went to Sweden, where he
remained till forced by heathen enemies
to flee. The Swedish mission, after
Bishop Simon's enforced flight, was kept
up by one Ardgar, a hermit, to whom
Ansgar entrusted it. In the meanwhile
Ansgar had built in Hamburg a cathe-
dral, also a monastery, in which, as at
Turholt, he educated captive boys and
slaves, whom he had redeemed from
slavery, as missionaries ; and a valuable
library.

Some pirates besieged Hamburg in
837, and destroyed, by fire, the city,
including the cathedral, the monastery,
the library, and many of the books;
and Ansgar lost everything except
the sacred vessels, which, with great
difficulty, he saved. He bore this
his spiritual martyrdom with heroic
patience, saying with Job : "The Lord
gave, and the Lord hath taken away ;
blessed be the name of the Lord ! " But
even a more bitter trial was in store
for him ; for on his fleeing to Leuderich,
Bishop of Bremen, for refuge in his sore
distress, that^ prelate scornfully refused
to receive him. History is silent as to

the reasons for Leuderich's unchristian
conduct.

Many of Ansgar's clergy also forsook
him. But under all these trials he
labored on, more assiduously than ever.
His patron, the Emperor Louis, died
about this time; and his successor,
Carl, or Charles the Bald, gave Ansgar's
monastery of Turholt, to which he was
greatlj' attached, to Reginar.

A pious lady named Tkia took pity
on his misfortunes, and gave him some
property in the bishopric of Verden,
near Hamburg, where he afterward
built a monastery. Fortunately for
Ansgar, Charles the Bald was Emperor
for only a year; and when Louis the
German succeeded him, Ansgar got on
better. For, though the new Emperor
could not give Turholt back to him,
yet when Leuderich died, he united his
bishopric of Bremen with Hamburg,
and gave it to Ansgar; and a few
years later, at a synod at Paderbom,
the Vjishops made Ansgar archbishop
of the united provinces, which union
was confirmed by Pope Nicholas I.

In the meanwhile Ansgar devoted
himself to Scandinavian missions. As
Louis' legate, he established a union
between him and Eric I. of Denmark,
although the latter was a heathen ;
and then obtained permission to build
in Schleswig Holstein a church to the
Blessed Virgin, which was the first
church in Denmark, though there were
many Christians, and Christianity was
now established in that country.*

He now turned his attention again
to Sweden; for the Swedes, since their
expulsion of Gautbert or Simon, had
had no priest for seven years, and
Ansgar feared they would lose the
Faith. The Swedes, who hated the
name of Christian in those days as
much as they hate the name of Catholic
now, had murdered Gautbert's nephew,
Nitard, before they exiled him. And
the}' appear to have taken very drastic

* Kirclicii Lc.xikoii.

356

THE AVE MARIA.

measures to effect the good Bishop's
exile; for there exists an old picture in
which he is represented as being driven
away by them with whips.

Ansgar, accompanied by Erimbert,
a relation of Gautbert, who dared not
return to his former bishopric, now
went again to Birka, where the King
gave him permission to say Mass.
But at first the difficulties in Sweden
w^ere very great. The large majorit}'
of the people were still heathen. Olaf 's
parliament, however, passed a resolu-
tion permitting the two missionaries
to preach the Gospel, and Olaf himself
gave the site for a church.

The Icelandic legend records two
miracles said to have been worked by
Ansgar during this visit. On one occa-
sion, when he was about to preach to
a vast crowd in the open air, before
the church was built, he suggested to
the people that they should pray to
their false gods for rain, and then he
would pray to the true God whom he
came to preach to them, as a test of
His power. The people accepted the
challenge, and prayed to their false
gods; but no rain fell. Then Ansgar
prayed, and the rain fell in torrents,
but not a drop on him and the boy
who w^as with him.

When the church was built, Ansgar
was very ill, — apparently with an
attack of sciatica, for we are told the
pain in his thigh was intense and he
could not move, but had to be carried
into the church. The people, still
heathen, w^anted him to sacrifice to
their gods, that he might be cured.
Ansgar, of course, refused. But he
prayed in the church that he might be
healed there for their sakes; and he
was, and rose up and walked home.*

Meanwhile Erimbert's mission was
prospering; and Ansgar, who was
obliged to go to Denmark, was filled
with hope for its success, — which hope
was eventually fulfilled. When Ansgar

* Scriptores Rerum Suecicarum

reached Jutland, he found that the
3'oung King Eric II., who had been
wavering between Christianity and
paganism, had remained true to the
Christian religion; and now not only
permitted a second church to be built
in the province of Ribe, but also allowed
bells to be rung to summon people to
Mass in the church in Schleswig.

Ansgar was now able to return
to his bishopric, where he passed the
remainder of his life, practising the
same mortifications and austerities as
in his youth, when bread and water
were his usual food. He kept the rule
of his Order most strictly, earning his
daily bread by manual labor, though
an archbishop; and passing the rest
of his time in prayer, the Divine Office,
and his episcopal duties. By exercising
economy and self-renunciation in every-
thing, he obtained means5 to support
his various charities, which included
presents to heathen princes and endow-
ments for the various missions. He
continued to redeem slaves and poor
captives, and built a hospital for them
in Bremen.

He wore haircloth night and day,
and led so mortified a life that, in the
lessons for his feast in the Linkoping
Breviary, he is said to have been
scarcely anything but skin and bone
during his last illness, which lasted for
four. months. He died in Bremen on
February 3, 865, in his sixty -fourth
year. He was buried there; and his
successor, Rimbert, placed him among
the saints. Pope Nicholas I. confirmed
this canonization.

Ansgar was frequently favored with
"visions. Besides those already men-
tioned, he had one terrible experience.
St. Peter and St. John, whom he recog-
nized, appeared to him in a trance
which lasted three days, and led him
to Purgatory, where he suffered such
tortUi^c that it seemed to him to be
a thousand years. The darkness was
intense ; he felt suff"ocated, and weighed

THE AVE MARIA.

357

down with a tremendous pressure, till
at last the saints returned and took
him out.*

So long as Scandinavia remained
loyal to the Church, St. Ansgar was
greatly venerated there. The costliest
shrines in the North contained his relics
up to the so-called Reformation; and,
till then, his feast w^as widely kept on
the 3d of February. Of his writings,
only two remain: "The Life and
Miracles of St. Willebad " ; and a collec-
tion of short prayers called "Pigmenta,"
which was reissued in a volume of
the Breviary, published in 1844, in
Hamburg, t

His Deed Alone.

BY CLAKA MULHOLLA.ND.

f DON'T like it, Phil. All our lives
we have had nothing to do with
these Romanists. I wish you'd
give them up."

Dr. Philip Clarence threw back his
head and laughed.

"Turk, Jew, atheist or Roman Cath-
olic,— they're all the same to me, dear.
A doctor can not choose his patients,
but must accept all who come. And,
really, these people are quite nice; and,
what's more, they pay promptly."

"Fm sorry we have to take their
money, Phil."

" Now, that's bigotry pure and simple.
Don't give way to it, little woman.
But" — pushing his chair back as he
rose from the luncheon table — "I must
be off. Fve a long round to make-
to-day."

"Take me with you, Phil ! " his young
wife cried. "It's dull without you,
and Fve a lot to talk to you about as
we drive from one place to another."

"If it wouldn't bore you, dear," —
his face lighting with a brilliant smile.

• Scriptures Kcruni Suocicarum. Fnnt.
t Kirchen Lexikon, vol. i,fp. 90G.

"It would be a pleasure to have you."

"Bore me? The idea! I'll be back
in a second, Phil." And she hurried
away to put on her hat.

The round that afternoon viras a
particularly long one, and by the time
the Doctor's carriage drew up at the
door of the house wherein resided the
obnoxious "Romanists," Mrs. Clarence
was feeling somewhat weary.

" I may be in here for an hour and
more," Dr. Philip said; "as there are
two or three patients to interview. So
if you feel tired, go home, dear, and
send back the carriage."

"No, no! I'll get out and take a
walk, Phil. That will rest me." And
she looked smilingl3' into his face, as
she stepped out and stood beside him
at the gate.

"Very Avell, dear."

The hall door now opened, and he
walked up the garden path and
disappeared into the house.

"Dear old Phil!" she sighed, walking
off down the road. "I trust these
people will not cast any spell upon him
But" — laughing — "I am a goose. After
all, they must be very like other folk."

Mrs. Clarence was by no means a
good walker, and before long she began
to wish herself back in the carriage. A
thundershower that morning had wet
the grass : to sit down by the roadside
was out of the question.

As she stood wishing for a stile or
stone upon which to rest, the bell from
a neighboring church rang out upon
the summer breeze.

"A service now! How strange!" she
thought. "And how lucky for me! I'll
go in and take a seat."

The interior of the church was unlike
anything she had ever seen; and,
passing up the middle aisle, she sat
down close to the altar- rails. Then
came the tramp of many feet. Before
the bell had ceased ringing, the congre-
gation began to pour in. In a short
time the place was full.

358

THE AYE MARIA.

" How low they bow ! How absorbed
they — ah!" With a gasp and a shiver,
Hilda Clarence all at once realized that
she was in a Catholic church. "I'll go!
It's dreadful!" she thought in horror.
"I — " But at that moment a priest
entered the pulpit; and she sank back
into her seat, too shy and nervous to
pass down the aisle in the face of such
a congregation.

The priest was young, with a calm,
sweet look, and earnest, deep-set eyes.
He spoke of Our Lord's love for sinners ;
and as his burning words, each one
telling of the faith that was within
him, fell upon Hilda's ears, she forgot
where she was, and listened with rapt
attention.

The sermon ended, the candles were
lit amongst the flowers upon the
altar, the organ pealed forth, and a
priest, surrounded by acolytes, came
out of the sacristy. Then, as the
Blessed Sacrament was placed high
above the Tabernacle, everyone bowed
low in prayer and adoration.

Not far from Hilda knelt the young
preacher; and, without attempting to
move from her seat, she watched him
with a feeling of awe and wonder.

As the last words of the O Salutaris
died away, he raised his head, and,
looking at her, said in a whisper :

"Our dear Lord is there upon His
throne. Won't you kneel down?"

"Thank you!" she replied stiffly. "I
prefer to sit."

He turned away, with a little sigh,
and became absorbed once more in
prayer.

"This is no place for me," Hilda told
herself, uneasily. "I wish I could get
away! Won't Phil laugh when I tell
him where I have been?"

The singing ceased. The organ played
softly. Then all was still.

"Kneel down now, — 3'ou must !"
whispered the priest b}^ her side. "Our
Lord is about to give us His blessing.
Don't refuse it. Kneel down!"

She gave him a scornful glance, and
answered shortly:

"I don't believe, and prefer to keep
my seat."

Her words brought a look of pain
into the earnest eyes, a flush into the
pale face; and, as the priest's head
bent lower and lower, she felt a sudden
qualm of conscience for her rudeness.

"But he should leave me alone," she
thought, haughtily. " What business
has he to dictate to me? I'll do as I
please." And she sat up stiff and
straight as the bell rang and the Blessed
Sacrament was raised aloft, the people
prostrate and adoring.

The prayers "in reparation" said,
the Blessed Sacrament put back in the
Tabernacle, the last psalm sung, the
priest and acolytes returned to the
sacristy, and the young preacher genu-
flected and slowly left the church. Then
the congregation began to disperse,
and Hilda looked at her watch.

"Phil will not be ready yet," she
thought. "These tiresome patients will
keep him another good half hour. All
is over here. I'll sit on, and when every-
one departs look round the church. It
is a handsome building."

When the lights were out upon the
altar and everyone had departed, Hilda
at last rose and in a leisurely fashion
began to stroll round the sacred edifice.
She was in a cynical mood, ready to
criticise and find fault with everything
as she went along. But presently, as
she entered the Lady chapel, she gave a
start, and changed color. A catafalque,
three tall wax candles on either side,
stood in front of the altar; and she
shuddered as she looked at it.

"Death! What a hateful thing to
remind one of ! "

And, with a scared look, she was
hurr3'ing away, when a tall, spare-
looking priest suddenly glided out from
behind the dark catafalque, and paused
silently before her. He was very pale;
his hair was white as snow ; his hands

THE AVE MARIA.

359

were like alabaster, pure and without
a spot, and exquisitely formed. There
was a soft and radiant light in his
grey eyes, a look of peace and joy in
his delicate and almost transparent
countenance.

Spellbound, Hilda gazed at him,
unable to move or speak. A subtle and
wonderfiil change came over her as she
met his eyes, fixed with sweetness and
longing upon her face. All her cynicism
fell away from her. She felt no resent-
ment at his stopping her, was no longer
anxious to hurry out of the church.

"My child," — his voice was sweet
and melodious — "you wish to become
a Catholic?"

Hilda started, and caught wildly at
a bench. His words thrilled her. She
felt ready to faint.

"No, no! You are mistaken," she
stammered. " I came in here by acci-
dent. I am a Protestant, have been
one all my life, and have no wish
to change."

"Oh, yes, you have!" — he spoke very
gently. " I see into your heart and
know all your feelings and desires.
The Catholic Church, founded by our
Lord Jesus Christ, is the one true
Church. Into its holy fold you must
enter; that is God's wish. So go now,
without loss of time, to the Presby-
tery close by, and ask to see Father
Butler. Tell him I sent you, and ask
him to instruct you in the doctrines
and mysteries of our Faith. God bless
you! Make no delay."

He raised his hand, and Hilda bent
low as he made the Sign of the Cross
over her. When she raised her head,
he was gone. Without a sound, he had
passed away; and, looking round, she
saw that she was alone. The church
was quite deserted.

In all haste, Hilda made her way
to the Presljytery; and when Father
Butler came into the parlor in answer
to her summons, she said firmly and
eagerly :

"Father, I am anxious to become a
Catholic. Will you instruct and receive
me? The priest in the church told me
you would, and I hope and pray that
you will do so."

He looked at her closely, inquiringly.

"My child, I will do as you wish
with pleasure. But what priest spoke
to you in the church? Was it Father
Digby, who preached?"

"No," — her color rising as she recalled
her rudeness to the young preacher.
"It was an old man, with a beautiful
face, and slender, snow-white hands,
his silvery hair like an aureole of light
round his head."

Father Butler gave her a puzzled,
bewildered glance.

"There is no such priest here," he
observed. "In fact, I am the only one.
Father Digby came over from his
monastery, nine miles away, to preach,
and left immediately after Benediction.
I saw him go myself"

" It was, it must have been, a stranger,
then. Ask the sacristan. He must have
seen him. He came to me from behind
the catafalque in the side chapel."

Father Butler started, and an awed,
wondering look came into his eyes.
But, without making any remark, he
turned and rang the bell.

"John," he asked, as the sacristan, a
thoughtful, grave man came in, "was'
there a strange priest in the church
this afternoon, before, during, or after
Benediction?"

"No, Father, — not one. You and
Father Digby are the only priests we've
had here for many a day."

"I saw him as clearly as I see you,"
Hilda insisted; "and every word he
said rings in my ears still. He told me
that I must become a Catholic, that
such was God's desire. When I heard
that, every doubt left me. I longed to
be instructed and baptized."

"My child, and so you shall be, and
that without delay. But now "—Father
Butler's voice trembled a little— "look

360

THE AVE MARIA.

round these walls. Examine these
portraits. Is there one amongst them
anything like the priest who spoke to
you in the church?"

Hilda passed slowly down the room,
her eyes upon the various photographs
and engravings that hung upon the
dingy paper. Father Butler stood
watching her in silence. Her earnest-
ness had deeply impressed him, whilst
her straightforward and firm account
of her conversation with the strange
priest bewildered and puzzled him. He
could not doubt the truth of her state-
ment. But, as reason and common-
sense told him that she was mistaken,
he assured himself that the whole
thing was the result of a too lively
imagination.

Suddenly an exclamation from Hilda
interrupted his reflections.

"Why, here he is!" she exclaimed
joyfully, — "the dear old man — only not
half so beautiful! O Father Butler,"—
turning quickly round — "if you could
have seen his heavenly expression —
the sweetness of his glance" — her eyes
shining — "when he spoke! But of
course you know him: 'Father John
Egan,'" — reading the name written
across the bottom of a large photo-
graph; "else why should he be here?
.But" — with a start and quick change
of color— "i?. /. P. What— oh, what
does that mean? I thought — "

"'May he rest in peace!' Yes, my
child," — Father Butler's voice w^as full
of emotion — "he is dead. Exactly one
year ago to-day Father John Egan
breathed his last. This morning I
said a Requiem Mass for his soul in
the Lady chapel where you saw the
catafalque."

"O Father!" — Hilda grew white as
marble, her eyes had a startled look, —
"then he—"

" Came to you from heaven. Praise
be to God! Don't be alarmed, child," —
with grave, sweet earnestness. "Our
dear Lord sent him to you."

"Oh, and I was so hard, so unbeliev-
ing, as I sat near the altar, just a
little while before!" sobbed Hilda.
"His coming changed all. When may
I be a Catholic, Father Butler?"

"Soon, my child, — very soon. Your
conversion comes from God. 'Tis His
deed alone."

"But Father Egan—"

"Was allowed by God to touch your
heart and open your eyes to the truth.
Father Egan's great devotion whilst
here on earth was to pray for the
conversion of England. On this his
first anniversary, our dear Lord has
allowed him to add to his glory and
happiness by bringing you into the
one true Fold. Praised be the name of
Jesus now and for evermore!"

All this happened many years ago,
and Hilda is now old and grey and
very feeble. Philip, the loved husband
of her youth, is long since dead. But
she does not repine. Before he went, he
was a good and fervent Catholic ; and
as she breathes a prayer for his soul
she knows that in God's time they will
be surely united again for all eternity.
Her children, babies at the moment of
her conversion, were also baptized, and
brought up faithful members of the
Church. Their little ones too, growing
up now round their grandmother's
knees, are safely within the Fold. So
the Faith is spread. And as Hilda
listens to their infant voices as they
hsp the "Hail Mary," or "God bless
grandmamma!" she sighs happily:

"His deed alone. Yes, for He is the
Creator and Ruler of the universe. But,
under God, we owe our happiness and
salvation to that faithful and loving
soul, Father John Egan. Blessed be God
in His angels and in His saints!"

In China to converse is "to chat on
the weather." The art of conversation
is much the same in other countries.

THE AVE MARIA.

361

The Return.*

1 HAVE sown, but the soil was barren ;

I have eaten, yet hunger still;
I have drunk of life's running waters,

Nor yet have had my fill.
1 have clothed myself in raiment,

And I am yet acold ;
And into bags with holes I put

My wages scant of gold.

The skies that arch above me

Have stayed their blessed dew,
The Earth denies her bounty,

And yields me only rue.
I have left Thy house, O Master,

And hastened to mine own;
I am as one forgotten,—

Aye, forsaken and alone !

O Master, I am humbled!
Down to the earth 1 bow.
let me once more serve Thee,—
See, I am ready now!
Bless Thou the seed I scatter,

Bless Thou this toil of mine;
Sower and harvest. Master,
For evermore are Thine !

Soggarth Aroon.

BY THB AUTHOR OF "SCE.VES AND SKETCHES IN

AN IRISH PARISH ; OR, PRIEST A.\D PEOPLE

IN DOON."

WHEN I served on the English
mission, frequent house-to-house
visits in my district formed, as I
remember with mixed feelings, no un-
important part of my ordinary duties.
This system of visitation is undoubt-
edly a very useful, or rather a very
necessary, one for the interests of
religion in the non-Catholic atmosphere
of an English city. The streets which
formed my district were inhabited by
people of the poorer working class, who,
it is almost needless to say, were
predominantly Irish by birth or descent.
There were whole streets as Irish and

• Agg<iu, i, 6.

Catholic as any in Dublin or Cork; and
one could hear there every variety of
a,ccent, from the hard, harsh pronuncia-
tion of Antrim to the soft, rich brogue
of Kerry ; and from the plausible, insin-
uating tongue of Dublin to the broad,
Gaelic-flavored burr of Connaught.

To go amongst them was a source ■
of pleasure to me in one sense, and of
pain in another. It was a pleasure
to receive their warm, friendly Irish
welcome; and it was a saddening,
painful thing to see how indifferent
many of them had grown in the practice
of their religious duties. They were
poor, too,— most of them wretchedly
so. Poor they came over to Liverpool
in the famine years ; and poor, for the
most part, they and their children
remained ever since. I knew some who
had come to England as return cargo
at a nominal fare in coal -boats, .in
"the bad times"; and after long years
of toil and privations, their material
condition was little, if at all, improved,
from the day they were shot out as
so much rubbish on the quays, friend-
less, starving, and, worse still, possibly
already fever-stricken.

I confess it often brought a lump
into my throat to see, in my rounds
among them, an aged Irishwoman
sitting by a cold, cheerless grate, or
stove, in some miserable slum -house,
with a sad, far-away look in her tear-
dimmed, weary eyes, plainly betokening
to my fancy that she was dreaming
of a cottage in holy Ireland, situated,
mayhap, on a pleasant green hillside
or in a smiling valley, in which she
spent her happy girihood, but which she
could never see again. I must return,
however, to my theme, which is the
Mountain Parish.

Some time after I was fairly settled
down in the Mountain Parish, the
bright thought struck me that, as I was
not overburdened with work, I might,
profitably to my people, and with
agreeable variety to myself, introduce

362

THE AYE MARIA.

the English system of house - to - house
visitation among them. In the excess,
perhaps, of my zeal, and, as I after-
ward thought, in the superabundant
exuberance of my missionary enter-
prise, I accordingly started off one fine
morning for a round of visits, taking
the leading road, or rather "boreen," up
the mountain-side. I had a blackthorn
in hand, and was armed with the
census book which my predecessor had
compiled.

I may say, in passing, that I consid-
ered this book defective and incomplete
in many particulars; and it was my
intention to bring out an improved
and emended edition of it, with
marginal notes regarding the difierent
entries, — notes that might, perhaps,
prove useful to future curates. This, to
my mind, was a further proof of the
necessity of the course on which I was
about to embark. I noticed, in looking
over the book, that the compiler had
been careless, at times, in registering the
ages of the members of the various
families, in cases more especially where
they were all grown up. Thus, in the
record of "Honoria Duffy, widow,"
whose family consisted of five girls and
one boy, the youngest, the latter was
registered as twenty-six years of age;
and after the name of the oldest girl,
Mary Brigid, there was, in the age
column, a note of interrogation, with
ditto down the column opposite the
names of the other girls. In another
place I saw this entry : "Sarah Moran,
unmarried; age, 31 — {moryagb).^' I
intended to remedy such defects as these.

In every house I visited, I received,
needless to say, a kindly welcome, and
invariably an invitation to "rest and
take an air o' the fire," although the
weather was then warm. I kept the
object of my mission steadily in view,
however; and made paternal inquiries
in each household whether or not all
went to Mass regularly, and attended
to their religious duties. In some cases.

at least, before replying to these inter-
rogations, the people thus challenged
looked at me in surprised astonishment,
or, as I imagined, in suppressed amuse-
ment, apparently uncertain whether or
not I was serious. When they under-
stood that I was in earnest, the answer
generally was:

"Yes, your reverence, with the help
of God. Sure, what other consolation
have we but our Mass and our religion,
thanks be to God for everything!"

I noticed, after I had made some few
visits, that my going around in this
manner, book in hand, caused no small
commotion among the people. They
were not used to see their curate per-
ambulating the parish in this systematic
way, except when on his "oats-quest";
and, as that was then over and past,
it evidently puzzled them to know what
could jjossibly be the object of this
strange manoeuvre of mine. I think
some of them came to the conclusion
that I was engaged in making a collec-
tion,— introducing, maybe, some sort
of newfangled and hitherto unheard-of
parish "dues." As I forged my way
steadily up the mountain from house
to house, leaving none unvisited, this
explanation of my movements seemed
certainly a plausible and not improb-
able one.

Some houses were forewarned of my
coming by lynx-eyed youngsters, who
saw me from afar and scurried home
from the meadows or cornfields to
startle the household with the news:
"The priest is comin' ! " In such cases
1 found the kitchen "swept and gar-
nished," and the woman of the house
and her daughters in immaculate
aprons, and with hands and faces
suspiciously clean and fresh-looking for
a working-day. In other cases, however,
my advent was not noticed in sufficient
time for the womenfolk to make so
elabo'-ate a toilet. Then, if the man of
the house happened to be within, he
would come to the gate of the "bawn"

THE AYE MARIA.

363

and hold me in convefsation, in order,
as I judged, to give the women time
"to put a face on the house," and
perform a hasty ablution. In a few
instances I was almost unheralded ; a
barefooted and draggle - skirted "glip
of a girl" having, perhaps, just time
to rush precipitateh' into the kitchen,
say " Here's the priest ! " and then
made her escape.

The good woman of the house, how-
ever, generally held her ground and
received me, all unpresentable though
she might be in an apron made of
cheap gingham. Although I waved the
matter as utterly beneath my notice,
she would insist on making profuse
apologies for having been "caught in
the dirt," and bewailing her want of
foreknowledge of my coming ; while at
the same time she wiped a chair for
me to "sit and rest"; and brushed
dog, cat or hen out of my way, in
a strenuous effort to show me all the
attentions possible in the circumstances.
I charitably tried to make it appear
that I did not notice the embarrassing
situation, although I could not help
seeing many laughable things while
seemingly absorbed in my census book.
I think, anyway, that I observed more
than the most suspicious of them
would give me credit for; but it was
with a sympathetic eye, not a cynical
or unfriendly one.

As for the little children, they showed
no disposition to evade me, no matter
how utterly and unspeakably unpre-
sentable they might happen to be.
Despite frowns and mute warnings
from the women to induce them to
stay in the background, they crowded
around in their scanty, well-ventilated
garments, and regarded me in wide-eyed
wonder; and the more irresponsible of
them ventured so far as to finger
my bran-new, silver-mounted umbrella —
one of my Liverpool presents — with
hands recently employed in kneading
a mud-pie.

"It's very hard to keep a stitch of
clothes on them at all, Father," one
woman said by way of apology for
the scarecrow, tattered appearance of a
half dozen gossoons of hers. "The way
they tear and tatter and flitter every-
thing, they'd want clothes made of
leather, so they would. Sure, I'm worn
out tryin' to mend for them ; for it isn't
often poor people can buy new clothes
for their children, the creatures, God
help them ! "

In this manner I continued my visita-
tion for a few hours, correcting my
predecessor's census book in many
particulars, and adding copious annota-
tions. When I inquired, however, about
ages in order to supply omissions which
I found here and there in the book, I got
rather dubious information. The girls
were not sure about their natal year;
and their mothers, through "bad
mimorj'," and the " confusements " of
life, had quite lost count of Mary's or
Brigid's age. It dawned on me -at last
that, as the girls were unmarried, and
had a seasoned look about them, to
boot, there might possibly be good
and sufficient reasons for withholding
from me the desired information. In
consecjuence of this suspicion, I made
no further inquiry regarding the age of
young women who seemed to me to be
more than thirty. I let the blanks in
the age column stand.

Moreover, after a few trials of this
imported English system of visitation
among my mountain folk, I concluded it
was a work of supererogation. Fish-
ing for souls was unnecessary here. I
was struck, too, with the ludicrousness
of having to play a game of hide-and-
seek with my parishioners when I
swooped down on them thus in all the
unpreparedness, disorder, and chaotic
confusion of a small farmer's house on
working -days. In any case, there was
no necessity for "Mahomet to go to
the mountain," for the mountain came
freely enough to Mahomet. Indeed, I

364

THE AVE MARIA.

was not long in the parish before my
cottage became a sort of Mecca, so
numerous were the visitors from among
my flock who came seeking advice on
all manner of questions, as if I were a
Delphic Oracle, or an epitome of human
wisdom. I could see that I was ex-
pected to be "guide, philosopher and
friend" to my parishioners, — every
man, woman, and child of them.

All this, no doubt, was very flattering
to weak human nature, and calculated
to foster in me an overweening opinion
of my own consummate wisdom and
importance. But the corners had been
pretty well rubbed off" me by my English
experience, a circumstance that made
the chances of my being spoiled by
kindness here more remote than might
otherwise have been the case. Hence,
although the Mountain Parish was
my first curacy in mj- diocese, it found
me a veteran missionarj^ — in my own
estimation, at least. I must, however,
indicate some few of the multifarious
offices I was now called on to under-
take as curate of this obscure Arcadian
parish. I speak, of course, of offices and
honors of a quasi-secular kind, thrust
on me, willy-nilly, by my parishioners,
and not immediately or directly con-
ceme with my purely spiritual duties.

It w^as plain to me that these faith-
ful, devoted people regarded me, their
soggarth aroon, as everything to
them : a disinterested adviser, a trusted,
although unfeed, doctor and lawyer,
and an unfailing friend in every need.
"Who else have we to go to," they
■would say, "for comfort or assistance
in our trials or difficulties but our
good priests, God bless them, that
always stood to us?"

I noticed, at the same time, that in
speaking to me they seldom ventured
on anything even approaching familiar-
ity,— except, indeed, that an old man
or woman might address me as " avic,
machree" or give me an emphatic
poke when telling me something, to

drive home a point in an argument.
The younger people, however, would
invariably approach with an indefina-
ble mixture of deference, respect, and
veneration that always touched me.
Thej^ looked on me, evidently, as one
altogether above, beyond, and apart
from themselves. In their eyes I dwelt
"behind the veil," where they durst
not enter, and lived and moved in
a serene heaven all my own. Hence
they would treat me with a reverence
almost amounting to fear, as if I were
another Moses fresh from familiar
converse with God, and "homed" with
rays of glory.

Ah, me! how the simple Irish peas-
antry treasure their soggarth aroon
in their heart's core! Their affection
for him is of the purest and tenderest
kind, combining in itself the deep,
strong love of parent for child, and the
trusting affection of child for parent,
the constant love of sister for brother,
and the chivalrous affection of brother
for sister.

( Conclusion next week. )

Amen Corner.

Before the so-called Reformation, the
clergy used to walk annually in proces-
sion to St. Paul's Cathedral, London,
on Corpus Christi Day. They mustered
at the upper end of Cheapside, and
there began to chant the Pat^r Noster,
which they continued through the
whole length of the street, thence called
Paternoster Row, pronouncing the
Amen at the spot now called Amen
Corner ; then, beginning the Ave Maria,
they turned down Ave Maria Lane.
After crossing Ludgate they chanted
the Credo in Creed Lane. An old writer
mentions Creed Lane, and remarks that
Amen Lane "is lately added thereto";
from which it may be inferred that
the processional chanting ended at that
spot. Amen Lane no longer exists.

THE AVE MARIA.

365

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SADLIER.

XXXIV. — Leonora Sends for Ehen
Knox.

NEXT day Leonora returned from
the convent. She was very pale
and grave. When at midday she sat
opposite her aunt at the table, the
latter was struck with the altered
appearance of her face. Something of
the radiance was gone, as when a flower
is suddenly withdrawn from the sun ;
but the eyes w^ere peaceful, and held a
new purpose, a new resolve, in their
depths. Miss Tabitha could not under-
stand. The girl was outside of her
category. During the course of the
repast, Leonora made no allusion what-
ever to the subject that was uppermost
in the minds of the two ; but once the
meal was over, she said, very ciuietly:

"Aunt, will you send Mary Jane to
the mill to ask the manager to come
here, and then leave him alone with me
w^hen he arrives?"

Few more disquieting suggestions
could have been made to Miss Tabitha.
How could she know what the manager
might see fit to impart to the girl, in
the furtherance of his own designs?
And Miss Tabitha felt that she could
not endure the look which would come
into Leonora's eyes when she had heard
all. Still there was, in her niece's
manner, that which forbade further
discussion of the subject ; and she must
risk something to procure, as she
believed, the accomplishment of her
cherished design.

Moreover, Leonora forestalled all
argument by going forth into the
garden and beginning to walk about
there in an aimless and mechanical
fashion. Miss Tabitha looked out of
the window and saw her standing
near the sunflower stalks, idly binding

them up, with a deep sadness in her
eyes, as if she were very sorry for the
dismantled shrubs. Possibly Tabitha
guessed of what she was thinking.

Meanwhile Mary Jane, who loved
excitement and had her own attraction
toward the mill, sped thither, nothing
loath. She knew just at what window
she should see Dave, and proceeded
there at once. Dave's look of amaze-
ment was succeeded by a grin of satis-
faction, as Mary Jane piade vigorous
signs to him to descend. He contrived
to do so; though, as he said, Matt
Tobin had bidden him to look sharp,
and he might not linger. Those pleasant
moments in the morning sunlight were
spoiled, moreover, by the reflection that
no doubt Knox had his eye upon him.

This was, in fact, the case. No sooner
had Dave, full of importance, presented
himself at the office, to give what he
knew would be a welcome message,
than the manager taxed him with his
momentary absence from work.

"The time you spent gossiping with
that young woman below there will
be deducted from your wages, with a
penalty for interruption of work."

"Matt Tobin gave me leave, sir."

" He had no right to give you leave.
What brought the young person here ? "

"She's Miss Brown's hired girl."

.\ look of interest and curiosity came
at once into the manager's face; while
Dave, who saw^ his advantage, added :

" It wasn't my fault. The young lady
•w^as timorous about comin' into the
mill, and she called me down."

"What did she want?"

"She came with a message."

"For whom?"

"For you, sir."

Eben Knox was deeply stirred, but
he did not choose to show it.

"She might have given it and gonft
away again."

Dave was cunning.

" You won't be too hard, Mr. Knox,"
he said. "Mary Jane she's my girl;

366

THE AVE MARIA

and I guess, sir, 'twas your sweetheart
that sent her."

Eben Knox's face lightened. In the
dehght at hearing Leonora so described,
he forgave the lad's audacity.

"Give the message ! " he said abruptly.

"Miss Lenora wants you to come
over as soon as you can. She's just
come home and she wants powerful to
see you."

Now, Dave somewhat "doctored" the
message to make it the more palatable ;
though he wondered the while what
Leonora could want with the manager,
and how she could so much as speak
to him when she had young Air.
Bretherton for a beau.

Eben Knox not only forgave the lad,
but he did an unprecedented thing
besides. He bestowed upon him a dollar,
enjoining him to take his sweetheart to
the circus which was then in the town.
His vinegar face relaxed into a smile
while he spoke, and he commended
Dave for his astuteness. According to
his plan of circulating news which he
at least desired should come true, he
gave his employee clearly to understand
that the latter's intuition was right,
and that Leonora was not only his
sweetheart, but was very soon to be
his wife. Having so spoken, he seized
his hat and hastened down the stairs.

Dave stood and examined the dollar
bill, fearing at first that it might be
a counterfeit. Then he carefully stowed
it away, chuckling. After this proceed-
ing, he scratched his head and gazed
after the retreating figure of Eben
Knox, now visible from the window,
hurrying down the path by the alder
bushes, the shortest cut to Rose Cottage.

"One thing's sure," the lad said to
himself "The boss is mighty set on
Miss Lenora," — for the dollar was more
convincing to his mind than the most
elaborate array of argument. "He's
scuttling awa}' now to the Cottage
like a cat after a bird. Well, I swan !
If Lenora marries him, I guess women-

folk will marry anybody. Mebbe young
Mr. Bretherton ain't come up to the
scratch, and Lenora's 'scared she might
be an old maid like Miss Tabithy."

Slowly and reluctantly, Dave went
back to his work. He felt as if he had
been called away from assisting at a
drama.

Leonora, hearing the manager come
in at the gate, turned to receive him
with much the same feeling with which
she would have confronted a wild beast.
Knox advanced toward her, his face
aglow with a light which to ordinary
eyes would have somewhat redeemed its
ugliness, and a humility which softened
the savagery of his manner. But
Leonora took no heed of these signs.
If she had been turned to stone, she
could not have been more impassive.
Her one care was to conceal her inward
loathing, and to treat with some
semblance of civility this creature for
whom she had sent, and whom she
hated thus to see in the garden.

"You sent for me?" Eben Knox
began tremblingly, almost afraid that
Dave had deceived him. "I was told
that you wanted me, and I came."

" Yes ; I want to speak to you upon a
private matter," Leonora answered.

" Perhaps we had better go in then,"
he said, indicating Mary Jane, who had
her nose flattened against the kitchen
window, and very possibly her ear in
a position convenient for hearing.

Leonora grasped at the suggestion,
though she had at first felt as if it
would be easier to talk to this man
in the open air. She did not want him
in her garden.

"Yes, it may be better to go in," she
assented, leading the way, much to the
disappointment of Mary Jane.

Once in the sitting-room, she seated
herself with the same unsmiling com-
posure, and motioned Eben Knox to a
seat, if she had been an empress issuing
her commands, she could not more
completely have marked the distance

THE AYE MARIA.

367

between them, nor could Knox have
more implicitly obeyed her.

"Mr. Knox," she said, "there is no
use in wasting words. You and I can
have very little of interest to say to
each other. My aunt has, however,
told me that you possess some knowl-
edge of the past, some secret of which
you make use to terrorize her."

Eben Knox winced at this unpropi-
tious opening of that interview from
which he had hoped so much. Leonora
spoke with studied cruelty. It was
her aim to discourage, if possible, once
and forever those aspirations which he
had cherished.

"So completely has this terror seized
upon her," the girl continued, "that
she has declared it impossible for me
to enter into an engagement which, as
you are aware, was all but announced."

A malignant light shone in the
manager's eyes at this allusion.

"I was not aware of any engage-
ment," he said curtly. "On the con-
trary, I had hopes of inducing you to
marry me."

Waiving this remark, which offended
her beyond measure, Leonora inquired :

"Is there any truth in mj' aunt's
declaration that my marriage with —
with Mr. Bretherton would bring dis-
grace and misfortune upon him and
his family?"

"There is."

"And you mean that I am to forego
this marriage?"

"Or marry at your peril."

Eben Knox faced Leonora resolutely
as he spoke. Her tone and manner
had filled him with a cold and silent
fury, which made him eager to wound,
to humiliate, to afflict her. He was
a very strange sight at the moment,
his shambling figure attired in ill-fitting
working clothes; his face, begrimed
somewhat by the dust of the mill, more
pallid than ever in the stress of his
emotion; and his cavernous eyes burn-
ing with a fire of hate and malignancy.

But even his repulsiveness was unnoted
by Leonora, who had merely a shudder-
ing consciousness of his presence and
of his sentiments in her regard.

By a singular incongruity there came
before her the vision of Jim Bretherton,
in that selfsame room, handsome, laugh-
ing, building up a fire upon that hearth.
He and she had been foolishly happy
that evening, which now seemed so long
ago. This recollection brought promi-
nently into relief one of those contrasts
which are constantly occurring in life,
and which rend the heart and terrify
the imagination. In that selfsame scene,
so simple in its setting, were enacted
a comedy and a tragedy.

"It seems to me," Leonora said, her
face paling and her lip quivering, "that
I should at least be informed of the
precise nature of this mystery, before
consenting to take any action."

"It is far better that you should not
know," Eben Knox answered ; "and, in
any case, I am bound to silence."

"My aunt has hinted at some dark
tragedy in the past, involving many
people. I can not understand what it
can possibly be, or how its revival
would have the effect which she seems
to suppose. Therefore, I beg of you to
enlighten me, as you value your own
soul, as you value anything in life."

" I value you" cried Eben Knox,
hoarsely, "far more than anything else
in life, — far more than my own soul, if
such a thing exists!"

"I beg of you to tell me the truth!"
Leonora exclaimed, utterly ignoring
this declaration. " Has my aunt exag-
gerated? Have you deceived her or
played upon her feelings ? Have you
dared to trifle with human happiness,
or trade upon human misery by some
idle invention?"

" No," answered the manager, " I have
invented nothing. Your aunt knows all
that I could tell. It is simply a question
of binding me to continued silence."

" But, since you have kept this secret

368

THE AYE MARIA.

so long, and since its revelation now,
as my aunt believes, can do only harm,
why do you seek to make it known?"

The manager's face relaxed into the
semblance of a smile, which made it
only more hideous.

"With all your wisdom, you are very
simple. Don't you see, Leonora, that it
is because I love you?"

Leonora winced as if she had received
a blow; but she was both brave and
strong, — brave with a courage rare in
one so young; strong with a strength
that comes of righteousness. She fixed
upon the man before her a look of
appeal, which pierced him to the heart,
yet which only intensified that hopeless
love which devoured him. Never had
the girl appeared to him more beautiful
than sitting thus in the shaded room,
with the sunlight streaming in from an
open blind and playing about her. Her
face was spiritualized, beautified by the
touch of suffering. Her very coldness,
her very aloofness, was a powerful
stimulus to the man's sentiments.

"Have I not already told you,"
Leonora said quietly, "that I am all
but engaged to another man, and that
my engagement was on the point of
being announced?"

"It is precisely that which I wish
to prevent," he answered vehemently.
""Ves, it is because of my fear of that
result that I have threatened Miss
Tabitha with the disclosure of past
secrets. As for the other man, if I could
strangle him with these hands of mine,
I would rejoice in the act."

There was in this latter declaration a
fearful sincerity which caused Leonora
to shiver. Her imagination pictured
Jim Bretherton done to death by these
cruel, claw-like hands,— a victim to the
uncontrollable hatred of this wretch,
whom she believed to be half mad.
She spoke, however, coldly :

''This is not a melodrama, Mr. Knox.
We are talking common -sense, and in
the twentieth century."

Her coolness had the effect of calm-
ing him down and steadying his nerveS,
while Leonora continued :

"Under the circumstances, I consider
your declaration of love an insult."

"And yet," pleaded the wretch, "I
have loved you so long! My one aim
in life has . been to win you ; my only
sunshine, to catch a glimpse of your
face. While your Bretherton was amus-
ing himself upon the other side of the
ocean, forgetting your very existence,
I was toiling and slaving for that
fortune which I hoped you would
accept. So, think w^hat you like of me,
I can not give you up."

Leonora listened with a growing fear
and wonder, and with a touch of pity
born of her own love and tenderness
for another. Despite her abhorrence of
the subject, she had a sense of justice,
and she saw that the miserable man,
after his own fashion, had been con-
sistent; also that he had, in a certain
sense, the right to entertain, if he
chose, these sentiments. Only it seemed
intolerable that she had to listen while
the miserable man poured forth all
that had been shut up in his fiery heart
during all those years. His uncouth
figure, his unlovely face, only added to
the pathos. In her innate kindness and
womanliness, Leonora perceived this
fact rather than the ludicrous element
which might have entered into it.
She softened her tone, therefore, as
she said, gravely :

"You will acquit me of even the
slightest attempt to inspire or to.
encourage the sentiments which you:
profess. I have been totally ignorant
of their existence. Besides, it seems
inconsistent to profess to love any one
and to act so cruelly toward her."

" Love is cruel as death," the manager
said fiercely. "Such love as mine, at
least, is like the tempest which sweeps
all obstacles before it. Rather than see
you married to another man, I would
see you dead a hundred times ; I would

THE AVE MARIA.

369

kill you myself but for the law of
the land."

He said this with a cold, repressed
vehemence, though his tone was much
the same as one might have employed
in arranging a business contract.

"We see by the newspapers every day
that men kill women who refuse them.
So would I do, if I could escape with
impunity. Besides, 1 know it would
be the most certain means to defeat
my own ends. I hope to prevent your
marriage with this other, and ulti-
mately to marry you myself, without
resort to violence."

Leonora's calm, steady gaze regarded
him as he spoke thus. Her courage
rose in proportion as it seemed clear
to her that, under certain circumstances,
this man might be dangerous. Her
pity melted, too, as snow before the
sun, because he had dared to threaten
her. Her indifference and the stony
composure of her demeanor maddened
the wretched man.

"You sit there," he said," like a marble
statue, unmoved and contemptuous, as
if I were merely raving; and I tell
you that I would kill that tnan, that
Bretherton, who has dared to take you
from me, with as little compunction
as I would destroy a worm, were it
not that the act would separate me
from you forever. I would have shot
him where he stood beside you upon
his father's lawn that night, save for
that one fact alone."

The forced calmness, the deadly malig-
nity, and the intense determination with
which these words were spoken, filled
even the courageous heart of the girl
with fear,— not for herself, but for that
other. She nevertheless continued to
regard him as one might regard a
wild beast, hoping thus to subdue him.
Before she could frame a reply, or warn
him that by these very utterances he
was making himself amenable to the
law, the manager hurried on :

"My alternative at present, should

you proceed with this engagement, is to
publish on the housetops the Bretherton
secrets. Miss Tabitha's secrets, — my
secrets, if you will; to set not only
Massachusetts but the whole United
States ringing with a new scandal, and
to deprive this latest Bretherton of the
inheritance he enjoys. I will humble his
pride; I will taint his spotless name,
and make him and his people rue the
day that he ever set eyes on you."

Now, this was an alternative which,
indeed, terrified Leonora. What could
this secret be, and by what strange
irony of fate had it come into the
possession of this desperate man ?
Her eyes distended, her color visibly
changed ; for against this danger, as
she realized, there was no protection.
Her eyes grew piteous in their appeal,
she clasped and unclasped her slender
fingers restlessly, whilst Eben Knox
continued :

"On the other hand, Leonora, if you
marry me, I will bury this secret forever.
It will be my own interest so to do,
since Miss Tabitha is involved. I will
even destroy all proofs, and — "

He paused a moment, as if to control
his emotion and to make the declara-
tion more emphatic.

" 1 will give you, Leonora — beautiful
Leonora, — a love and devotion such as
rarely falls to the lot of woman, and
which only you could inspire. I will
give you all that wealth can procure,
and will make your life so pleasant
that you will have no time for regret.
Every whim shall be gratified, every
caprice humored. I shall be, not your
master, but your slave."

In the hush that followed these
words, so vehemently spoken, Leonora's
expression changed to something of
wistful wonder. How could he, with
whom she had scarcely exchanged a
word, have learned to feel toward her
like this? And, so loving her, how
could he suppose that the wealth
or other inducements he offered could

370

THE AVE MARIA

in any degree influence her decision ?
When she spoke, however, it was with
firmness and determination, and that
gravity beyond her years which had
come to her from the constant habit of
self-rehance.

"Mr. Knox," she said decisively, "you
must not remain for an instant longer
under the impression that any pressure
of circumstances could induce me to
marry you. Feeling as I do,* it would
be a crime which I dare not commit."

Eben Knox stared at her with an
expression of blank despair, as if he
had suddenly awakened to the fact
that Leonora was no puppet to be
managed at will, but a living soul,
strong and courageous in the strength
of her righteousness.

Leonora, startled still more by his
aspect, hastened to say :

"But what I can do to avert what
you and my aunt seem to think would
be disaster to so many people, I
will do. I will give up all thought
of marrying any one for the present.
My engagement, which was to have
been announced, will be broken off"
indefinitely."

An expression of fierce joy lighted
up Eben Knox's uncouth countenance.
It was as a respite to a criminal con-
demned to death; and, while it relieved
him from an intolerable fear — that of
seeing Leonora publicly engaged to
another, — it gratified his revengeful
hatred of young Mr. Bretherton. He
had not hoped for so much, nor that
the girl could make up her mind to
so portentous a sacrifice for the sake
of any one whatever.

He looked at her with a new admira-
tion in his eyes. She was so far above
him, so capable of reaching heights
which were to him as the fabled hills
of the gods ! But he loved her the more
for it. Base as he felt himself to be,
the pure, white soul, like some luminous
beacon, attracted him even more than
the beautiful body. From bonds such

as that, it is hard to free oneself. For,
after all, the immortal spirit of man,
however hedged in by earth and its
thousand defilements, seems to rejoice
when its love is fixed upon something
which reason and judgment commend ;
and such love binds it most strongly.
Hope, too, arose within Eben Knox's
heart, so lately despairing. If once the
engagement were broken off", Leonora
and Bretherton would drift apart, and
his own love and patience might in
the course of years be rewarded.

"Are you satisfied \vith these condi-
tions?" Leonora inquired. And it was
characteristic that she made no moan
over the sacrifice she was making ; nor
did she upbraid the man who had thus
made shipwreck of her dearest hopes.
She would not let him see what she
was suff'ering; she disdained any com-
plaint of the extent of her deprivation.

"1 am satisfied," Eben Knox mur-
mured, in a broken voice. " I can wait."

And before the girl knew what he
was doing, he knelt at her feet and
kissed the hem of her garment.

"Forgive me!" he exclaimed. "It is
because I love you."

Rising, he left the room without even
a backward glance.

When Leonora was left a' one, she felt
as if the world had suddenly become
enshrouded in a dense mist. It seemed
to absorb youth, life, love, — the future
which had stretched so smilingly before
her. It had been, in truth, but a
mirage, — with no reality, however, as
the prototype of its brightness. She
rose and moved vaguely about the
room, as one undergoing intense phy-
sical suff'ering sometimes hopes for
relief in a change of attitude. The
desolation of her spirit seemed to
turn that Garden of Paradise, which so
late she had trodden, into that land
pictured by the poet — of chaos, of
storm, of night unspeakable; wind-
swept, tempest- driven.

She strove with the habit of years to

THE AVE MARIA.

371

raise up her soul in praj'er, dumbly to
ask for mercy. She remembered how
they had been taught at the convent to
offer up everj'thing,— every childish grief
and sorrow. Almost mechanically, she
made the offering now to the thorn-
crowned Master, to the Heart that was
pierced and which would not disdain
these earthly griefs.

It was at that very instant that she
heard Jim Bretherton's step upon the
path without, and his voice calling a
cheery greeting to Jesse Craft. He was
coming, as. she knew, with confident
step, despite Aunt Tabitha's warnings
and forebodings, to obtain the confir-
mation of that half promise she had
given him upon the lawn at the Manor.
As if to add the last poignancy to her
grief, he began, as he neared the step,
softly to whistle Amaryllis. It was his
message to her; and it told her all he
had come to say, and reminded her of
all that, even for his own sake, she must
henceforth forget.

She steadied herself by a supreme
effort, and, summoning Mary Jane,
bade that astonished domestic tell
Mr. Bretherton that the ladies were
engaged and could see no one. She
was scarcely conscious till afterward
how cruel was the message she thus
flung into the face of a man who
had a right to expect so different a
greeting. There was no time to frame
any other. Her one thought was to
escape at that moment a meeting which
would be so painful to them both.

Mary Jane stumbled and hesitated
and lilundered over the message, thus
convincing the visitor still more that
it had been deliberately sent. The
yoUng man turned away in wondering
indignation; and Leonora, hastening
to her room, spent the next hour upon
her priedieu in voiceless supplication.

(To l>e continued.)

How great it is always to be stronger
than one's selV.—Massillon.

An Interesting Correspondence.

THE heat unfortunately introduced
into a correspondence regarding
Catholic boys in non-Catholic schools
published in the London Tablet has
led to the discontinuance of this inter-
esting discussion. We are glad that
the familiar editorial notice, "This
correspondence may now cease," did
not appear until the following letter,
which certainly can not be called an
obscuration of the main issue, had been
published. Certain of the statements
made in this letter deserve attention
by Catholics in the United States:

Is it not a pity that some of your corre-
spondents have confounded the question of
Catholic boys at non-Catholic schools with the
entirely different question of Catholic young
men at Oxford and Cambridge ? A boy is not
a young man, and a university differs in kind
from a school. Moreover, Catholics are at the
universities with the express sanction of the
Holy See, given in April, 1895, under certain
conditions, which have been duly observed. The
sanction given by Leo. XIII. was communicated
to the faithful of England in a joint letter of
the Bishops in August, 1896. In that letter the
Bishops are careful to say that the concession
does not extend to the sending of Catholic boys
to non-Catholic schools.

Another correspondent was in time
to express the opinion that in order to
preserve young men's faith it is not
necessary that their education be com-
jjleted in Catholic institutions. The
need of high -class Catholic colleges
is earnestly advocated, and the advan-
tages of such institutions over secular
colleges is acknowledged ; but the
writer thinks "it may even be possible
that a Catholic atmosphere may occa-
sionally become too much of the hot-
house type, and the boys growing up in
it be unfitted to withstand the vicissi-
tudes and temptations they have to
face on leaving it for the outside world.
Ask any of our Glasgow priests," he
says, " which is the stauncher Catholic,
the man from the South of Ireland,

372

THE AYE MARIA.

steeped in our religion from his cradle,
or the Ulster man, who has had to
fight for his Faith for generations?"

Most Catholics will agree that there
may be some truth in this, — that
Catholic educators are not always
men capable either of training minds or
forming characters; furthermore, that
the example they set might often be
more beneficial to their young charges
than it is. In reply, the accused would
assert that they do their best and their
utmost, not only to give a good educa-
tion to their pupils, but to make them
thorough Christians, and to prepare
them for the battle of life. It would
be further maintained, of course, that
nowadays Catholic young men need
to be steeped in their religion, and that
the religious atmosphere surrounding
them in Catholic schools is not of the
hothouse variety.

Doubtless there is truth on both
sides, and it would be well if this were
admitted. Parents have a right to
express their opinion of the school
■ft'hich they patronize; and when such
opinion is unfavorable, no great harm
can come of it, provided the school
has earned the reputation of excellent
teaching and discipline, or is making
honest efforts to deserve such repute.
The graduates of Catholic colleges
ought to be their best advertisement,
and the most effective rejoinder to
unjust accusations. One sure thing
is that the athletic craze, with its
betting and gambling, excitement and
distractions, profanity, vulgarity, and
brutality, would be a serious injury in
the long run to any institution deserv-
ing to be called a Catholic college.

Yet another correspondent of the
Tablet, "a convert of some thirteen
years' standing, with three daughters
to educate," has something to say
about convent schools which deserves
notice It would seem that in England
as well as in the United States there
is a marked difference in these schools;

though the common opinion is that
all are of the same grade, and of
equal capability for qualifying young
women to take their places in the
world. The writer claims to have
discovered an ideal convent school, his
description of which is worth quoting :

The ruling idea of the nuns is to foster the
girls' sense of honor, and consequently the tone
of the school is that of an idealized and purified
public school. The nuns mix with the girls in
much the same way that good public -school
masters mix with their boys; talebearing is
discouraged, and the older and steadier girls are
given a certain amount of authority, and taught
to use this authority with a maximum of tact
and a minimum of reporting. Tennis, hockey,
games, dancing and theatricals are encouraged,
and a happier set of girls would be hard to
find. The education is excellent ; most of the
teaching nuns have passed the higher local, and
particular attention is given to languages and
music. I have met many of the girls who
have passed through this school, and their
distinguishing note is an entire absence of self-
consciousness The terms are not exorbitant,

and extras few and moderate.

We should much prefer a convent
school where theatricals are not
encouraged, and where discipline is
entirely in the hands of those having
authority to maintain it; but in other
respects this description is altogether
to our satisfaction. We like to believe,
however, that the distinguishing trait
of the pupils of such a school would
be something more notable than "an
entire absence of self- consciousness."

Convent schools can not all offer the
same educational advantages, much as
they may be alike in other respects. The
most inferior of them, however, are
constantly improving,— enlarging their
scope, perfecting their methods, and
strengthening their equipment. The
moral tone of these schools as a rule
is all that could possibly be desired.
The only thing to be feared for them
is that, in the effort to compete with
fashionable boarding-schools, something
may be -lost of what renders the ideal
convent school distinctly and incom-
parably superior.

THE AVE MARIA.

373

Notes and Remarks.

A thought which should be made
familiar to Catholics everywhere is
expressed in a pastoral to the laity of
the diocese of Rochester, announcing
the annual collection for the diocesan
seminary. Says the Rt. Rev. Bishop:

While priests and religious whose lives are
consecrated to the service of God are sensible
of their obligations to their Maker, others can
not close their eyes to what must come home
to them as their share in the great work of
man's redemption. We are all concerned in
Christ's design and work in our salvation,
though in different degrees. Each one gives to
Christ what lies within his reach. Time and
labor are demanded from some; good will and
prayer fi-om all ; money from many. The Mass
and the sacraments, means to salvation, require
the ministry of priests. Without co-operation
on the part of the laity in providing for the
education of the future ministers of the altar,
these would be lacking and there would be
no Mass and no sacraments. There can be no
second Pentecost Sunday. Our priests must
now come to us in the ordinary way, after
much study and long preparation.

Appeals for the support of ecclesias-
tical students and in behalf of the
diocesan seminary are always most
generously responded to by the laity
of the diocese of Rochester. It would
be the same everywhere if the people
were more frequentlj' reminded of their
share in the great work of the Church.

The German Catholic Congress, held
this year at Strasburg, was, if anything,
still more successful than that of 1904,
convened at Ratisbon. The Congress
was opened with a demonstration by
the workingmen; and the assertion of
the Bishop of Strasburg that so im-
mense a procession as theirs had never
been witnessed in the city previously, is
quite credible when we are told that
the number of laborers who marched
was thirty -six thousand. One of the
strongest claims of the German Centre
Party on the admiration of their fellow-

Catholics in other lands, and indeed on
the friends of social order everywhere,
is the Party's solicitude for the working
classes. German Catholic laborers are
organized, are enrolled in numerous
beneficent societies, are enlightened as
to their responsibilities and duties as
well as their rights and privileges, — and
are therefore practically immune from
the virus of anarchistic socialism that
effects such ravages among other toilers
in their own country and in other lands.

Reliable and up-to-date statistics
quoted by a correspondent of the
London Tablet from a resume of the
work of the Rev. P. Krose, S. J., on
the "Statistique Religieuse du Monde,"
published in Die Katholischen Missionen
of Fribourg, show that the Catholic
Church, with her 265,503,922 members
is beyond comparison the most numer-
ous and most extended of all the
Christian bodies. " Nearly half the
Christians of the entire globe — over
43 per cent, — and more than a sixth
part of the total population of the
world, profess the Catholic Faith.
Moreover, the Catholic religion is not
divided and subdivided into an infinity
of sects, as is the case with Protestant-
ism, Mohammedanism, and Buddhism;
but is one. Thus, in spite of her
enemies and their most determined
efforts against her, the Church is still,
at the commencement of the twentieth
century, living, flourishing, and spread
out over the whole earth, and alone
of all the religious systems merits the
name of catholic, or universal."

Commenting on the comparative
rarity of public drunkenness in all
American cities to-day, a New York
newspaper has this to say of the
increasing sobriety of wage -earners:
"Competition carries on a temperance
crusade of its own ; for the drinking
man learns that he is not so valuable
to his employer as is his non-drinking

374

THE AVE MARIA.

shopmate. When the time comes to
lay off a portion of the workinp^ force,
the total abstainer is not the first to
go. His work may be done no better
than that of the others, but he is more
dependable and thus more valuable
to his employers." There is probably
considerable truth in the same paper's
contention that "beer drives out hard
drink"; and while excessive indulgence
even in beer is of course to be depre-
cated, a moderate use of that beverage
is patently preferable to the most
temperate indulgence in whiskey. On
the whole, it would appear that, as
compared with conditions existing
three or four decades ago, present-day
Americans are notably more sober.

The Lyonese organ of the Propagation
of the Faith, Les Missions Catholiques,
states in its issue of the 25th ult. that,
on the recommendation of the Propa-
ganda, Pius X. has raised the Vicariate
Apostolic of Indian Territory to the
dignity of a diocese. The episcopal See
is Oklahoma City ; and the first bishop,
Mgr. Theophilus Meerschaert, who has
been Vicar Apostolic of the Territory
for several years. While we have not
noticed in our American papers. Cath-
olic or secular, any reference to the
foregoing bit of ecclesiastical news, we
have no doubt regarding its accuracy,
as our Lyonese contemporary is habit-
ually well, and promptly, informed
about matters of this nature. We have
more than once found, in the Roman
dispatches of the great New York and
Chicago dailies, news that we had pre-
viously read in Les Missions, although
it takes that weekly from ten to fifteen
days to reach our office.

We are glad to notice from our
foreign exchanges that the fiftieth
anniversary of the death of Padre
Antonio Rosmini was fittingly observed
at Stresa, the little town on the shores
of Lake Maggiore where this sublime

philosopher, illustrious patriot and
great priest lived and died, and where
his mortal remains repose under a
magnificent monument of choicest
Carrara marble, typical of the purity of
his teaching and the spotlessness of his
life. The veneration in which he is held,
increasing in proportion to the oblivion
to which Time has already consigned
the foremost of his opponents, inspires
the hope that he ma^' yet be enrolled
among the saints of Holy Church. The
wonder is that such a philosopher,
patriot and priest as Rosmini should
have had so many bitter enemies in
the very household of the Faith, —
a philosopher who once declared that
"all philosophy is but vanity if it
is not the handmaid of religion"; a
patriot whose love of country \vas as
disinterested as it was ardent ; a priest
whose motto was "Universal Charity,"
and whose distinguishing virtue was
meekness, strikingly exemplified in all
his trials and afflictions. He was the
founder of the Italian Sisters of Provi-
dence and of the Institute of Charity,
devoted members of which have drawn
blessings on the Church in England,
Ireland and America, as well as Italy.
It was Padre Rosmini's command that
the members of his Order should never
fail in loyalty to the Holy See; and
his desire that they should always
undertake any works of charity in
their power to perform. For half a
centuiy command and desire have been
nobly fulfilled.

The Scotch city of Paisley, some six
or seven miles to the southv^-est of
Glasgow, is nowadays a manufactur-
ing, rather than a religious, centre.
Although the making of the once
famous Paisley shawl has almost
ceased, the town is still the seat of the
thread manufacture for the home and
American markets. Like man\' other
flourishing cities in Great Britain,
Paisley owes its origin to a band of

THE AVE MARIA.

3^5

monks for whom, in 1163, Walter, High
Steward of Scotland, founded a religious
house. Dom Michael Barrett, in a recent
issue of St. Andrew's Cross, tells the
interesting story of Paisley Abbey, a
portion of which has been restored :

One of the abbots, in the j'ear 1485, built
around the monastic precincts a splendid wall, a
mile in length. It enclosed spacious gardens and
orchards, and even a park for fallow deer. The
wall was of cut stone, and was adorned with
statues and with shields bearing coats of arms.
In one part stood an image of Our Lady, and
beneath it was an inscription in Latin, which
may be rendered thus:

Pass not along this way,
Ere you an Are say.

An inscription carved on one of the stones of
this wall may still be read. It has been inserted
in the wall of the Public Library, east of the
entrance. Rendered into modern English, it
runs thus: "They called the abbot who caused
this wall to be built around this abbey George
Shaw. Its date is 1485. [Pray for the salva-
tion of the soul of him] who made this noble
foundation." The words in brackets were cut
out by an ove:-zealous minister of the eighteenth

century.

* ■ *

In a pastoral issued on the occasion
of his investiture with the pallium, the
Most Rev. Archbishop of St. John's,
Newfoundland, presented some facts con-
nected with the history of the Church
in that island which will doubtless be
new to most persons. It was "the first
point of this part of the New World
ever beheld by the eye of a European
navigator. Its soil was honored by
the footprints of the missioner, and
its shores sanctified by the celebration
of the divine mystery of the Mass,
more than one hundred years before
other portions of the North American
continent enjoyed a like privilege."
Archbishop Howley says further:

We know, from unquestionable historical
documents, that Cabot, like Columbus, was
accompanied by priests with the intention of
founding a mission in the New World. Those
who accompanied Cabot were Italian friars of
the Order of the Augustinians, or " Black Friars " ;
and, as their landing-place was this harbor of
St. John's, and they arrived cm the evening of
the festival, wc have every reason to believe

that the Holy Mass was offered upon this site
on June 25, 1497. Immediately after the discov-
ery of the country by Cabot, the enterprising
Portuguese navigator, Caspar de Cortereal,
rediscovered it in 1500, and claimed it for the
crown of Portugal. There are no accounts
extant of this voyage ; but some vestiges of it
may Ije found in the names of places which
survive to the present day, and in some ancient
maps. A Spanish writer, De Suza, tells us that
these navigators founded the settlement of Pla-
centia; and, as they always were accompanied
by priests, as chaplains and missionaries, we may
reasonably believe that they founded chapels and
had the Holy Mass celebrated on the site of
their first discoveries. In the little settlement of
"Spanish Room," in Placentia Bay, are pointed
out at the present day the ruins of an old Spanish
(or Portuguese) chapel.

A recently published work entitled
"Un Siecle d'Eglise de France," is
authority for the statement that
the conversions to Catholicity in the
nineteenth century number twenty-six
millions. "This has been due, under
God, in no small measure," says the
Missionary, "to the organization of
the Society for the Propagation of
the Faith, which to-day is the main
support of our missionaries all over
the world. When this Society was
first organized eighty -three years ago,
Catholic missionaries numbered 1000,
all told. To - day we count, priests,
brothers and nuns, 65,000."

A new story of Gladstone, beautiful
enough to be true, and if not well
founded, well invented, is related by
the British Weekly :

About twenty years ago a shoemaker went
to London and established a small workshop ;
but, in spite of industry and strict attention to
business, he continued so poor that he had not
even enough money to buy leather for work
which had been ordered. One day he was in
the whispering gallery of St. Paul's Cathedral,
with his betrothed wife, to whom he confided
the sad condition of his affairs, and the impos-
sibility of their marriage. The young girl gave
him all her small savings, with which he went
next daj- to purchase the retjuired leather,
without, however, knowing that he was followed
by a gentleman commissioned to make inquiries

376

THE AVE MARIA.

about Will. The shoemaker was not a little
surprised when the leather merchant told him
that he was willing to open a small account
with him. In this way did fortune begin to
smile upon him ; and soon, to his great astonish-
ment, he received orders from the wealthiest
circle in London society ; and his business became
so well established that he was able to marry,
and have a comfortable home of his own. He
was known in London for years as the "Parlia-
ment Shoemaker." But only when, to please his
German wife, he left London for Berlin did the
leather merchant tell him that he owed his
"credit account" to none other than Mr. Glad-
stone. The Cabinet Minister had been in the
whispering gallery when the poor shoemaker
had been telling his betrothed of his poverty,
and, owing to the peculiar acoustics of the
gallery, had heard what had been said.

It is not often that Protestants resent
attacks made by their coreligionists on
Catholics, — at least, such instances are
not so frequent that one is embarrassed
to record them all. The latest occurred
at Natal, South Africa, on occasion of
the John Knox festivities. A minister
named Smith, having indulged in a
tirade against the Catholic religion, was
promptly and sternly rebuked by Sir
Henry Bale and the Natal Witness. Our
Cape Town contemporary, the Catholic
Magazine for South Africa, quotes the
following paragraph from the Mercury,
another leading journal of Natal:

ouch senseless vilification of a religion believed
in by many of the most eminent men in the
world and by a great number of the best colonists
of Natal, can not be too widely repudiated.
There was no occasion for any attack upon the
doctrines professed by Roman Catholics, as the
other speakers showed most clearly in their
interesting addresses ; and it is much to be
regretted that a Protestant minister, and one
so highly esteemed, should have showed himself
to be so bigoted and intolerant as Mr. Smith
did on Monday evening. In these days of
freedom of conscience, men are at liberty to
profess any religion they please, and a good
Roman Catholic can be as good as a man
professing any other faith. There are few things
more objectionable than to hear the religious
beliefs of an ancient Church denounced in such
a manner as that adopted by Mr. Smith; and
the many Roman Catholics, who must be greatly
pained by the attack made upon their faith, can

rest assured that such an attitude is strongly
resented by convinced Protestants. Such attacks
are unseemly, to say the very least of them;
and particularly when they are so uncalled for
as was the case on Monday evening.

Evidently Natal is no place for bigots.
The Rev. John Smith's offence was all
the greater on account of his name. He
disgraced a numerous and well-known
family, which has representatives all
over the world.

In his recently published lectures on
"The Church's Task under the Roman
Empire," Dr. Charles Bigg points out
how the gnostic, like the modem, was
perturbed by the problem of evil, the
nature of the will, and the moral
difficulties of the Old Testament. The
gnostic maintained that the world
was "the work of an evil creator, and
all things beautiful and good rose
up instantly in protest. This is the
inevitable lot of all systems of pes-
simism, agnosticism, or atheism."

It has been remarked that Dr. Bigg's
w^ork indicates a notable change in the
attitude of Protestant theologians, — a
reversion to the habit of treating more
centrally the doctrine of the Atonement,
in some form or other. According to
Dr. Bigg, in the Passion of Our Lord is
to be found the real difference between
heathenism and Christianity.

The old gnostics called the Cross "Horos," the
Boundary or Dividing Line. The gnostics were
a curious people, but they were right here. On
this side of the Cross all history is, or ought
to be, a different thing from what it is on the
other; and every one who carries the Cross, in
so far as he carries it, is a better citizen, a
better philosopher, and a better man than he
would have been otherwise.

What is the real difference that Chris-
tianity has made in history ? is the
question which Dr. Bigg essays to
answer. Tie task of the Church, he
maintains, "was not to improve but
to remake the foundations of educa-
tion, politics, and morality. It was a
gigantic task, not yet completed."

My Share o' the World.

BY CAHAL o'bYRNE. .

)UIY share o' the world,

With your brown head curled,

Close to my fond heart so cosily,—
To the island of dreams
'Neath the pale moon's beams

You've flown on the wings of the Sluagh sidhe.*

On the yellow strand

Of that bright, far land,
Where day dies never, you'll wander free,

Till your boat of pearl,

Like a silver curl
On the green-streamed sea, bears you back to me.

Then safe on my bosom,

O pink-white blossom.
You'll rest till the night's dark wings are furled,

When the dawn of your sleeping —

A blue eye peeping,
Shall greet me, a leanbh,t my share o' the world.

The Little Hungarians.

BY URS. MARY E. UANNIX.

XX. — Flight.

UAN CARISSO, the Portu-
guese Negro, had come down
from Northern California
because of some trouble he
had had at Sausalito. He had wounded
a man in a fight, and was fearful of
arrest should he be discovered. He had
revealed this during a game of cards,
in which Steffan had adroitly allowed
him to win, in order that he might
obtain all possible information con-
cerning the children whom he had
found missing on awakening from his
drunken sleep. Their flight had com-

• Pron. Sluah Shce. — "The F«ir7 Ho»t."
t Pron. AUnniT. — "O child!"

pletely sobered him ; he felt it necessary
to use every means in his power to
get them once more in his possession.
Juan was a harmless fellow, but without
any scruples of conscience. The villain
found him an easy tool.

Having heard him relate his troubles,
Steffan quickly conceived a plan of
action. Assuming an air of knowledge,
he informed the Negro that the officers
were on the lookout for him. Juan
became alarmed, and at once announced
his intention of getting away as soon
as possible. He thought that by
crossing "the line" he would be safe;
though such would not have been the
case, if danger existed. Steffan at once
suggested that they unite their forces.

"These children may talk as they
please," he said. "They are nothing but
two beggars. True, they had a brother
that the boy is crazy to find ; but who
knows whether he is living or dead?"

He then proceeded to give Juan his
instructions. He was to secure a good
wagon and a pair of fast horses. They
would take the children by strategy,
drive to Tesora, about fifteen miles
distant, and leave the wagon there.
They would then take the train for San
DiegOj to which place Steffan offered
to pay Juan's way, in return for his
services. This he could afford to do, as,
by an extraordinary streak of luck, he
had won a considerable sum of money
at cards the night after the departure
of Rose and Louis. Juan readily ac-
cepted the offer; corralled the horses
which were afield ; got a wagon, seldom
used and not likely to be missed soon,
from one of the bams; and so the
scheme was carried out.

Steffan was jubilant. He was not a
man who looked far ahead : for him

the present usually suffif"^

->i^ had

378

THE AVE MARIA.

Louis and Rose in his power again ;
sundry prospects had been held out
to him by the Negro; he already felt
money weighing down his pockets. The
story about Florian had not a particle
of truth in it, but this did not give
Steffan any concern. It would be easy
to account for his non-appearance when
they reached their destination, where
nearly everybody led a free and careless
life, and people came and went without
questioning. At the proper time Steffan
meant to place the imaginary Florian
among the floating population usually
to be found in frontier towns.

As he sat reflecting, the horses step-
ping briskly along in the dewy, starlit
darkness, he felt life to be a good thing.
He already beheld a gorgeous mirage
of a gay and prosperous Mexican
town, where swarthy rancheros and
pleasure - loving ciudadanos strolling
about the streets in gayly - striped
scrapes, silver -banded sombreros on
their heads, silver spurs clanking as
they walked ; while their fiery steeds,
chafing under heavily embroidered
saddles, adorned with gold, awaited
their master's good pleasure in front
of the vine - covered posadas, where, to
the tune of tinkling guitar and man-
dolin, young men and maidens tripped
"the light fantastic" all day long.

Steffan had read more than one sen-
sational novel, in which he fancied he
had fully caught the local coloring of
the Mexican frontier to which he was
now journeying; and the prospect
pleased him. Life looked fair and smil-
ing. He rolled a cigarette, and offered
one to Juan, w^ho shook his head.

" Thank you ! " said the Negro. " But
I prefer a cigar," — drawing from his
pocket as he spoke a Mexican cheroot,
long, thick, and almost black.

"That would choke me," said Steffan.

^ "They are very good, when you get

^ "" to them," answered the Negro,
the ma

pained b_,

a match.

ixere " said Steffan in a low

whisper, after a few moments' silence.
"Couldn't you — couldn't we, — what
do you say to risking taking this team
down beyond the line?"

"What are you talking about?"
retorted Juan. "We're taking great
chances as it is, though we're going to
leave it at Tesora. We could be arrested
for it, and you know it. But I'm not
a thief, whatever you may be."

"Of course — of course," answered
Steffan, feeling that he had made a mis-
take. "I meant to buy it, really — to
send the price of it to Don Bandini."

The Negro laughed aloud.

"Do you know what these horses are
worth?" he asked. "You couldn't buy
this team for less than three hundred
and fifty. And— well, you're a chump!"

"Well, well!" replied Steffan. "Don't
talk so loud, — the kids are asleep."

They v^rere, locked in each other's
arms. They had no outer wraps; and
Louis, finding Rose's head on his
shoulder, had braced himself against the
side of the wagon, and drawn her close
to him. There, amid quiet little sobs,
she had fallen asleep; and Louis soon
followed her into a land of unpleasant
dreams, where all the world seemed to
be turning upside down.

In the cold gray of the morning they
approached the little town. Juan got
down from the wagon and tied the
horses under a sycamore tree, standing
alone at some distance from the station.
He knew they would be found there
later, and recognized as belonging to
the Bandinis. He felt no misgivings, as
he was certain Alfredo would sooner
or later come looking for them. He
hoped it might be later, as he wanted
to have a good start.

Steffan shook the children roughly
by the arms, and bade them wake up.

"The train will be along in fifteen
minutes, if it's on time. Isn't that
right, Juan?"

"Yes," answered the Negro,— " if it's
half-past four by your watch."

THE AVE MARIA.

379

"That's what it is," said Steffan.

Silently the children followed the two
men to the railroad tracks. It was
really a siding where the train took
on water, the accredited stopping-place
being about two miles farther on. But
Juan had assured Steffan that they
were certain of embarking here, while
there were times when the train did
not stop at Tesora unless flagged.

As the children seated themselves on
the edge of the platform, a sudden
wild desire for liberty took possession
of the boy. He could already hear the
rumble of the approaching train. He
looked around him: there was no one
in sight, no one on whom he could
call for assistance. He began seriously
to doubt the story Steffan had told
him about his brother. And if it were
true, the Bandinis could help them to
find him.

"Steffan!" he cried out, in a half-
frightened tone of despair. " We are not
going with you. You can not make us
go. If you do, when we get on the
train I will tell everj'body that we
do not belong to you, — that you are
taking us away against our will. We
are going back, Rose and I. I can drive
those horses. I am not afraid. I will
take them home to the ranch. You go
with Juan wherever you please, but we
shall stay here."

"You drive those horses!" exclaimed
Juan. "Never! They would run away
with you. You may go back if you
like, but some one from Tesora will
have to take you,"

"No, you shall not go back!" inter-
posed Steffan, excitedly but positively.
"What will you say if I tell you that
you would be ashamed to let the
Bandinis know where your brother is ?
And you can not see him unless you
go to him. He is in jail, — do you hear
me? In jail!''
1 "In jail?" echoed Louis. "What has

he done?"
k "What was it, Juan?" asked Steffan

of the Negro, who came readily to
the rescue, though the story had been
invented on the spot.

"I don't know. Nothing much," he
replied indiffierently. "But they keep
them locked up a long time in Mexico
for the least thing they do."

"Yes, he has been there for months,"
said Steffan. " And we hoped, by touch-
ing the hearts of his jailers w^ith the
beautiful songs you could sing for
them, and the pretty dances you play,
that they might be persuaded to
release him."

The effect was magical.

"We will go with you, Steffan," said
Louis. "We will do anything to save
Florian." And once more their slavery
was complete.

A little later two heavy-hearted chil-
dren, bareheaded and unkempt, were
whirling along toward their unknown
destination. The Negro and Steffan
had gone forward to the smoker.

"Florian in prison. Rose? I can not
believe it," said Louis. "How terrible
it is!"

"And I won't believe it!" answered
Rose. "I would have screamed and
cried if it had not been for you. If it
should be our Florian, you know I
would be sorry to be kept from going
to him."

"Yes, yes!" said Louis, sadly. "We
must be very quiet until we see. Yet
Steffan could not be so cruel, — do you
think. Rose?"

"I think he could do anything but
tell the truth, Louis. And yet — it may
be — it may be! "

"Ah, those good, kind people! What
will they think of us for running away
in the night?"

"Perhaps they will know that we
did not want to go, — that the^
us," answered Rose.

"I hope so. We must writ^ij
when we can."

Steffan now appeared wf
bananas, which he gave the

380

THE AVE MARIA.

They were very hungry and enjoyed
their simple breakfast. From time
to time their fellow-travellers would
regard them compassionately, believing
them to be emigrants, as Steffan spoke
to them in Hungarian. And thus several
hours passed, the brother and sister
gazing silently at the landscape through
which they were swiftly passing. But
they were no longer amused by new
scenes. Joy had deserted them, and the
revelation of the morning had fallen
with crushing weight on Louis' tender
heart.

Meanwhile at the ranch -house all
was in commotion. When Natalia went
to wake the children, she found them
gone, and hastened to tell her mistress.
They had left their night-clothes behind
them, but the beds had been slept in.

"They have been taken away in the
night," said the senora. "Some one
has stolen them."

"But how, mother, could they have
been taken without our hearing?"
asked Alfredo. "They would have made
an alarm."

"Perhaps they chloroformed them,"
said the senora. "I have sometimes
read of such things."

"And — 3'es, the music is gone also!"
exclaimed Alfredo.

"Yes; but if it was Steffan — as it
must have been, — he would be sure not
to forget that."

" I did not think they could have been
persuaded to go with that man again,"
remarked Alfredo. " They seemed to
dislike him so much."

" And they did dislike and fear him.
But he took them out of their beds,
my son, — believe it."

"I do not know, mother," answered
the young man. "I will speak to
Juan Carisso, who was talking with
Steffan."

But a little later Alfredo came in to
say that not only Juan Carisso, but
two of the best horses and a light
wagon, had disappeared.

This information caused the master
of the ranch to saddle his mare and
go over with all speed to Tesora, where
he found everj^body talking about
the strange occurrence, — Bandinis' team
standing for hours under the sycamore
tree, while no one had seen its owner.

After that there was only conjecture.
Uncertain whether the children were a
party to the flight, though his mother
did not for a moment cherish the
thought that they were, Alfredo pre-
sumed they had continued their tramp
across the country with Steffan. He
saw no reason for interesting himself
further in their behalf, and the episode
of their coming and going gradually
faded into the past. Only the senora
and her maid occasionally wondered
about the fate of the children.

( To be continued. )

Gem Lore.

BY FLORA L. STANFIELD.

in. — Rubies.

A solemn little girl sitting upon an
ancient sea-chest in an old house by
the sea, poring over the wonderful
"Arabian Nights," — this is the picture
that comes to my mind at the sound
of the word "rub^'." The book was a
carefullj' edited one, suitable for a prim
New - England child ; but the rubies
were left in it, — chests full of them,
crowns made of them, sacks brimming
■with them ; and they glow and gleam
and sparkle in her memory to-day.

The ruby, sapphire and topaz belong
to the same family of jew^els; but
the ruby is far more valuable than
the others. Indeed, beside a perfect,
flawless ruby of good size, the diamond
itsel*, which has been called the king
of gems, has to acknowledge its inferi-
ority; for it would not bring so much
in the market. The red gem symbolizes
to us everything gorgeous and precious
and rare. Even Holy Writ itself can find

THE AVE MARIA.

381

nothing more worthy to be compared
to wisdom or a virtuous woman than
a ruby without blemish.

Rubies are found deep in the ground,
and also in the beds of rivers, according
to the country where nature has stored
them. The most extensive ruby mines
in the world are in the Far East, those
of India and Ce3don being close rivals.
The ruby is a distinctively Oriental
stone, and the one above all others of
which Eastern monarchs are most fond.
It is said that of the numerous proud
titles belonging to the King of Burmah,
he values most that of " Lord of the
Rubies."

This King, by the way, unquestion-
ably owns the finest rubies in the
world. His subjects boast that his
collection contains one larger than a
hen's egg; but, as no European has
ever been permitted to set eyes on it, we
may take the assertion "with a grain
of salt," as the saying is. The stone in
question is probably an inferior ruby,
not a true Oriental one, — if it exists
at all except in the imagination. The
King of Burmah claims every ruby
found in his dominions, and no one
but a native is allowed to approach
the mines under any pretext. When
word is brought to the King that an
especially large stone has been found,
there is great rejoicing, and a proces-
sion of soldiers and nobles mounted
on elephants is sent to escort the gem
to the royal treasury.

Rubies are of all shades of red. To
be acceptable to experts, however, they
must not be too light or too dark, but
of the beautiful shade called "pigeon's
blood." There is a superstition among
the Tartars that rubies are always
found in pairs; and when a miner of
Tartary has found a particularly fine
specimen, he will always seek for its
companion before making his discovery
known.

It has been found possible to coun-
terfeit rubies so successfully that the

difference is hard to determine ; but the
stones thus made are so small, and the
labor involved so great, that it has
not proved a paying experiment.

The ruby has great powers of reflect-
ing light, and among the Brahmins
we hear of caverns being lighted by
one of these gems. Certain of the
ancient writers maintained that the
rub^' could give light in the dark,
which of course is not so.

There are many magical properties
attributed to this gem. It is said to
keep the wearer in health and spirits,
and to be a defence against poison, also
to give warning of danger by turning
black. In order to guard against evil
spirits. Chinamen sometimes bury little
bags of rubies under the foundations
of their houses.

There are not many perfect rubies of
great size in the world ; but the stone
has had a conspicuous place in history
and romance, and there is no end to
the pretty stories and legends concern-
ing it. Rubies figure largely, too, in
poetry, one writer having in a much-
quoted verse called them drops of frozen
wine from Eden; and old-fashioned
authors were never weary of describing
the "ruby lips" of their heroines.

One historical ruby is set in the
coronation ring of England. The stone
is engraved with the Cross of St.
George; and it was formerly the
custom, when notifying a sovereign of
his accession, to send the ring with the
tidings. When James II. was escaping
in disguise from England, he had this
ring concealed about him, and it
narrowly escaped the searching eyes
of some fishermen who, imagining the
King and his companions to be Jesuits,
insisted upon hunting through their
attire for articles which might betray
them. But the King got off safely with
his precious ring. It afterward became
the property of his descendants, known
as the Old and Young Pretender; and
of Cardinal York, called "the last of

382

THE AVE MARIA.

the Stuarts." At present the reUc is
in the hands of the reigning famil3^
of England.

After all is said the fact remains that
the ruby, the most precious object in
the world, is just a little Ijit of colored
crystal, — a wonderful example of the
false value put upon human objects by
the decree of man.

The True Heir.

Julian was the child of very humble
parents. First liis mother and then his
father died, and Julian was left all
alone. He was a little fellow, and a rich
man said to him: "Poor child! You
have lost father and mother, you are
an orphan, you are all by yourself in
the world ; and I jjity you." So the rich
man plieed Julian with a good family,
unilertook to i)ay for his schooling,
and, when the boy grew big enough,
a|)iiriniiced him to a useful trade.

When his apprenticeship was finished,
Julian said good-bye to his benefactor,
and started out on a tour of France.
Five years afterward, he returned to
his old home. He had travelled a good
deal, and worked pretty steadily ; but
had not made, or at least had not
saved, much money.

On arriving in his native city, his
first thought was to pay a visit to his
rich friend and protector. Alas! the
good man had died only a day or
two before. Julian found his heirs in
the house. They were all furiously
angry because their uncle had not left
anything like the great fortune which
the^^ had expected would be divided
among them.

The disappointed nephews and nieces
auctioned oft' all the effects in the
deceased man's house. Julian went to
the sale, and observed with surprise
that the heirs showed no respect what-
ever to their uncle's memory. They
sold everything. At last he saw them

put up even the dead man's portrait,
at which heartless action he became
reall\' indignant.

Naturally, Julian had bought the
objects which his protector had been
fondest of, and of course he purchased
also the portrait; but it exhausted his
purse to do so. He took the picture
to his room — a miserable little chamber
in a lodging-house— and hung it on the
wall by a piece of string. The string
was rotten, however, and the portrait
fell to the floor.

Julian picked it up and saw that the
frame was broken. Wishing to repair
it, he examined it carefully, when he
received a great surprise. In a hole in
the stout frame were a number of
diamonds and a paper on which was
written: "I am sure that my heirs are
an ungrateful lot. I am sure they will
sell even my picture. This portrait will
perhaps be purchased by some one
whom I have helped. These diamonds
are for the purchaser; I give them
to him."

The paper was signed, so there was
no disputing Julian's claims to the
gems; and he accordingly became the
true heir to his benefactor's fortune.

He was now rich instead of poor.
He took pity on the orphans of the
city; he built them a big house, where
they were well looked after, and where
he often told them the story of his
protector's picture.

Black Letter.

This is the modern name for the Old
Gothic or Old English letter, introduced
into England about the middle of the
fourteenth century. When, about a
century later, printing was introduced
the types were cast in this character,
in imitation of manuscript. All the
Bibles and other books printed before
1500, are in this character, and are
called Black Letter books.

THE AVE MARIA
With Authors and Publishers.

383

— A new series of the Dublin Review will begin
"in January. It is announced that thenceforth
this time -honored periodical will be under the
editorship of Mr. Wilfrid Ward, whose father will
be remembered as one of its leading contributors.

— The last work of Cardinal Vaughan's pen
was an introduction to a translation from the
Italian of C. M. Da Bergamo of a little work
on "Humility of Heart," which is announced to
appear this month. It will be embellished with
a colored frontispiece, Exaltavit humiles, after
Albertinelli"s well-known picture of the Visitation
at Florence.

— An excellent book to lend or to give away,
for which latter purpose its cheapness commends
it, is "Via Veritatis: Lectures on Topics of
Catholic Doctrine," by the Rev. P. M. Northcote,
O. S. M. The Bible, Confession, Purgatory, the
Blessed Virgin, the use of images and relics are
among the subjects briefly but clearly explained.
Published by the Art and Book Co.

— We have received Part I. of "Grammar of
Plain-Song," by the Benedictines of Stanbrook,
and are very favorably impressed with the system
adopted, as with the practical exemplifications
thereof so graphically presented. We note with
pleasure, also, that in one of the preliminary
chapters, the Italian pronunciation is advocated,
and rules lire given for the proper sounding of
vowels, consonants, and digraphs. Burns &
Oates.

■ — In the course of a readable article on " Work"
which appeared in one of the early numbers of the
Cornbill Magazine, the writer six'aks frankly in
favor of night work : " If you can work at all at
night, one hour at that time is worth any two in
the morning. The house is hushed, the brain is
clear, the distracting influences of the day are at
an end. Vou have not to disturb j'ourself with
thoughts of what you are ^bout to do, or what
you are about to suffer. Vou know that there
is a gulf between you and the affairs of the outside
world, almost like the charm of death; and that
you need not take thought of the morrow until
the morrow has come."

— Many pious readers will welcome a new book
by the author of "My Queen and My Mother."
It is entitled "Rex Mens," and its main object,
as the author states, is to put before young
people unfamiliar with the Old Testament, "one
of the most beautiful characters God ever made,
that of the man after Mis own Heart, the holy
King and prophet David, in hopes that by ga/.ing
at it, and comparing it point by point with
Our Lord's, they may be brought to understand

C4|

better Him and His Sacred Heart, and grasp
the truth of what is said in the Book of Wisdom
that by the beauty of the creature the Creator
may be seen so as to be known thereby."
Published by the Art and Book Co.

— Le Propagate 11 r, of Montreal, notes the fact
that I'rench- Canadian literature is constantly
being enriched with interesting publications.
Among recent works reflecting credit not merely
upt)n their authors but upon the race to which
these authors belong, mention is made of Dora
Benoifs Life of Mgr. Tachfi, Judge Routhier's
Conferences et Discours, the Melanges of M.
Chapais, and La Parole Divine of Abb^ Henri
Defoy.

— "The Seething Pot" is hardly worth read-
ing, as a whole ; however, there is one passage in
this novel which should be of interest to Prot-

. estant enthusiasts for the conversion of Ireland.
Others willbe edified at the heroine's frank reply
to the hero, who hears people speaking in Irish
and is curious to know what they are saying:
I know only a few words of Irish, but 1 can translate that
much for you. That man shouted, "God bless you!*' and
the woman answered him, "The blessing of God and Mary
on yourself!" Almost every Irish phrase of greeting and
parting has God's name in it. If the sun shines, it is a tine
day, "thank God!" If everything is being ruined by the
rain, it is "the weather the Lord is pleased to send us!"
We are ashamed to talk to each other in this way. If we
believe in God, we don't want any one to find it out. Is it
not an annoying piece of arrogance for any one to start
trying to convert these people ?

— A new book by Bishop Hedley for which
prelates, priests and ecclesiastical students every-
where will have a welcome, has just been issued
l)y the Art and Book Co. The title-page runs:
"Lex Levitarum, or Preparation for the Cure of
Souls. By the Right Rev. John Cuthbert Hedley,
Bishop of Newport; to which is added Regnla
Pastoralis by St. Gregory the Great." Of this
important but much neglected volume by one of
the greatest of the Popes, Bishop Hedley remarks
in his preface: "The Regtila Pastoralis of St.
Gregory the Great is not a book that is out of
date. I should like bishops, pastors and church
students to Ije familiar with its text. But what
I have tried to do in the following pages is to
pick out one or two of the holy Pope's more
profound and fertile views and principles, and to
work them out in some detail, for the benefit of
church students."

—"The Life and Writings of St. Patrick" is
the title of a new work by his Grace the Arch-
bishop of Tuam, whi(;h is sure to have a large
number of readers. It will contain over seven
hundred pages, and it proposes to give a full and
accurate account of the Saint's missionary labors

384

THE AYE MARIA.

in Ireland. The distinguished author makes the
writings of St. Patrick himself the basis of his
work, and for the rest trusts chiefly to the ancient
authorities, whose reliability as historians he first
carefully and candidly examines. Wherever pos-
sible, too, he has personally visited the scenes of
the Saint's labors, and so has been able, he says,
"to give a local coloring to the dry record, and
also to catch up, as far as possible, the echoes,
daily growing fainter, of the once vivid traditions
of the past." The many controverted questions
of the birthplace of St. Patrick, his Roman mis-
sion, his burial-place, etc., come in for the fullest
and clearest treatment. Amongst the nine appen-
dices is a very valuable one containing the text of
the Saint's writings in Latin and Irish, with their
English translations. In the preface Mgr. Healy
submits that his purpose in writing this Life is
not controversial: "it is to show St. Patrick as
he was known to his contemporaries and their
immediate successors who had known the man,
or received the living stories of his disciples."
"Most people," he justly claims, "will think such
a narrative of far more value from every point
of view than the speculations of some of our
modern critics and philologists, who would rather
do away with St. Patrick altogether than admit
that he got his mission from Rome."

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
appear at the bead, older ones being dropped out
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will be imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"Grammar of Plain-Song." Benedictines of Stan-
brook." 50 cts.

"Rex Mens." $1.

"Sir Thomas More. (The Blessed Thomas
More.)" Henri Bremond. $1, net.

"The Yoke of Christ." Rev. Robert Eaton.
$1, net.

"Some Little London Children." Mother M.
Salome. 75 cts., net.

" Ireland's Story." Charles Johnston and Carita
Spencer. $1.55.

"The Life of St. Patrick, Apostle of Ireland."
Canon Fleming. 75 cts., net.

"The Common Lot." Robert Herrick. $1.50.

" Sermons Preached at St. Edmund's College."

$1.60, net.
"Jubilee Gems of the Visitation Order." $1.
"Plain Chant and Solesmes." Dom Paul Cagin,

Doni Andrd Mocquereau, O. S. B. 45 cts., net.
"Reminiscences of an Oblate." Rev. Francis Kirk,

O. S. C. 75 cts., net. •

" The Mirror of St. Edmund." 80 cts., net.

"The Saint of the Eucharist." Most Rev. Antoine
de Porrentruy. $1.10.

" The Cenacle." 54 cts.

"The Christian Maiden." Rev. Matthias von

Bremscheid, O. M. Cap. 50 cts.
"Elizabeth Seton, Her Life and Work." Agnes

Sadlier. $1, net.
"Daughters of the Faith." Eliza O'B. Lummis.

$1.25.
"The Tragedy of Fotheringay." Mrs. Maxwell

Scott. $1, net.
' ' A Gleaner's Sheaf. " 30 cts. , net.
"The Ridingdale Boys." David Bearne, S. J.

$1.85, net.
"By What Authority?" Robert Hugh Benson.

$1.60, net.
" Historical Criticism and the Old Testament."

P6re J. M. Lagrange, O. P. $1, net.
"Divorce. A Domestic Tragedy of Modem

France." Paul Bourgct. $1.50.
" Wandewana's Prophecy and Fragments in

Verse.", Eliza L. Mulcahy. $1, net.

Obituary.

Remember them that are in bands. — Hbb., xili, 3.

Very Rev. Cyprian Rubio, of the diocese of
Monterey ; and Rev. F. Olivier, Hilo, Hawaii.

Sister M. of St. Ursula, of the Sisters of the
Holy Cross.

Mr. John Hall and Mr. Joseph Simon, ot
Pittsburg, Pa. ; Mr. John Concannon, Cumber-
land, Md. ; Julia Clearj', Ishpeming, Mich. ; Mrs.
John Pierce, Sandusky, Ohio; Mrs. S. A. Strype,
Brooklyn, N. Y. ; Mrs. Catherine Flood, Phila-
delphia, Pa. ; Mr. John Mugan, San Francisco,
Cal. ; Mrs. Barbara Duerr, Hamilton, Ohio ; Mrs.
Richard Morley, Indianapolis, Ind. ; Mr. Dennis
Britt, Tipperary, Ireland ; Mrs. Mary Gibbons,
Wilmington, Del.; Miss Mabel Kirk, Akron, Ohio ;
Mr. J. P. Sigg, Toledo, Ohio ; Miss Josephine
Power, Lonsdale, R. I. ; Mr. William Dwyer, New-
port, R. I. ; Mrs. Margaret Lehner, Des Moines,
Iowa; Miss J. Rauer, Cleveland, Ohio; Mr.
Frank Hannigan and Mrs. Catherine Hannigan,
Pav.tucket, R. I. ; and Mrs. Martin Solon,
Richmond, Wis.

Requiescant in pace !

OUR LADY OF MERtY.
(G. Bargelllnl.)

HENCEFORTH AU. GENERATIONS SHALL CALL HE BLES6E0. ST. LUKE, I., 48.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, SEPTEMBER 23, 1905.

NO. 13

[Published every Saturday. Copyright: Rev. U. E. Hudson, C.S.C]

Grief and Gladness.
By D. A. McCarthy.

A SUDDEN sorrow darkened Mary's breast,
A sudden sense of loneliness and loss,
A premonition of the cruel cross

Which future years would rear on Calvary's crest,—

The Boy was gone! He was not with the rest!
She saw the other children race, and toss
Their bounding ball amid the meadow moss,

But where,— oh, where was He, the Best, the Blest?

Three days of grief were hers. And then came joy
That filled and flooded all her being when.
Aweary of her search in street and mart.
Within the temple walls she found her Boy.
How tenderly she called His name again.
And strained Him, thanking God, unto her heart !

A Summary of Catholic Doctrines.*

BY THE ABBfi FfiLIX KLEIN.

I.— The Trinity.

HE study of Christian doc-
trine necessarily begins with
the Trinity. That God is one
without being alone, — that
is the first of dogmas. It is impossible
to speak of the others before knowing
that one. AU the others suppose it,
since the Christian religion relates in its
whole scope to communications made
to us of divine life; and the dogma of
the Trinity considers that life in itself,

• It is to be understood that the teachings of the Church
appear in their full light and convincingness only when
each doctrine, taken by itself, Is made the subject of n
special treatise.

such as it interchanges itself, in the
unity of one nature, among the three
Persons — the Father, the Son, and the
Holy Ghost. It is clear that we must
have some idea of the Divine Persons
in order to think of one of them as
uniting Himself to human nature;
some idea of life divine in order to
think that we possess it now by grace,
and are destined to enjoy it more fully,
more consciously, after death.

Nor can this dogma be dependent
upon any other. Catholic dogmas being
merely the expression of certain facts,
they necessarily have, one with another,
the same relations as the facts them-
selves. Now, the fact made known to
us by the dogma of the Trinity is what
goes on in God, — namely, the fruition
of His unique nature by a mysterious
society of three Persons who are at
one and the same time distinct yet
inseparable. Such a fact can have no
antecedents; there is nothing ante-
cedent to the mode of God's existence.
God is of Himself and eternally all that
He is. Other known facts of religion
may be deduced from this fact, but they
can not in any way condition it. In
the absolute sense of the word, it is
primordial.

II. — Christ.

1. The Man -God. — Most intimately
attached, in the doctrine of the Church,
to the fact that in God there are one
nature and three persons is this other
fact that one of these three Divine
Persons assumed a created nature,
human nature, and so associated Him-

386

THE AVE MARIA.

self therewith that one and the same
individual became at the same time
both God and man. After the Trinity,
the Christ; after the fact of the Three
Persons possessing conjointly the one
divine nature, the fact of one of
these Persons appropriating to Himself
human nature without losing the divine.
In Jesus Christ, God and man are so
united as to form only one person;
in Him, a creature — a man's body and
soul — is put in enjoyment of the integral
life of God; in Him is realized the
perfect association of God and man,
absolute religion. Through Him God
is projected into the creation; in Him
creation is aggrandized to the point
of entering into the condition of
the divine personality. And thus, far
otherwise than in pantheism which con-
founds God and the world, is realized
the lofty aspiration that prompts us
to bring the two together.

2. The Mediator. — There would be
nothing repugnant to right reason in
the thought of the Incarnation's being
its own unique end. That there should
exist a being in whom God and man
come together even to the point of a
personal union, so that they form only
one individual ; that the creature should
be raised to this supreme dignity ; that
divine goodness should be carried
to this degree of condescension, — this
assuredly is enough to constitute a fact
superior to any other actual or even
conceivable fact; this is the marvel of
time as of eternity.

But if, in the order of humano-divine
relations, there exists no fact greater
in itSelf than the Incarnation, there
does exist, however, another fact which,
so far as we are concerned, is j'ct more
interesting. Among the characteristics
of Christ there is one which makes
Him, with regard to us, a prototype
and a mediator of participation in the
divine life. Communicated in its totality
to human nature in Christ, this life
descends from Him to us as abundantly

as is compatible with the non-effacement
of our personal life. In virtue of His
intervention, we are placed in such
intimate communication with God that
His life becomes our life, that even
ijow He lives in us and we in Him.
Jesus Christ is both Man -God and
mediator between man and God ; He
establishes between them a social and
vital intercourse. Generous "eldest of
many brothers," He gives them a
portion of His inheritance; by means
of His grace. He unites them, and
as closely as they are willing to be
united, to that divine life which He
Himself possesses of right, and in its
entirety.

This is the greatest benefit ever con-
ferred upon us; and it is admirable
that in this unparalleled work, which
superadds to our own life the very life
of God, there is some certain portion
which reverts to human nature, human
will, human initiative. For it is not
solely in His capacity as God that
Christ deifies us, but in His capacity
as God made man, by a role that is
purely personal and peculiar to Himself,
by an intervention different here from
that of the two other Divine Persons;
in His character, in a word, of inter-
mediary between the Trinity group to
which He belongs and the human race
to which He also belongs.

3. The Redeemer. — Here our plan is
confronted with one of these complica-
tions which must be expected as often
as there is question of real things, and
above all of a system of life. Abstract
sciences alone, mathematics, can in an
uninterrupted and unimpeded fashion
follow in an unswerving line the series
of their deductions; creations of the
mind, they regulate themselves readily
by the simplest of laws. The religion
which the Church offers to us is not,
however, the work of men; and men
when studying it must adapt them-
selves thereto. Thus it is with all
concrete objects of knowledge, from

THE AYE MARIA.

387

physical or physiological phenomena
to the events of historj'.

Symmetrical elegance would demand
that from the idea of the mediating
Christ we should be led to the eifect of
His mediation,— to that communication
of divine Hfe which He obtains and
merits for us. This, without doubt,
would be the method of a systematic
mind. But the Church is not inventing
systems: she professes, as a simple
organ of transmission, to recount that
which God has revealed. Here, then,
she tells us that, before Christ and
independently of His intervention, divine
life was communicated first to spir-
itual creatures called angels, a certain
number of whom lost it voluntarily;
and afterward to man himself, who also
showed his unworthiness of it by a fault
which had hereditary consequences.

This unfortunate past of the human
race influences the manner in which the
Man-God's mediation is exercised in our
favor. Instead of being simply gracious,
it is reparative; it becomes a redemp-
tion. Jesus Christ has not so much to
establish as to re-establish the social
relations between God and us, and at
the same time to remedy the weakening
of our nature, a consequence of sin. To
secure our rehabilitation in grace, it
would have suflSced for the Word made
flesh to solicit it, or rather merely to
desire it ; and this is what is too often
forgotten by those who accuse the
Church of showing them God ferociously
intent upon avenging on the innocent
Son the crime of His guilty brethren.
Voluntarily, however, the Saviour ac-
cepted a method of redemption most
proper to convince us of His love, to
inspire us with a horror of evil, to
console us in our sufferings, to draw us
after Him in the path of well-doing and
of necessary sacrifices. If, to redeem us,
He has shed His blood, it is because, as
He Himself said, there is in love nothing
more beautiful than to give one's life
for the sake of the beloved.

III.— Grace.

Divine life which Christ, as second
Person of the Trinity, possesses in its
plenitude, is, then, by His intervention,
communicated to men. His brothers;
and while in His person He carries the
creation up to God Himself, all the race
attend Him as a retinue.

Divine Hfe, however, can not belong
to us in the same way as to Christ. He
possesses it as being entirely His own
and due to Him by nature; it is as a
favor only that we participate therein,—
a boon that we are permitted to enjoy.
Whilst in Him the divine person is the
sole centre of prerogatives, in vain are
we plunged into the divine substance, —
we preserve our personality as men. It
is while remaining ourselves that we
are associated with the life of another,
who is God. We partake of the
divine essence as we partake of the
intelligence and the love of one who
loves us and imparts to us his ideas,
but with an intimacy, a penetration
unrivalled by such human relations.
Were it not that grace does not imply
a personal union, a better illustration
would be the relation between our soul
and our body, the material part of our
being having the power of elevating
itself to the joys and depressing itself
to the sufferings of the spirit.

To every human being who has
reached the conscious and accountable
state, God offers this astounding possi-
bility of association with His life in the
Trinity. Or, rather. He is not content
with merely offering it : by the play of
that tendency which we are wont to call
the religious sense, He condescends, while
leaving us quite free to oppose Him,
to solicit our acceptance. It is the first
action of God in the soul, and to no
one is it refused ; to every adult is given
help enough to arrive, if he will, at
participation in the divine life. If, in
very deed, men meet these advances
from on high, then they enter into a
compact with God, as occurs in earthly

388

THE AVE MARIA,

conventions when, after preliminary
discussions, delegates concur in pro-
moting a common work.

Apart from the specific acts by which
God and men co-operate, there is
question of a radical, fundamental
union, which, like friendship avowed
or love given, constitutes a state — or,
in the philosophical sense of the word,
a habit, — and attaches to the person
himself, not accidentally to this or that
one of his works. Between God and
us there is no longer simply a parity
of procedure: there is an enduring
association, a linking of persons.
Divine life is within us to remain; it
communicates to our life, all penetrated
therewith, a value that is divine, and
meritorious of divine recompense. This
is the state which theologians call
habitual, or sanctifying, grace.

As to those acts by which God solicits
us to union with Him, helps us to
accept that union, and then makes it
our permanent principle of life, the
Church's idea is not at all that they
work in the same way as the acts by
which, through our reason, God makes
us know His existence ; or, through our
conscience, makes us acknowledge our
responsibility to Him. Conscience and
reason form, so to speak, an instru-
mentality essential to our nature and
external to God (as far as anj'thing can
be external to Him); a sort of organism
by which He warns us of what must
be known to attain our natural end.
Grace, on the contrary, is of the very
being of God, who communicates
Himself to us, unites Himself to us,
acts in us, transforms our life into His
own. Through reason and conscience,
God gives us only messages; by grace
He gives us Himself.

IV. — The Sacraments.

In two ways does God give us His
grace, associating us with His eternal
life. Directly, without any intermediary,
and by the interior processes which we

have been describing, He proposes the
gift of His own life to the intelligence
and the will of every human being
who has acquired full consciousness;
indirectly. He makes a special or more
intense communication of that same life
depend on certain proceedings, certain
determinate acts, certain positive and
visible institutions. The sacraments
are nothing else than these exterior
means of grace.

One would form an erroneous idea of
the sacraments in supposing the Church
to teach that they act independently
of the obstacles with which they may
meet in man. It is for man, on his
own responsibility, to draw loss or
gain from the particular advantages
which the sacraments offer to him.
To produce their essential effect, they
exact only that we do not oppose
them; but their action is all the more
salutary according as they meet in us,
along with this absence of obstacles,
a better preparation of soul. The adult
who knows them is obliged to have
recourse to them in determinate circum-
stances, and they constitute for him an
invaluable help. In a measure which
has not been revealed to us, but which
leaves consoling perspectives of mercy
and justice, they may be supplied,
in the case of an adult who does not
know them, by other impulses of direct
grace encountering the adhesion of the
human will.

Nowhere more eminently than in the
sacraments does Religion show herself
under her aspect of supernatural biol-
ogy. They all have for their object
the entrance, the restoration, or the
development of the life divine in men.
By Baptism we are bom into this life
divine; by Confirmation we receive
an increase thereof analogous to that
which marks in natural life the passage
from childhood to virility. The divine
life is strengthened in us by the Eucha-
rist,— an assimilation, a communication
that we may call physically real with

THE AVE MARIA.

389

the God -Man, who on the one hand
becomes our food, our bread, our
nourishment, and on the other offers
Himself in perpetuity for our redemp-
tion. Do we lose the divine life by
some crime that is well named mortal,
and are we incapable by ourselves of
recovering it through the perfection of
our repentance? Penance is there to
restore it to us, supplying from Christ's
merits what is wanting in us. Extreme
Unction substitutes in a certain fashion
life divine for the human life that is
ebbing away, and supernaturally sus-
tains our soul in the decadence of our
bodily strength. Holy Orders provides
for the perpetual continuance of minis-
ters charged with the putting in action
of all these supplementary means of
grace, and with outpouring through
these channels the floods of divine life.
Marriage, by consecrating the principle
of natural generation, prepares the
way for a second and higher birth: to
humanity which awaits divine life, it
gives an origin in harmony with this
exalted destiny ; it sanctifies in advance,
the family, the institution charged with
perpetuating and rearing the race of
the children of God.

v. — Heaven, Purgatory, Hell.

1. By whatever method the life of
grace has been deposited and developed
within us — whether simply by the
secret action of God, or by additional
processes exterior and visible, — the
effects thereof become fully known to us
only on our departure from this world.
Up to our death we can not have
any other than a vague and clouded
conception of our union with God.
Sons of God in reality, and participants
of His intelligence by faith, and of His
love by charity, we do not as yet feel
all that we are and all that we possess.
But when the veil is torn away, we
shall see ; when the material chains
cease to restrain us, we shall spring
forward. God will become visible to us.

and we shall lose ourselves in Him. His
own light will illumine us. His own joy
make us happy. We will take account
of the life divine that was in us, and it
will develop all its consequences. Save
that we shall preserve our personality
sweetly humble and grateful, eternal
light and eternal beatitude will be
ours as they are God's. Even could he
feel and think as an adult, the child
just released from the maternal womb
would not be more dazzled by his
entrance into the sunlight of this world
than will be our soul when, quitting
its corporeal envelope, it finds itself in
the midst of divine splendors.

2. If, through weakness and incon-
sistency, even while allowing grace the
upper hand within us, we have not
permitted it to permeate our whole
being, and if there remain in us at
the moment of death some inordinate
affections, these last obstacles will have
to be eliminated before we enter upon
our definitive fruition of the life of God.
A second, provisional existence will be
granted to us for the entire purification
of our soul, its perfect preparation for
the beatific vision and union. This is
what is meant when w^e are told of
purgatory, of that postponed heaven,
that heaven desired amid the suffer-
ings of a holy impatience. Such is ihe
destiny of those who, at the close of
their earthly existence, possess within
them incomplete life divine, whether as
children they received it in Baptism
only, or as adults they hold it either
through their collaboration with invis-
ible action from on high, or through
sacramental grace.

3. As for those who die aliens to the
state of grace, their destiny, of which
we know little, varies according as they
are or are not responsible for that
privation. Children dying unbaptized,
they remain on that account in the
natural state; and all we know about
them is that their condition is worthy
of the infinite justice and infinite good-

390

THE AVE MARIA.

ness of God. Adults who have refused
the grace, a sufficiency of which is offered
to all, and who, by an evil use of their
free will, have degenerated from the
natural condition of man, suffer the
painful consequences of their attitude
according to the exact measure in
which it was voluntavy. In an order
of things regulated by God Himself,
it is blasphemy to believe that the
punishment can ever surpass the crime.

VI. — Communion of Saints.

If the principal effect of grace is to
unite men to God, that is not its only
effect: it unites in like manner among
themselves the men who possess it.

1. Reversible Merits. — The life divine
produces in all through whom it circu-
lates still other effects than traits of
resemblance and a heavenly brother-
hood: it links them in a fniitful
solidarity ; it levies on their good acts,
without thereby diminishing individual
benefit, a sort of supplementary tax
expended for the benefit of all. Just as
account is taken in the world not only
of our personal qualities, but of our
friends, our relatives, or our country,
so God condescends with regard to
each participant of His most high life,
to take account of the worth and
work of those whom I shp,ll call His
CO -associates. The merit of a father
redounds upon his whole family, as
does that of eminent men upon all their
fellow -citizens. In accordance with a
similar law of reversibility, the merits
of Christ, of the Blessed Virgin and the
saints redound upon each member of
the chosen race, and every soul that
does good not only enhances its per-
sonal worth but augments the social
treasure of the other children of God.

2. Intercession. — In addition to this
effect, which is, so to speak, automatic,
and is produced without our advej--
tence thereto, the communion of saints
operates another which is more
dependent upon us, one which we may

bring about as often as we will. By
intercessory prayer we may claim
from God a special application of the
merits of Christ and the saints; we
may add, if I may say so, an effective
endorsement to this or that petition
of our own. The saints in heaven or
the faithful on earth can, either at
our request or spontaneously, intervene
in our favor in the name of that
friendship which God entertains for
them and which leads Him to take
account of their wishes; we, on the
other hand, can likewise intervene on
behalf of others.

To this spiritual commerce of merits
and of prayers among "the saints," not
even death can oppose an effective
obstacle; it can not assail the divine
life which reigns in them and makes of
them a single family. The faithful who
are sustaining their earthly combat,
honor and petition the triumphant
elect in heaven as they pray and offer
their merits for the suffering souls in
purgatory; the saints of heaven, and
doubtless the souls in purgatory as
well, surround us with intercedings
for our welfare. Nay, this solidarity
that w^e call the communion of saints
breaks, it may be, stronger barriers
than those of death, — barriers that
separate from one another created
beings of different natures. There are
other children of God than men, other
beneficiaries of the life of grace. In
virtue of that title, the angels, as we
style those spirits who are scarcely
known to us, but whose existence is
attested by revelation, — the angels are
pur brethren, and they too participate
in this communication of intercessions
and merits.

Thus from the living to the dead,
and from the child newly baptized to
the first of pure spirits, to the Virgin
Mother of Christ, the divine life circu-
lates and establishes union. God is one
in all, and all in God are one. Who can
conceive a society more widespread as

THE AVE MARIA.

391

to the numbers it embraces, more
intimately bound together by the kind
of union effected among its members?
We have said that religion is a phenom-
enon of society. Assuredly, it appears
such in Christianity, where there is
seen a society, in God, of three distinct
persons; a society, in Jesus Christ, of
the divine and the human nature pos-
sessed by one person; a society, in
grace, of God and the souls penetrated
with His life; a society, in the com-
munion of saints, of all souls among
themselves, — a communion superior to
death, — a communion with the angels
themselves.

VII.— The Church.

Besides this purely spiritual society
which comprises all men, all beings in
the possession of grace, an external
society, the Church, has been instituted
to aid by perceptible means in the diffu-
sion of divine life. It is she who, through
her head the Pope, or her bishops
assembled with him in ecumenical
council, makes known the very exist-
ence of this system of life, preserves it
in its integrity, and explains, according
to the needs of souls, its import and
its scope; in which office, moreover,
she is guaranteed against error by the
assistance of Christ, her invisible Chief

Not content with teaching the Reve-
lation of the kingdom of grace, the
Church, by her priesthood, practically
assists men to enter and make progress
therein. She exhorts them to make good
use of the natural means which favor
the action of grace. She invites and
prepares them to profit by those supple-
mentary resources, the sacraments,
performing for them, and in certain
cases making them perform for them-
selves, those rites, those conventional
signs to which the Man -God has
attached an efficacy productive of grace.

She possesses, in fine, and she exercises
a true power of jurisdiction. It belongs
to her, while maintaining herself in the

limits of her essential constitution, to
legislate, to govern, to administer. She
determines the performance of certain
duties which would else remain some-
what vague and indefinite, — duties
regarding at times acts individually
necessary, such as the adoration of God ;
at other times acts of general interest,
like the practice of worship in common.
Her magistracy mounts still higher, even
to its constituting a species of merciful
arbitration between Heaven and us, as
when she dissolves vows, or when, by
indulgences, she attaches to the per-
formance of certain acts already good
in themselves an expiatory virtue
beyond their own merit and borrowed
from the superabundant reserve of the
communion of saints.

The Church, in a word, perpetuates
the ministry of the Man-God. In His
name, and in virtue of the powers
received from Him, she exercises the
mediatorial mission which by nature
and right is His alone. He has revealed
and founded the kingdom of grace;
she diffuses the knowledge thereof, and,
if we may say so, causes it to function.
Just as, in the words of St. Paul, God
was in the Christ reconciling the world
to Himself, so Christ is in the Church,
outpouring, through her, light and life
over the world ; drawing after Him,
through her, the world to the possession
of God.

VIII.— The Religious Past.

The visible society of the children
of God has not always existed in
its present form. Religious humanity,
whose actual organization we have
been studying, has a past of which
there remain traces; it wll have a
future which already declares itself.

Although she proclaims that she is
the normal intermediary of heav-
enly communications, the intermediary
through whom should pass all those
who know her, the Church does not
pretend that God can not without her

392

THE AVE MARIA.

distribute His grace. We have seen
her teaching that God may act directly
upon each adult, and, Himself, put
salvation within the reach of ever>'
good will. In the same order of ideas,
she tells us that God had made known
to the world, long before she was estab-
lished, the rudiments of true religion.

Prior to the birth of Christ, and with
the purpose of preparing His reign,
Israel had received in germ, and had
progressively developed under an impul-
sion, a protection of an order more
than human, revelations of the divine
unity, of restored morality, of spiritual
worship, of Messianic hopes. Prior to
Judaism, and from the very beginning,
primitive humanity J)OSsessed in an
unknown form certain fundamental
revelations; and if it be true that it
very often as well as very quickly
lost or travestied these revelations, it
nevertheless remains certain that the
world has never been totally deprived
of the supernatural communications of
God. It is the trace of these facts that
we see round about us, whether in the
Jewish religion which has survived itself
like the withered coating of an acorn
grown into an oak, or among the
strange cults which still cover three-
quarters of the globe with their human
follies and their fragments of divine wis-
dom, but which are continually receding
before the lights of reason and the
Gospel sun.

IX.— The Future.

The Church does not shrink from the
hardihood of saying what will be the
religious future of the world.

1. From her very establishment, she
has made her own, by defining it with
precision and freeing it from material
dreams, the Messianic idea of one cult
for all nations. She proclaims herself
destined to establish the true religion
everywhere. This prophecy of univer-
sality is not so very astounding to-day,
when it is becoming an accomplished
fact, and when the frontiers of Chris-

tianity, for so long a period equivalent
to those of civilization, are advancing
in the East and West even to the extent
of becoming united and thus disappear-
ing. But what risk of being belied by
events did the Church not run when
she affirmed this prophecy for the
first time before twelve apostles and a
few poor disciples, in one of the lesser
provinces of the Roman Empire, at an
epoch when the known world comprised
less than one -tenth of our globe!

Even now, let us not forget, this
prediction retains something of hardi-
hood; for it applies to time as well as
space; and the same religion that
declares she is destined to be known by
all peoples, affirms also that she has
the promise of imperishable life. Is there
on the face of the earth any other
institution that will take upon itself to
announce that it will spread as far and
last as long as there w^ill exist men ?

2. The Church promulgates, relative
to the religious future, another affir-
mation which we have here only to
mention, without inquiring whether its
sublime character will be acclaimed
with joy, or whether it will cause as
much scandal as when Jesus announced
it to the Sadducees, and St. Paul to his
auditory on the slope of the Areopagus.

Carnis resurrectionem ! In circum-
stances of which no detail is revealed
with clearness, but whose essential
character demands our faith, the terres-
trial history of humanity will end with
the resurrection of the body. Men,
separated from their flesh by death,
will see themselves reconstituted in the
normal condition of spirits joined to
matter. That body which has been an
accomplice in evil will partake of the
wreck of the soul, while the just will
resume in a glorified form the envelope
once associated with their highest acts.

To this humanity, integrally recon-
stituted, and evermore living, Christ
radiant with glorj' will assign, in a
sentence divinely equitable, their defin-

The AVE MARIA.

^&i

itive destinies ; and the cycle will close
with the supreme act which will bring
back to God, even as it went out from
Him, humanity' in spirit and flesh, —
humanity representative of all nations,
of the whole creation. As God was
the universal principle, so will He be
the universal end. Then shall we enjoy
with Him that eternal lite revealed
to us in the dogma of the Trinity, of
which we catch a glimpse in the fact of
the Incarnation, and which, possessed
in secret under the name of grace, con-
stitutes at present our richest treasure.

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANKA T. SADLIBR.

XXXV.— Eben Knox Feasts. Mother
MouLTON Prophesies.

1#5^ BEN KNOX hurried back to the
'J^.. mill, whereof the bell had sounded
^:~— ^ almost unheeded, and whence
Matt Tobin had dismissed the workers.
With the exception of Dave Morse, most
of them wondered at the unwonted
absence of the "boss," an event which
very rarely occurred. But they asked
no question ; and if they had, Matt
could have given them little informa-
tion. He was a singularly incurious
man, for whom his work and his pipe,
and a few quiet hours at home with
his wife and family of an evening, were
suflicient.

Though Matt had dismissed the mill
hands, he was still in the deserted
building when Eben Knox returned
thither. He handed the "boss" the
keys, with no comment whatever upon
the latter's peculiar aspect, and no
visible surprise at the slap upon the
shoulder which Eben gave him, with a
facetious remark such as he did not
remember having heard before in all
his years of service.

Eben Knox was, in fact, filled with
an insensate delight. He was frantic

with exultation, not only because of
the respite, the commutation of his
sentence of life-separation from Leonora,
but at the mere thought that Jim
Bretherton, humiliated, heart - stricken,
would have to endure, in his turn, such
pangs as those which the manager
himself had suffered. His joy abounded;
it tingled in every nerve; it rose into
his throat and .almost choked him.
His sense of wrong and injury against
mankind, his envy, his consciousness of
his own inferiority in appearance, in
station, in surroundings, found an
outlet in a bitter personal hatred of Mr.
James Cortlandt Bretherton. And this
animosity was intensified a hundredfold
by the fact that the young gentleman
was his successful rival in his ill-starred
love affair with Leonora.

Now, however, he had found a means
of revenge, which, as a dark and
ominous cloud at sunset time, was
likewise tinged with the roseate glow
of hope. It was the most deadly ven-
geance he could take upon his foe, and
it offered to himself a possibility of
unlimited joy. Had Leonora accepted
him outright, he could scarcely have felt
more elated. With Jim Bretherton once
out of the way, a struggle would begin
for the winning of Leonora. It might,
indeed, be long and difficult, as that of
one who would climb an Alpine height
in the face of a biting blast, with
slippery foothold and chasms of despair
on either side ; but he felt in his nature
that terrible strength which is capable
of overleaping all obstacles, or at least
of aiming at the unattainable.

When Matt Tobin handed over the
keys, he left his employer, with his
ordinary curt nod and word of farewell.
And the latter remained alone in the
great building, and saw with unseeing
eyes the looms standing idle, with their
burden of unfinished work, like so many
lives suddenly brought to a close ; while
the shadows deepened and scarcely a
glimmer of light came in from without.

394

THE AVE MARIA

He stood and stared at the looms.
Work as represented by them for the
first time palled upon him. He was
feverishly anxious to be done with it,
and, having secured Leonora, to be a
man of leisure, able to go away and
travel.

He hated those toil-worn years, which
had left their ugly traces upon him;
hated the grinding spirit of greed, which
had planted far more legible imprints;
hated the sordid materialism, the
"baser stars which had shut him up
in wishes." He even regretted, in that
instant of illumination and of bitter
retrospection, that he had not had
religion, like Leonora, like Jim Breth-
ertoh, — a worship which had raised
them up to a plane whither he could
never soar. He felt just then that
subtle bond of sympathy which united
those two, which purified and strength-
ened their love, and endued it with
the promise of "spring perpetual."

He turned impatiently from these
thoughts; but he did not linger
amongst the books, as was his custom,
till supper time ; nor go round feverishly
inspecting the work, to calculate how
much had been accomplished during
the day. He locked up carefully and
went out, directing his steps homeward
to the mill -house.

It was an unprecedented occurrence,
and it dismayed Mother Moulton. In
the first place, she was astonished at
this early return. It was as if a
cataclysm had occurred within the
mill precincts. Moreover, she had not
time to take her precautions. The two
unbidden guests who still lingered at
the mill -house, and whose movements
were carefully timed that they might
not encounter the manager, were out,
and might return at any moment.
They usually came in before the closing
of the mill, took a hasty supper and
retired to the loft, where even the child
had learned to preserve an unnatural
stillness.

Eben Knox entered the dingy living
room, where Mother Moulton sat
thinking her own dark thoughts in the
dusk. For it was forbidden to light
a lamp or candle until Eben Knox's
return, save in the kitchen, where the
scanty meal was prepared half an hour
before his arrival. Mother Moulton
believed at first that her employer had
been drinking. Not that she had ever
seen him under alcoholic influence; to
her knowledge, he had never tasted
any stimulating beverage. She very
soon saw her error ; but she was more
than ever puzzled by the manager's
demeanor.

"Come," he cried, — "come, Mother
Moulton, light a fire on the hearth, —
a good one, do you hear? — none
of your smouldering, smoky smudges,
but a blaze, woman, — a blaze! Don't
spare the wood-pile."

"It's the first time I've heard that
order in all the years I have been
here," the crone responded dryly.

"You shall hear many a new com-
mand from me in the time to come.
But light up the fire, I say, and give
us a royal supper to-night."

" Royal, indeed ! " snapped the crone.
"What is there in the pantry but
yesterday's scraps?"

"Here!" said the manager, taking a
bill from his pocketbook and holding
it toward Mother Moulton, who fairly
gasped with astonishment. "Go now!
Perhaps you will find Dave Morse
loafing about somewhere; or if you
don't, go yourself and buy meat and
sweetmeats, — dainty things such as a
woman likes. I like them too, — pies
and cakes and candies."

" You're daft ! " said Mother Moulton.

"Maybe I am," Eben Knox replied,
laughing. "But go you and get the
materials for the feast."

Mother Moulton rose unwillingly.
In his present mood, she was not sure
whether or not it would be safe to
dispute his commands. Besides, she

THE AVE MARIA.

395

very rarely got a chance to gratify her
taste for solid food, much less for
these unusual delicacies. Never a feast
had been spread for her in all the course
of these years. And she reflected, too,
that she would be able to regale with
the remnants of the feast those guests
whom, all unknown to Eben Knox,
she harbored under his roof.

Still looking askance at her master,
she edged toward the door; and, once
outside, her eyes peered about in the
gloom, hoping that she might see the
mother and child hovering about, and
warn them to bide their time. Look as
she might, she saw no sign of them, and
she concluded that the next best thing
w^as to hurry upon her errand. She
trusted that if the worst came to the
worst, and the woman presented herself
at the door, she would have the wit to
pretend that she was merely a strolling
beggar, and that Knox would have no
means of knowing that she had been a
guest in the house. As the old woman
hastened on, she reflected that the
master must be "fey" and that his
death was probably near.

Meanwhile Eben Knox went about
the room with a new sense which had
suddenly come to him. The cheerless
squalor of the environment smote upon
him. He pulled at the window curtain,
a ragged tapestry which the crone had
hung up for warmth. He moved the
furniture about, striving to impart
something of comfort to its arrange-
ment. He was curiously dissatisfied
with the result, and he devoted himself,
while he awaited Mother Moulton's
return, to piling up logs upon the
hearth, as he had seen them piled
in Miss Tabitha's sitting-room. The
leaping blaze certainly improved that
dismal apartment as nothing else could
have done, and gave it an air of weird
and picturesque comfort.

He was still on his knees before the
hearth, his saturnine face lighted by
the glow, his uncouth figure resembling

that of some dark enchanter, when he
was startled by a sound without — the
patter of childish feet, the prattle of
an infantile voice. He shivered from
some strange association of ideas, and
cast an apprehensive glance toward
the window, upon which the reflection
of the firelight blazed with mimic
splendor. To his terror, he distinctly
perceived there, though but for a fleeting
instant, a face pressed close against
the glass. It was a face, he thought,
which he had seen before somewhere, —
which he had known, it might be in
the distant past.

He shook as with the ague, while his
tongue clove to the roof of his mouth.
It was Mother Moulton as he had seen
her long ago when he was but a boy.
He knelt transfixed, with the poker
still in his hand, and the blaze flaming
and dancing about him. A moaning
wind had arisen, and was sweeping
eerily about the house and stirring the
alder bushes. After a moment or two
of stupefaction, Eben Knox arose and
threw open the door. Crouching against
the window was a woman wth a child
clinging to her skirts. The manager
regarded her with hollow, staring eyes,
terror for the moment overmastering
all other impressions. He fancied he
saw a vision, a familiar scene from the
past reproduced before his distraught
imagination.

But when he had gazed awhile his
practical common-sense reasserted itself
He strode forward and, seizing the
woman roughly by the arm, asked :

"Who are you, and what are you
doing here?"

She made no answer, but clasped her
hands in mute entreaty. He turned
her round, that he might see her
face once more in the light streaming
from the open doorway; and again he
started and shivered, while the woman
regarded him appealingly. When he
had gazed at her for a second or two,
he tightened his grasp upon her arm,

396

tHE AVE MARIA.

and, with a swift, furtive glance at the
mill windows, as if he feared observers
even in their blankness, he exclaimed :

"Come in, — come in quickl}' to the
mill -house! "

He could scarcely have explained
to himself this sudden, uncontrollable
impulse to screen the wandering vagrant
from possible observers.

The woman silently obeyed what was
rather a command than an invitation.
She entered the room, which was now
so brightened and vitalized by the
cheerful blaze that she scarcely recog-
nized it; and she stood, trembling and
terrified, clasping to her breast the child
whom she had hastily caught up.

Eben Knox sank into an armchair
and stared hard at the figure before
him, in a silence which w^as more
alarming to the woman than any
speech; and when at last he spoke, it
was to himself, as if this were no living
being at all, but a shadowy abstraction.

"If it be you," he muttered, "in
the figure of your youth, why do you
come here ? Have you changed from age
to youth, and where is your hideous
presentment of half an hour ago?"

A cool observer might have thought
that the man's mind was wandering
somewhat. Momentarily, at least, his
reason seemed unhinged ; time and place
and the flight of years had lost for
him their respective proportions.

There was a sound of hurrying feet,
and Mother Moulton, throwing open
the door, stood, quite breathless, upon
the threshold. She had sped to the
village with a swiftness which belied
her years; and, returning laden with
parcels, had seen from afar the meeting
of Eben Knox with the woman crouch-
ing under his window. She had seen
them disappear, and had hastened
thither, fearing that, in his anger and
in the strange humor which possessed
him, the manager might do his unbidden
guest an injury.

( To be contiaued. )

Soggarth Aroon.

BY THE AUTHOR OF SCENES AND SKETCHES IN

AN IRISH PARISH ; OR, PRIEST AND PEOPLE

IN DOON."

( Conclusion. )

I WAS often called on to arbitrate in
cases of disputes. More especially
when things had come to such a pass
that there was question of "taking
the law of one another," or "following
one another in law," I w^as generally
invoked by one side or the other, or by
both, to settle the point at issue, — to
the entire satisfaction of both dispu-
tants, of course. It was well known
that I strongly discouraged law pro-
ceedings— to the intense chagrin of the
neighboring solicitors, — as expensive,
often unnecessary, and always, or
nearly so, uncharitable. I was, in con-
sequence, frequently resorted to as to
a High Court of Appeal.

I found, as a rule, that an appeal to
reason, and especially religion, combined
with the healing effect of a little time,
sufficed to reconcile those that at first
sight would seem to be the most
deadly and implacable enemies. The
hearts of these mountain people were
naturally forgiving, warm and kindly,
and could not long retain hatred ; and
I have known many an angry quarrel
between them to end like that famous
quarrel between Brutus and Cassius, —
b}- each giving the other not merely
"•his hand" but "his heart" too. My
ex])erience is that the Irish peasant is an
overgrown child, — a child in simplicity
and docility, in reverence for superiors,
and all those engaging and ingenuous
qualities that make a child so lovable,
so forgiving and forgivable. If he is
(juick to say the hot, choleric word,
he is "equally prompt to repent of
it, when the short-lived "splutter
o' timper" subsides.
"I was sorry for what I said before

THE AVE MARIA.

397

the word was well out of my mouth,"
was an expression I often heard among
the mountain folk ; and I had no reason
to doubt their sincerity.

Another of my occasional functions
was to reprove and correct erring ones.
The complaints came chiefly from
anxious mothers who, in all good
faith, colored the delinquencies of son,
daughter, or husband with a deeper
dye than, in my belief, they really
deserved. I found, when I investigated
the matter, that their sins, although
probably deserving of reprehension,
were not so very black. A few examples
will suffice to show the character of the
high crimes and misdemeanors of this
class which I had to deal with.

Mrs. Muldowney, of Creggan, a
widow whose family consisted of three
daughters and one son — to wit, Peter, —
complained to me of the latter's undue
partiality for rambling of nights to
the neighbors' houses, thus missing the
nightly Rosary, and sometimes, besides,
keeping the household up "all hours"
waiting for his return. Some time
afterward I met this redoubtable
rambler at a Sunday crossroads' gath-
ering of young people, and I took him
aside for purposes of correction and
reproof. I was, however, agreeably
disappointed to find that Peter was
by no means the unrepentant villain
whom I had imagined him to be from
his fond mother's account of him.
There was an honest, open, innocent
look in his clear blue eye that quite
disarmed me when I opened fire on him
with look severe and tone reproachful —
although paternal, as I hoped. He was
a fine, strapping, rollicking, light-hearted
young fellow, full of the lusty life and
the rude health and vigor of glorious
nineteen. I was fully convinced, from
a short conversation with him, that of
guile or malice aforethought he was
as innocent as a child of three.

"Musha, your reverence," he said in
reply to my remark about his ramljling

propensities, "what great harm is it
to make a ceildth back and forward to
a neighbor's house ? Sure, if I was to
stay at home every night lookin' on
at my mother and the girls knit tin'
and sewin' there like dummies, I'd
feel as lonesome as a milestone. So,
your reverence, I only just run over as
far as Heavey's, to hear old Jim tellin'
stories about ghosts and fairies; or
to the pensioner Lahy's, to hear the
sergeant tellin' all about the Rooshian
War. So there's all the harm I do.
Musha, if I only go a yard from the
door at night they think at home some
one will ate me, so they do."

He promised me, however, that he
would try to curb the vagabond spirit
within him, and, at least, be always
"in for the Rosary," whenever he went
for a ramble.

Mrs. Connor, of the Derries, com-
plained to me, with a face of much
concern, that her oldest girl, Julia, was
very fond of going to dances on Sunday
evenings,— in fact, would "give her two
eyes for a dance."

"It has her entirely distracted from
her work," she said; "for when she
gets my back turned she's liltin' and
jiggin' for herself like a mad thing. And
she's took up greatly this time back
with leamin' a concerteen instead ol
mindin' her little duties. So I want
your reverence to spake to her, and
check her, without sayin' I told you ;
for she's a good creature, only for bein'
a bit airy and foolish. Sure, a mother
can't be too careful about keepin' her
daughters out of harm's way."

Well, I chanced to meet the notorious
dancer one day on her way to market
with a big basket of eggs. She cer-
tainly looked like one who could
dance, for she fairly spun along the
road under her burden ; and I verily
believe she had been humming a dance
tune when I encountered her at a turn
of the road. She was a very demure,
dark-haired, dark-eyed colleen; and she

398

THE AYE MARIA.

made me so graceful a little "curchy,"
and bade me "Good-morning, Father!"
with so sweet and bewitching a smile,
that I hadn't the heart to begin scold-
ing her, and quite forgot the little
lecture I had composed in my mind.
Accordingly, I went beating round the
bush with the view of discovering if
dances were held often in her neigh-
borhood. She replied with delightful
naivete and simplicity that there was
very little amusement in the country,
only an odd dance now and then
among her immediate friends, never
lasting longer than nine o'clock or
so. Surely, I thought, this shy, mild-
mannered, innocent-looking little maid
could not be the notorious danseuse of
whom I had heard so much. At any
rate, I must confess that the lecture I
had intended for her remained unread.

It was invariably the womenfolk, as
I have already hinted, who conveyed
complaints to me, whether about son,
daughter, or husband. They them-
selves, seemingly, like the king, could
do no wrong. Whenever the "time was
out of joint " it was their especial
province to come on the scene and
"set it right."

Murmurs reached me occasionally
from anxious wives about a husband
who was fond of taking "a sup too
much" at fair or market. In this con-
nection I might mention that Mrs.
Nally, of Curreen, earnestly requested
me "to spake" to her husband Tom,
who was an occasional cow-jobber in a
small way, with a view to induce him
to take a total-abstinence pledge, or at
least "stint himself" to an allowance
when he went to a fair ; for that lately
he was "goin' beyond the beyonds."
She stipulated, however, that I should
not mention that she had given me
"the hard word" about his misdeeds;
ibr he was ' a quiet, simjjle-goin' man,
and a good head to her and her family.'

When I spoke to him on the subject,
he admitted that he had been indeed.

"gentle-hearty a turn or two of late."
But, in extenuation thereof, he pleaded
that he had been to a far-distant fair,
and had endured so much unheard-of
"cowld and wet and hunger and hard-
ship," that a "little drop o'sperits"
was absolutely essential, in his belief,
to keep the ' cowld out of his heart and
keep the life in his body ' till he returned
home. He believed that, by reason of
the nature of his avocation of jobber,
total abstinence would not suit him at
all ; he much preferred the doctrine of a
little in moderation or 'stintin' himself
to a reasonable share.' At any rate,
we came to a compromise on these
lines, to his great delight, as I could see
from the twinkle of his keen grey eye,
wherein lurked humor as well as the
shrewdness of the small jobber skilled
in deciphering the age of a cow from
the hieroglyphic rings on her horns.

These are but a few of my experiences
as peacemaker-in-ordinary and adviser-
general for the simple folk of the Moun-
tain Parish. I had, besides, to adjudicate
in cases of family settlements and
marriage fortunes, in disputes affecting
the repair of fences, the tracing of boun-
daries, and such like. I even ventured
to assess the damage caused bj' the
nocturnal trespass of a donkey that
had spent some luxurious hours in a
field of half-ripe oats; also that done
by a flock of geese that had passed a
night of delights in a field of dead-ripe
barley. In truth, I was a justice of
the peace as well as everything else.

I was expected also, by my faithful
people, to be their physician, not only as
healer of their spiritual maladies, but
of all manner of corporal infirmities as
well. Their faith in my healing powers
was simply unshakable. " You're the
best doctor yourself; and if you don't
cure me, no one can," was the invari-
able answer when I inquired if the
local doctor had been sent for, or had
yet seen the patient whom I had been
called on to visit. Of course I frequently

THE AVE MARIA.

399

insisted on their sending for the doctor,
sometimes to the satisfaction of the
latter, when it was a "paying case,"
often to his chagrin when it was a
' ' scarlet - runner " call .

I do, indeed, firmly believe that mir-
acles were sometimes wrought among
them, — not indeed by my unworthy
ministry, but by their own wonderful
and extraordinary faith. All the same,
they would have it that my prayers
or my "holy hand" cured them, rather
than any merit of theirs, or the doctor's
skill. I knew a man to say that he
felt immediate relief from pain when I
laid my hand on his fevered brow ; and
a woman declared that my blessing
had cured her infant, whom the doctor
considered hopeless. Yes, the strength
and intensity of the faith of those
poor mountain folk was an ever -fresh
wonder to me, and a source of great
edification as well.

Then, too, when their stock fell sick,
they came to me to implore me to
"kill the murrain" in the cattle or
"quinch the disorder" amongst the
geese. "Sure, they're our little manes,"
they would say; "and if that goes,
what's to become of us at all ? So we
put our depindence in your reverence
to banish the disease." Indeed, were I
to enumerate all the strange requests
for favors that came to me from time
to time, I fear they would provoke
irreverent merriment.

Their belief in the blessings of the
Church was great and edifying. They
brought all kinds of things to me to
be blessed, — pictures, statues, salt for
cattle, and seed corn, with a view to
forestall the "cutworm." As for Holy
Water, I could scarce keep a sufficient
supply of it. For any household to be
without it would be considered an
indication — and rightly so — of great
laxity and lukewarmness in the observ-
ances of religion. Few, if any, houses
in Killanurc were ever without a
copious supply of it; for the people

used it freely, not merely for sprinkling
themselves and their stock also, but
likewise for drinking in illness, as I
sometimes found to be the case.

The distinctions and offices heaped
upon me were not of my seeking, but
rather accorded me by the popular
acclaim of my flock as the inalienable
privileges and honors of their soggarth
aroon. I could, therefore, bear my
"blushing honors" with all the more
equanimity when I remembered that
they were regarded by my parish-
ioners as belonging to my office Jure
ordiaario, as the theologians say; and
so there was, in my estimation, at
least, little room for egotism or for
complacently hugging myself in the
smug self - satisfaction that all this
was due to my personal magnetism,
influence, or prestige. All unworthy
and unambitious though I was of so
unique a position, they would regard
me as one similar to that admirable
personage, the Man of Ross, immortal-
ized by Pope:

Is any sick ? The Man of Ross relieves,
Prescribes, attends, the medicine makes and gives.
Is there a variance ? Enter but his door,
Balked are the courts, the contest is no more.

Thus, although young, and by no
means a sage, unqualified in medicine
and " un-articled " to law, I experienced
almost daily the half-gratification and
half - mortification of seeing myself,
an humble country curate, regarded
by these simple, confiding folk as an
unerring oracle in crucial difficulties, a
consulting physician in cases of illness,
a chamber-counsel in matters litigious;
and, chiefly and above all things, a
thaumaturgus — a wonder-worker, as a
matter of course. They placed no limit
to the power of the priest ; and I have
heard practical people tell in all serious-
ness stories of the wonderful things
done by priests in the past, — things so
wildly extravagant and improbable
that I could not credit them. Here is
an instance of my own experience.

400

THE AVE MARIA.

A man came to me on a certain
occasion to complain that some person
or persons unknown' were nightly-
stealing the turf on his bog, and he
requested me to do for him what a
certain Father Pat M. was known to
have done in precisely similar circum-
stances. He stuck the turf- stealer to
the bog, where he was found the next
morning, as if frozen or petrified, in the
thieving act and attitude of stooping
for a sod of turf. My parishioner
believed I could do the same thing for
his benefit, ' if I liked ' ; and he was not
half pleased when I did not promise
to undertake the charitable office of
"paralyzing" the nocturnal thief.

Ah, theirs was faith, indeed, — the
simple, confiding belief of little chil-
dren! They were children in their
virtues as in their vices; occasionally
w^ayward and foolish, but at all times
amenable to my authority. They were
impulsive, big-hearted and generous;
but, more than all else, loyal to their
Church and their priests with a deep,
strong, silent devotion that few can
realize so well as their own soggarth
aroon. The world, I am convinced,
knows very little of the great heart
and grand virtues of the simple,
unlettered. God-fearing Irish peasant.
To him his holy religion is all in all;
and it strews over the privations and
poverty of his humble lot, and seemingly
cheerless life, the purest and sweetest
of earthly joys. His is the privilege to
ascend at any. time on the viewless
wings of faith into heights serene, of
calm peace and ecstatic happiness, of
which scoffing sceptics know nothing.
He can, by the aid of religion, make
for himself a heaven of his own in the
midst of cold and nakedness, hunger
and sickness and death. His religion
is truly an Aladdin's lamp by means
of which he can possess at will the
magic power of transforming ]p,is lowly
cabin into a fairy palace of Cathay.

Was it not, I used often ask myself.

guerdon and reward enough to be priv-
ileged to labor for such a people, and to
receive in return their fervent blessings
and their prayers, that must surely
avail much ? How could I ever requite
them for their love, respect, and almost
idolatrous veneration — if I might use
such an expression — for my sacred
character? Why, I could not pass
along a public road in the parish
without receiving, all unsought, such
an ovation of respectful homage as a
sovereign might envy. I remember that
when I was on the English mission I
might pass through streets and streets,
even in my own district — in the Prot-
estant quarters, of course, — without any
one's noticing me ; unless, perhaps, some
fellow -Christian vouchsafed to regard
me with a cold, indifferent glance, not
unmixed, probably, with contempt or
disdain.

Here, however, the contrast was
marked. When I passed through the
crowd to the mountain chapel from my
house of a Sunday, I could scarce
return all the respectful salutes and
"curchies" I received; and if I were
as many -eyed as one of the "living
creatures " mentioned in the Apoc-
alypse, I could not return the kindly
looks of unspoken yet heartfelt venera-
tion and love. Ah, what could I do — I
the son of a peasant like one of them-
selves— but bless them deep down in my
heart of hearts, and sing therein and
make melody, because God had raised
me up from nothing to be what I was —
the soggarth aroon of an Irish parish ?

A Boy.

ISy EDWARD F. GARESCHE, S.J.

QHANGEFUL as March, as April gay;

Sfrange, unsure as the young Year's weather!
Rude as the winds of a Springtide day,

Loving and plaguing by turns and together;
Rollicking, petulant, impudent, coy, —
Bless me! a fji^rvelloys mixture's a boy.

THE AVE MARIA.

401

Beppo's Madonna.

BY MARY F. NIXON-R O U LET.

IT was early morning in Rome. Cool
and sweet came the breath of the
dawn, bearing from the Alban hills the
freshness of heaven into the city by the
Tiber. So sweet and fair dawned the
day that it seemed as though all the
world should be wrapped in the mantle
of happiness, and every face unclouded
as the sky of soft Italian blue.

Yet Giovanna's face was clouded,
and she sat wistful and sad at the
door of her little home. She was a
beautiful creature, of the softest type of
Italian beauty. Broad -browed, ebon-
haired, her brown e3'es were soft
and deep, as if the windows of a soul
filled with thoughts unutterable. Her
nose was slender and delicate, her
mouth was sweet and wistful in its
curves ; but over all the radiant beauty
of her womanhood there lay a veil of
sadness.

There were those who whispered that
all was not as it should be in the
little home under the vines. Beppo, the
husband, was "a merry dog." Hand-
some and gay, he too often wandered
from home, and left the business of his
little wineshop to care for itself, or
Giovanna to care for it as well as for
her two lovely boys. He was not an
evil fellow, gay Beppo: he was only
selfish and pleasure-loving ; and he liked
to wander beside the Tiljer banks with
pleasant companions, or to go to the
wide Campagna under skies of blue,
where all nature appealed to his beauty-
loving soul. Of Giovanna at home he
thought not when the fit of roving
seized him ; and yet in his careless
fashion he loved her truly.

No reproach ever passed her lips:
she was too sweet for ugly words ;
but day by day the iron of his neglect
entered into her soul, and day by day

her face took sadder curves. For a
woman who loves a man, no lesson is
harder to learn than that to him she
is not necessary, or that he enjoys
life without the sunshine of her
presence. Her two boys were her
comfort. Sturdy chaps they were, —
the older, helpful and serious, his
mother's right hand ; the younger, a
babe of two, a gentle, loving boy w^ith
something of his mother's sadness in
his great, dark eyes.

On this fair summer morning Gio-
vanna sat beneath the vine -covered
trellis of her little auberge in the
outskirts of Rome. Vines of bryony
wreathed themselves above her head
and twined the pillar at her back, and
through the frame made by the leaves
and tendrils one could catch glimpses
of the towers and palaces of the city
outlined against the morning sky. Her
baby in her arms, Giovanna sat silent,
brooding, dreaming, her older boy at
her knee.

Where was Beppo? She asked herself ^
the question with many a foreboding.
He had not been at home since the day
Ijefore, when he had left her to go to
see somj fine new pictures brought to
Rome Ijy Raphael, — works of which the
whole city was talking. It was not to
be wondered at, thought Giovanna;
there was nothing at home to keep
there a brilliant, beauty-loving fellow
like Beppo. Of course a man could
not live with the things w^hich sufficed
her woman's soul — love and home
and children, and a murmured Rosary
at night.

As she thought, and leaned her head
upon the baby, clasping him close to
her, a gentle sadness stole into her
sweet face, — not the sadness of unrest,
but a chastened resignation, which lent
rare beauty to her countenance.

" Donna .' " said a voice. " I pray you
' move not an inch ! "

And, glancing up, she saw the great
painter standing beside her. In surprise

402

THE AVE MARIA.

her eyes questioned him, but he spoke
again :

"Move not, fair donna, I beseech
you ! Let me picture your face and that
of your sweet boys. I have no canvas,
but here is a cask upturned, its surface
smooth and hard enough to serve.
Long have I sought such a model.
Move not till I have made your
beautiful features live forever. I pray
you let me also picture your boys, for
seldom have I beheld such perfect little
creatures."

Won by the tact of Raphael — what
mother is not pleased at praise of her
children? — the gentle donna posed for
the great artist, quieting her little ones
with loving words until they, too,
were still.

The fire of his genius burning brightly,
Raphael sketched rapidly the graceful
figures, drawing them upon the head of
the cask. And as he sketched, a crowd
drew near, drawn by the presence of
the " sweet painter," as they called him ;
for all Rome loved the Umbrian artist
who had shed lustre upon the Eternal
City herself Eagerly they watched
his work. As with every line there
grew more clearly the likeness of Gio-
vanna's face, expressions of wondering
surprise fell from each lip, and as he
finished cries of admiration burst from
the crowd.

"Behold!" one cried. "'Tis she, the
wife of Beppo ! See the eyes, the mouth,
the hair, the striped scarf, the Roman
coif of many hues ! "

"Her very self!" exclaimed another.
"And the bambino within her arms!
He almost speaks; and see how his
brother looks upon him. 'Tis thus
Beppo gazes upon the little one, surely! "

And as they spoke, with eager glance
and gesture, while Raphael touched
the picture here and there with loving
brush, a figure stole quietly up unseen,
and gazed upon the work and then upon
the model. Truly it was Giovanna!
Yet changed indeed ! What sweet, sad

curves lay about the lips, what holy
brooding in the eyes, what eager
motherliness was in the clasping arms,
as of one to whom all joys had been
denied save those of children's love!
The fair boy who gazed so lovingly
upon his brother, within the picture, —
what devotion he expressed for the
Blessed Bambino who sat enthroned
within His Mother's arms, within
whose far-seeing eyes lay more than
childish wisdom, far more than childish
sadness !

As he gazed, Beppo's heart smote
him. Was it through him that all this
sorrow came, — sorrow which stamped
their faces thus? He leaned a little
forward to gaze again upon his wife;
and one within the crowd espied him,
crying :

" See, Signor Beppo ! Behold the honor
of thy house ! The Signor Raphael has
deemed thy wife fair enough to paint
her likeness. See how he hath made
thy donna !"

Beppo gazed at the picture, then at
the fair face of his wife, as she sat
flushing happily at his return. He
stepped to her side and stooped to
kiss her hand ; then, bowing low to
the painter, he said :

" My donna, nay ! The Signor Raphael
has painted as the angels of heaven,
and made Madonna ! " And his Roman
cap swept low the ground in reverence.

Raphael smiled, well pleased that so
simple a man should so readily read his
picture's meaning; and he answered:

"Of a truth art thou right, friend
Beppo ; for thy lady's face of purest
chastity has served me for the
Madonna's countenance, and thy two
fair boys for the Holy Christ and His
St. John. Take now the picture upon
the cask for thy very own, but give
me leave to come and copy it at my
free will."

Then, as the crowd dispersed, the
painter added :

" And hark you, friend ! Certain

THE AVE MARIA.

403

things have I heard concerniug you.
I advise you stay more at home. Rich
jewels need careful guarding. Methinks
had I a wife so fair, so chaste as thine,
I should bestow upon her a great
largess of devotion, lest others see the
beauty her husband doth neglect.
Methinks I would not like to see within
such tender eyes the sorrow of a
neglected wife."

Beppo hung his head, abashed. Gio-
vauna, admired by the rich and great,
seemed of a sudden priceless in his
eyes. But her little hand slipped into
his ; and, gazing into her eyes, he saw
but wifely constancy as her sweet lips
murmured :

"I love thee, Beppo mio!"

And within his heart he swore a
great oath henceforth to be lover as
well as husband.

From that day success came to the
little house beside the vines. All Rome
flocked to see the sketch of Raphael,
and Beppo worked early and late to
serve his customers within the little
shop. Contentment reigned, and love
lightened labor; and when the Eternal
City rang with the fame of Raphael's
"Madonna of the Chair," Beppo pointed
to his cask, saying, with a proud arm
about his wife, as he gazed fondly at
her happy face:

" Behold, from this it came, the
wonderful picture of Our Lady, — from
ma donna .'"

The word "effigy" originally meant
the "features." In a MS. declaration
by Lord Colerain in 1675, bound up
in "Dugdale's History of St. Paul's
Cathedral," in the library of the Earl
of Oxford, there is an account of the
disinterment of the body of Bishop
Braybrooke, who had been buried
two hundred and fifty years. In this
account the following words occur:
"On the right side of yc cheek there
was flesh and hair visible enough to
give some notice of his effigy ^

College Discipline in Olden Times.

WE lately heard it stated that at
a certain well-known university
the rules formulated are only three —
namely, students shall be present at
registration and on Commencement
day; no one shall set fire to any of
the college buildings ; and no one shall
assault the president or any member of
the faculty. It might be interesting to
compare these up-to-date rules with the
following regulations which obtained
at Harvard College in 1660 :

It is hereby ordered that the president and
fellows of Harvard College have the power to
punish all misdeeds of the young men in their
College. They are to use their best judgment, and
punish by fines or whipping in the hall publicly,
as the nature of the offence shall call for.

No student shall live or Vjoard in the family
or private house of any person in Cambridge
without permission from the president and his
teachers. And if any shall have leave to do so,
yet they shall attend all college exercises both
for religion and schooling.

They shall also be under college rules, and do
as others ought to do. In case any student
shall be and live in town and out of the college
grounds, more than one month or several times,
without permission, he shall afterward be looked
upon as no member of the College.

Former orders have not prevented unnecessary
damage to the College by the roughness and
carelessness of certain of the students. Yet for
their benefit a great amount of money has been
spent on these things.

It is therefore ordered that hereafter all possible
care be taken to prevent such injury to things.
And when any damage shall be found done to
any study room or other room used, the person
or persons living in it shall pay for this.

And when any damage shall be done to any
part of the college building (except by the act
of God), this shall be made good or paid for
by all the students living in the College at the
time when such damage shall be done or found
to be done. This means damage to any empty
room, the college fences, pump, bell, clock, etc.

Biit if the person or persons that did these
things be discovered, he or they shall make
good the damage. He or they shall also be in
danger of further punishment and fines.

If any student shall take any study room for
his use, he shall pay the rent for it for a whole
year, whether he live in it so long or not. He

404

THE AYE MARIA.

shall loe under promise to leave the room in
as good condition as he found it.

Parents are greatly annoyed by reason of
ill -treatment put upon their children when they
first come to College. For the future great care
shall be taken to prevent this same thing.

All doings of this kind shall be severely pun-
ished, by a fine paid by such persons as shall
do so. Or they shall receive bodily punishment,
if it is considei'ed best.

Times have changed since regulations
like these could be enforced. Nowadays
there is a deplorable tendency to sacri-
fice the interest of schools of all grades
to a pernicious ideal — to the whims
of foolish parents and the caprices of
students, a large number of whom
are either incapable of receiving, or
have no desire to receive, education.
Heads of educational institutions are
too weak— they declare that it would
be useless — to oppose public sentiment
on the subject of discipline; they
manage to fill their class-rooms, and the
machinery is kept going; but the able
and industrious have to be sacrificed
to the idle and incapable.

There is no end to specifics for all
educational evils, and no lack of
enthusiasm on the part of reformers.
The force of discipline, however, is
generally ignored by these enthusiasts.
The so-called school strike in Chicago
last summer showed to what extremes
rebellious pupils will go. It showed
furthermore to what extent schools
might be injured by temporizing with
mutinous attendants. It ought to be
plain to educators, of all people, that
if pupils with idle, lazy or vicious
tendencies are not to be restrained, are
not to be controlled by discipline, the
schools will become demoralized. An
eminent English educationist lately
declared that "the overloading of time-
tables has made our schooling of less
value than it was forty years ago."
He might have asserted with equal
confidence that good discipline in
schools is a .sine qua non of any degree
of efficiency.

Ethical Epitaphs.

THE commemorative inscription on
a tomb or other monument over
a grave is a species of composition
which dates back to the Egyptian
sarcophagi. In English and other mod-
ern languages, as well as in Greek and
Latin, this inscription has often been
made a distinct literary form, as may
be seen in the works ■ of Ben Jonson
and Alexander Pope. Among the most
famous of epitaphs in English is that
of Benjamin Franklin, composed by
himself, and treating of its author in
the terms of the printer or bookmaker.
Another, of similar tenure, though not
so well known, is that of a New Hamp-
shire watchmaker who died in 1822.
It runs:

Here lies, in horizontal position, the outside
case of George Ritter, whose abiding place in that
line was an honor to his profession. Integrity
was his mainspring, and prudence the regulator
of all the actions of his life. Humane, generous
and liberal, his hand never stopped till he had
relieved distress. He never went wrong, except
when set agoing by people who did not know
his key. Even then he was easily set right
again. He had the art of dispensing of his time
so well that hi.s hours glided by in one continual
round of pleasure and delight, till an unlucky
minute put an end to his existence; He departed
this life Sept. 11, 1822. His case rests and
moulders and decays beneath the sod, but his
good works will never die.

An epitaph, notable because of the
beauty of its oft -quoted concluding
couplet, is that of Elihu Yale (chief
founder of Yale University), still legible
on his tombstone at Wrexham, in Wales.
Following the dates of his birth and
death are these lines:

Born in America, in Europe bred.
In Africa travelled, and in Asia wed,
Where long he lived and thrived ; at London dead.
Much good, some ill, he did; so hope all's even,
.\nd that his soul through mercy's gone to heaven.
You that survive and read, take care
For this most certain exit to prepare ;
For only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.

THE AYE MARIA.

405

Notes and Remarks.

We noted last week the exceptional
success attendant on this year's German
Catholic Congress, held in Strasburg.
Of still greater interest to the majority
of our readers is the recent German-
American Convention in Cincinnati.
The celebration of the Central Verein's
golden jubilee took on proportions that
made it a notable event in the annals
of the "Queen City"; and the parade,
sixteen . thousand strong, of sterling
Catholics was a magnificent demon-
stration that might well gladden the
hearts of Mgr. Falconio, Archbishop
Moeller, and the half dozen other prel-
ates who witnessed it.

Notable features of the celebration
■were the discourses, not less practical
than eloquent, of Father Bonaventura,
O. P., Bishop McFaul, and Dr. Conde B.
Fallen. The energetic prelate of Trenton,
in particular, made an excellent and
convincing defence of the Federation of
Catholic Societies, effectively disposing
of the various criticisms by which
that movement has been assailed, and
instancing the important work that
it is surely destined to achieve. The
Federation, it is interesting to know,
numbers at present a million and a
half of members. We understand that
one of the subjects discussed, at least
informally, at the Cincinnati conven-
tion was the extension of the Federated
idea all over the Catholic world, —
that is, the union of all the various
Catholic societies of Christendom in
one homogeneous body. Such a union
would clearly be of immense and blessed
potentiality.

excellence and minimize the utility of
our parochial schools, it cites the
published records of such graduates of
these schools as have recently taken
the examination for entrance to the
Chicago Normal School, an institution
which no one will accuse of being unduly
partial to members of the Church. The
records show that of the students of
five Catholic schools, all who took the
examination were successful. "Bear in
mind," says the New World, "that in
these examinations the pupils of those
Catholic institutions were in open com-
petition with the pupils of the public
and high schools of the city of Chicago,
and that the latter can not truthfully
boast such record. They had many
failures. It is a striking victory for the
Catholic school."

Our Chicago contemporary, the New
World, indulges in some moderate and
quite justifiable glorification • of the
Catholic schools in its home city.
Commenting on the tendency of indi-
vidual Catholics to disparage the

So eminent a medical authority as
Sir Andrew Clarke once said: "I am
speaking deliberately. Going the round
of my hospital wards to-day, seven out
of every ten there owed their ill-health
to alcohol. Sometimes I say to myself:
'Shall I not do more for health if I
givd up the practice of medicine and
go about the country to prevent the
vice of intoxicating dtink?'"

These deliberate words of the great
English physician emphasize the fact
that, while progress in temperance
reform has undoubtedly been made
since the days when Father Mathew
began his crusade, the drinking evil
still retains mammoth proportions and
needs to be constantly assailed. The
evil, we learn, has made considerable
headway in India ; and we are glad to
see that Father C. Dias, of Jamnagar,
has organized an effective opposition
thereto. The St. Anne's Temperance
and Total Abstinence Society which
this good priest has established is, so
far as we are aware, unique among
Catholic societies for the promotion
of temperance in this, that one class
of members admitted is composed of

406

THE AVE MARIA.

" adult temperates." These pledge them-
selves simply not to drink without
necessity and not to drink more than
they reasonably require. While such
a pledge may impress some total
abstinence advocates as practically
futile, yet so sane a publicist as Father
Hull, of the Examiner, applauds it as
being entirely rational, — more rational,
indeed, than most other pledges designed
to limit without altogether tabooing
the use of liquor. In the meantime those
of our readers who are genuinely inter-
ested in the spread of total abstinence
will be doing a good work by forward-
ing to Father Dias all the temperance
literature at their disposal.

Anglican controversialists have made
much of the differences or strained
relations which for a time existed
between Cardinals Newman and Man-
ning. Nothing in that regrettable Life
of the latter, in fact, is more frequently
referred to than a certain correspond-
ence between these worthies. One letter
certainly is rather hard to forget, and
it must have been a painful memory to
writer and recipient "when the cloud
was lifted." But, as the Rev. George
Angus points out in some reminiscences
contributed to the London Tablet, there
is no parity between that unpleasant-
ness and the Anglican differences with
which we are all familiar, and for which
so many sad apologies are offered.
Says Father Angus:

Long ago two Apostles, Paul and Barnabas,
fell out, and the contention was so sharp between
them that they parted asunder, and, as far as
we know, did not meet again upon earth. And
what was it all about ? Merely the propriety of
taking John, whose surname was Mark, with
them on a mission. This difference seems a poor
reason for the "parting of friends"; but so it
was, and such things are written for our edifica-
tion. Now, why did Manning and Newman
disagree ? Was it on matters of faith — on the
Roman Primacy, or the Sacraments, or the
position of Mary in the economy of grace, or
purgatory, or the Immaculate Conception, or the
honor due to the saints and servants of God?

No, on no such things. In faith and doctrine
they were one. What they differed about was
a matter of policy. Newman thought that
Catholics might go to Oxford, and wanted to
have a Catholic college there. Manning, on the
other hand, thought that Catholics should not
go to Oxford or Cambridge. In the event, the
Holy See decided against them both. There was
to be no. Catholic college at Oxford, while Cath-
olics were to be allowed to go to the English
universities,— just as Catholics have always gone,
if they pleased, to the Scottish universities. And
in this decision on the part of Rome I have
always rejoiced.

Benedictines and Jesuits have, of course, their
own halls; but ordinary Catholic laymen should,
I have always thought, be allowed, as Rome
allows them, to go to any of the existing colleges
in the universities, and so mix freely with those
with whom they will, possibly and probably,
have to come in contact in after life, when college
days have passed away. I shall be told, of
course, that this endangers faith and morals;
to which I reply that Rome does not seem to
think so ; and, further, that if Catholics are likely
to be blown away when they encounter the
winds of Protestantism, then they must be
somewhat fragile flowers, and also must be very
badly instructed or very poor creatures ; and I
refuse to believe our English Catholic young

men to be either one or the other And as to

difl'erences on a point of policy existing between
two Cardinals, both now "gone to glory," I
see nothing remarkable. Tot homines, quot
sentential, and Cardinals may differ in matters of
opinion just as may other Christians.

Nothing could be more frank than
this explanation of a now famous
disagreement. Whenever a writer like
Father Angus is "tempted to say a
few words," he ought to succumb at
once. We admire and share this vener-
able convert's faith in the Catholic
young men of England ; and we are in
as little dread as he of the winds of
Protestantism. These can work havoc
only among leaves that are ready to
fall, and among flowers that have
already faded.

» • ♦

In view of the fairly wide field of
action that may legitimately occupy
the attention, and give full play to
the energies, of the Women's Christian
Temperance Union of Pittsburg, it is
passing strange, as well as distinctly

>

THE AVE MARIA.

407

regrettable, that the well - meaning
ladies of that organization should make
a bid for the title of busybodies by
taking President Roosevelt to task on
the subject of some beer alleged to have
been presented to that gentleman and
accepted by him with thanks. Mr.
Roosevelt will not, of course, administer
to the W. C. T. U. the rebuke to which
their action in inviting him to "clear
himself of the beer charge" lays them
provokingly open, — but 'tis rather a
pity he won't. These good women need
to be reminded that what would be
inexcusable impropriety in an individual
does not become laudable public duty
in a corporate body, even if that body
is the W. C. T. U. As a matter of fact,
it appears that the beer in question —
a case of the best brewed by a Western
company — was declined by the Presi-
dent ; but, declined or accepted, it
afforded no one save Mr. Roosevelt
himself ground for considering the
matter his — or her — business. This is
another instance in which impracticable
extremists manifest a lamentable lack
of sanity in the matter of riding their
particular hobby.

A recent issue of our Canadian con-
temporary, the Casket, contains an
extended account of the golden jubilee
celebration of St. Francis Xavier's Col-
lege, Antigonish. The commemorative
function was carried out with befitting
pomp and ceremony; and the unqual-
ified success of the execution of every
item on the programme must have
been exceedingly gratifying to the
authorities of the college, and more
especially to its scholarly and venerable
chancellor, the Rt. Reverend Bishop
Cameron. The Casket discriminatingly
remarks that "the diocese of Antigonish
has a body of native clergy surpassed
by no other diocese in the land. With-
out our diocesan college we could not
have had them." We will add that
another glory due, we believe, in very

large measure to St. Francis Xavier's
is the Casket itself. The editors of
that distinctly superior Catholic weekly
have generally, not to say always, been
graduates, if not professors, of the
college; and if their output is a fair
sample of the educative work done in
their Alma Mater, then is that work
exceptionally good.

To a French exchange, Mgr. Fallize,
Vicar Apostolic of Norway, contributes
a very interesting letter dealing with
recent political changes in that Northern
land. Premising that, as ecclesiastical
history shows, the Norwegian people in
Reformation days did not apostatize,
but under foreign rulers were robbed of
their Faith partly by trickery and
partly by violence, the Bishop says that
God has rewarded the fidelitj' with
which during a whole century they
resisted the Reformers, by leaving them
true baptism, and by preserving them
from a multitude of errors professed
by Protestants elsewhere. "Norway
has remained thoroughly Christian,"
declares Mgr. Fallize; "and the public
authorities deem it their honor to be
religious." As an instance in point, he
states that before voting on the recent
resolution dissolving the Norwegian-
Swedish union, the legislators of
Norway, without previous communica-
tion or concert, bowed their heads and
addressed a prayer to Heaven, begging
the King of kings and of nations to
inspire them to vote for the best
interests of their country.

Furthermore, the vote once taken,
the Legislative Chamber addressed to
the Norwegian people a proclamation,
which the Government sent to all
pastors, asking them to read it to their
congregations on Pentecost Sunday,
and invite the faithful to unite their
prayers with those of the Government
and the Chamber to implore the blessing
of God upon Norway in the crisis then
existing. Bishop Fallize declares that

408

THE AVE MARIA

the churches on the appointed day could
hardly hold the crowds, and that the
whole Norwegian nation was prostrate
before the Most High, imploring His
protection. As Mgr. Fallize comments
in conclusion: "In our day a people
that prays is rare enough to merit
special mention."

Commenting upon a discussion occa-
sioned by an Anglican prelate's reference
to the care of the poor by the Catholic
Church, the Birmingham correspondent
of the Church Times remarks :

Through it all runs a general endorsement,
backed by personal experiences, that the churches
of the city, with few exceptions, are practically
closed to the self-respecting poor. Fashion and
furbelows seated in closely preserved pews, with
remote corners reserved for the unwelcome poor ;
the want of sympathy displayed by many of
the clergy and wardens toward people of the
lower orders; and the general absence of tact
and a desire to bridge over the chasm that, it
is freely alleged, exists between the clergy and
the man of small means, are among the chief
reasons advanced to account for the abstention

of the masses from places of worship It is

all very sad; but until the Church of England
as a whole comes to regard the souls of men
as of more account than their worldly position,
and recognizes the paramount importance of
making the church a free and open place of
assembly where definite teaching may be heard
by all who care to come for instruction and
profit, there seems little hope of an efiective
reformation. Under present conditions, as Bishop
Gore truly says, the Church [of England] is to
a very great extent the Church of the well-to-do
classes.

What a reproach,— the Church of the
well-to-do classes! "We don't make
no claims to infallibility or anything of
that sort," an ardent Episcopalian was
once heard to remark; "but there is
one thing nobody can denj' : our church
is the genteelest in town."

The death of Mayor Patrick A.Collins,
of Boston, has closed the career of an
Irish- American Catholic of national,
not to say international, prominence.
The news of his decease will affect very

many Americans^ even outside the large
circle of his friends and acquaintances,
with a sentiment of regret verging
closely upon the sense of a personal
loss. 'Not since Boyle O'Reilly passed
away, has Boston lost a citizen more
generally esteemed, not merely by his
coreligionists but by the city, the State
of Massachusetts, and the nation at
large. And Mr. Collins thoroughly
merited the good - will • and affection
which all classes entertained for him.
He was a virile man, a loyal Catholic —
which is equivalent to saying that he
w^as an excellent American, — and a
politician of whom even his opponents
render the testimony that, "as a party
counsellor and as an administrator
of public business, he made himself
regarded as a straight, clean man."

Brought to this country from Ireland
when only four years of age by his
mother, a poor widow, Mr. Collins'
boj^hood and early youth were devoted
to hard manual labor, varied by private
study that looked to the law as its
objective. At the age of twenty -four,
while yet a student of Harvard Law
School, he was elected a member of the
Massachusetts House of Representa-
tives, and thenceforward took a promi-
nent part in political work. It was
generally' understood that more than
once in later years he declined a Cabinet
office under President Cleveland, from
whom, however, he did accept the
position of Consul-General at London,
1893-97.

It is a truism to declare that a man's
true inwardness is known best to his
neighbors; and most readers will admit
that it would be hard to find a more
honorable tribute to Patrick A. Collins
than the statement made in Boston on
the day of his death,— "that in no city
in the country would it have been so
hard for a man to win the esteem and
affection of all the cliques and classes
of the population, — but Mayor Collins
did." R.I. P.

Some Friends of the Woodland.

BY MARY KELLEY DCNNE.

ERY much of the lone-
liness and dulness of
which country dwellers
complain, and which fur-
nishes the young folks
with an excuse for rush-
ing off to the crowded haunts of men
where all things happen, would cease
to worry them if they would take the
trouble to cultivate the acquaintances
in woodland. The trees, the birds, the
wild flowers, the furry and finny tribes,
of whose existence the average country
boy or girl— or man or woman, for that
matter, — is scarcely vaguely aware, are
apt to be infinitely more interesting
than nine out of ten of the people they
are likely to meet in the citJ^

It is real^ worth while getting on
intimate terms with elms and oaks
and pines and poplars and birches,
and the other members of the tree
family. I take it for granted you
have at least a "calling acquaintance"
with a few of the fruit trees. Trees are
always at home; and they are never
too busy to see you, as human beings
are sometimes; and, once you learn
their language, they always have some-
thing interesting and helpful to tell you.
" How can any one get on intimate
terms with trees ? " I hear a small
sceptic say, rather contemptuously.

Why, just the same as you get on
intimate terms with people: by going
to see them often, and l)y studying
their wa3's, and Ijy being .S3'nij)athetic.
Trees have individualities much as boys
and girls have. If you don't believe it.

go out and see if you can find two trees
just alike. As for family traditions,
trees are the real aristocrats; and you
know we Americans respect aristocrats
so much we're making a brand-new lot
for ourselves. But that's another story.

You ought by all means to get
acquainted with the elms. You may
not be able to cultivate the whole
family — there are about one hundred
and sixty -eight branches,— but you'll
probably find a few representatives of
it along the nearest road or in a
near-by field. Some one has suggested
that if we are to have a national tree
to keep the golden -rod (or whatever
the national flower is) company, we
ought to choose the elm. It might be
handy for our national bird to roost
on; though, come to think of it, the
elm isn't a favorite with the eagle.
The oriole would go better with the
elm. Elms are preferred sites for oriole
homes. When the leaves have fallen
in the autumn, you may see them by
the dozen, hanging from the ends of
branchlets so frail you wonder how
they ever hung on when the summer
gales twisted the great limbs. I have
counted as many as eight or ten of
these deserted homes in a single elm
on a city street.

The elm would be suitable for a
national tree for another reason. There
are more elms mixed up with American
history than you'd believe. Perhaps
you know about the Washington Elm
in Boston, and the Peun Elm in Phila-
delphia, and the Treaty Elm, and a
host of others. If you don't, of course
that's yet another story.

The elm leaf is a simple oval in shape,
about twice as long as it is wide. Its
edges are deeply serrated, or notched,
and irregular. If you were to pick up

410

THE AVE MARIA.

a hundred leaves and examine them
closely, you would find that every one
of them w^as more or less one-sided.
There are always a great many fine
veins laced and interlaced on each side
of the centre rib. In the spring the
leaves are light green; they darken as
the season advances. The trees grow to
an immense height, — immense, that is,
for anything but a giant California
redwood.

The American or white elm has many
great branches which grow upward and
bend over in majestic curves. Very
often these great arms are fringed with
small, leafy boughs, making a thick
mass of leaves, in which the bird homes
are completely hidden. The elms seem to
say: "Don't be foolish and think you
must be rough and course in order to
be strong. Look at us, how beautiftil
and gracefiil we are, yet how sturdy
and strong! We resist the strongest
gales, yet we add much to the beauty
of the landscape."

A good way to begin your acquaint-
ance with trees is by observing their
leaves. The leaves of different trees are
often much alike ; but if you will also
notice the sort of bark, and the way
the branches grow, you will have no
difficulty in recalling the name of your
tree acquaintance at sight. The leaf
of the sour gum somewhat resembles
that of the elm, but it has only one
main rib and a smooth edge. It is also
very tough and thick and shiny, all of
which the elm is not. The leaves of the
sweet gum are sometimes mistaken for
those of the maple. There is really not
so much resemblance, after all. The
sweet gum's leaves have five very
distinct lobes, and grow much more
evenly than those of the maple. Besides,
they are much larger. It is not unusual
to find one six inches long. The fruit
of the sweet gum is very interesting to
boys and girls who know trees. You
will find it on the ground along in
September. It is a prickly brown ball.

about an inch in diameter. It is stiff
and will not bend easily, which always
seems queer, because it appears to be full
of holes. Inside you will find the seeds.

The bark of the gum trees is dark-
colored and deeply ridged. In the South,
where they come from, a sweet, spicy
gum oozes from it. In the Mississippi
bottom lands the gums grow to an
immense height, and are very valuable
for lumber. Up North the trees do not
amount to much, except for shade and
the beauty they add to the landscape.
That's considerable of course, especially
in a city. In the fall the gum trees are
particularly handsome. The sweet gum
turns a gorgeous yellow, while the sour
gum becomes a crimson torch that is
worth going a mile to see.

No doubt most of you have a "bow-
ing acquaintance" with some members
of the maple family. They grow easily,
and are not troubled with caterpillars,
as are the elms and oaks. This makes
them great favorites for shade along
the highways in both city and country.
The bark is smooth and light gray
when the tree is young. As it grows
older, the bark becomes ridged and very
dark; but if you look up among the
branches, you will find them smooth
and light-colored. The red maples are
the most common, probably. Sometimes
they are called swamp maples, or soft
maples, to distinguish them from the
hard maples from which we get our
delicious maple sugar.

They are very beautiful early in the
spring, when they are covered with
little bunchy tassels of red fringe. You
have probably noticed the sidewalks
completely covered with these crimson
maple flowers before the leaves have
begun to show. Later in the summer,
you will see the curious seed pods
hanging in thick clusters underneath
the leaves. The children like to hang
the pods in their ears and make believe
they are earrings. They do look a little
like the long pendants which women

THE AYE MARIA.

411

wore thirty years ago. The swamp
maples are particularly noticeable in
the fall, when they become a mass of
glowing orange.

Then, there is the sweet birch, one
of the first trees boys and girls get
acquainted with in the country. They
like the sweet, spicy taste of the
smooth, brown bark, with small, white
spots on it. The shiny, deep -green
leaves, egg-shaped, and edged with
fine saw teeth, are much like those of
the garden cherry trees. Beeches often
grow among birches, but they are so
different you could not possibly mistake
them for their slim neighbors.

The beech, when it has room, grows
to be a large and graceful tree, almost
twice as tall as the birch. The branches
extend far out, horizontally, or droop-
ing toward the ground. The bark is
light gray, the leaf about the same size
as the birch's. Perhaps you know the
fruit — the small, four-celled, prickly burr
with two three -sided nuts inside.

Then there are the oaks, sturdy,
warrior -looking giants; the chunky,
matronly horse-chestnuts; the magnif-
icent chestnuts, loving the centre of
the stage or the field ; the catalpas and
tulip trees, and a host of others whose
acquaintance you may cultivate any
day you choose to take a walk along
a country road. You'll probably need
a guide at first, and you can't find
a better one than Schuyler Franklin
Mathews' "Familiar Trees and Their
Leaves," which you can get from the
nearest public library.

The "locusts" on which we are told
St. John the Baptist fed were probably
not the insects so called, but the legu-
minous fruit of the carob tree (ceratoaia
siliquia), the dried pods of which are
the "locust beans" sold in the shops
as food for cattle. The carob tree is
sometimes called the honey tree, from
the sweet pulp contained in its pods
while they are fresh.

The Little Hungarians.

BY MRS. MARY E. MAN.NfX.

XXL — Into Mexico.

Steffan took the children to a cheap
lodging-house, from the windows of
which, under the roof, they could have
a fine view of the incomparable bay
and harbor, with the ocean beyond,
stretching far away to the horizon.
The purity of the atmosphere, the
blueness of the sky, the shimmer of
the lapping waves in the distance,
enchanted Louis and Rose. But they
did not go out until evening, when
Steffan took them to have dinner
in a dirty restaurant close to the
wharves. They were, however, accus-
tomed to such things; and ate and
drank mechanically, without observing
the soiled oilcloth on the table, or the
fly -specked walls.

When they came out the band was
playing on the Plaza. They followed
the sound of the music, and soon found
themselves seated on the curbstone,
watching the throngs of people walking
about or filling the benches scattered
under the palm trees.

"This makes me think a little of the
Square, Rose," said Louis, after they
had sat in silence for some time. " True,
there is no fountain; but that house
opposite is something like one that
faces the Square at home. Don't you
think so?"

"Yes, a little; but everything is so
different! Here the people are well
dressed, and there they were all poor
Hungarians."

"That makes it much pleasanter,"
said Louis.

" I hope we won't have to play here,"
rejoined Rose, in a low voice.

"I don't think it is likely," said her
brother. "Steffan will be afraid, — we
might be arrested."

412

THE AVE MARIA

After a while Steflfan, who had been
talking to a man at a short distance
from the children, came toward them.
Juan Carisso had left them on the
arrival of the train, saying that he
had met on the trip a ranchero who
w^anted some one to work for him,
and that they would go down to
Ti Juana together.

"This man says," began Steffan,
indicating his new friend, who was a
swarthy individual, — "this man says
there will be a grand bullfight at
Ti Juana on Sunday. He is one of
the projectors. He invites us to accom-
pany him to-morrow morning, at his
expense; and when we get there, he is
sure there will be lots of money for us."

"Did you ask him about Florian?"
questioned Louis, who thought con-
tinually of his brother.

"No, of course I did not," answered
Steifan, angrily. "Would I be such a
fool as to begin the first moment the
fellow made a proposition to me, and
tell him I had a son in jail down there ?
He thinks you kids belong to me; and
I want to tell you to go very slow in
asking questions of folks about that
brother of yours. The Mexicans are
very suspicious, and might take us for
a lot of spies. Just hold your tongues
and be patient, and you'll find him all
right. But first you've got to worm
yourselves into the affections of those
people, who are very kind and hospi-
table, if they are suspicious. Once they
like and trust you, they'll do anything
for you. And I've often heard that with
music you can walk right through their
hearts and souls."

Louis did not reply, and the Mexican
stepped nearer.

" Mr. Momio, these are my little kids.
They can beat that band out there all
to pieces playing music."

" My name is Moreno," he said. " I'm
pleased to know them. The people
will be glad to hear the music. You will
make money if you come down."

"Well, Mr. Moromo— "

"Moreno !" corrected the Mexican.

"Mr. Morion—"

" Moreno, Agostino Moreno!" again
interrupted the stranger. " Moreno
means Brown in English."

"Then I'll just call you Brown,"
said Steffan. "It's so much easier. To
go on, Mr. Brown, these children are
very talented ; and I'm sure that, in
the atmosphere of your orange groves
and flowery courtyards and tinkling
fountains, they will do the best they
know how, — though they always do
that."

Moreno looked perplexed at this
speech, but said nothing.

"In the morning, then, I will come
round," he observed. "The train leaves
at 9.10. In two hours we shall be there.
In the evening there can be music ; and
the next day the bullfight, when many
people come from Los Angeles, and
hundreds of miles around, to see the
grand sight. Two bulls will be killed."

"I understand one of your fighters is
from Spain," said Stefifan. "It was in
the papers."

"Oh, yes, — a champion! The other
two, quite famous, are from the city
of Mexico."

"I'm sure that will be a fine sight.
I have always wanted to see a bullfight.
Think of it, children!" he continued,
placing a caressing hand on the head
of each. "To-morrow, at this time,
you will be upon the beautiful soil of
Mexico, famous for brave men, beautiful
women, and the witchery of music
and song. To-morrow, at this time,
if you are not in bed and asleep, you
will be listening to the gay tinkle of
guitars played under the windows of
the lovely senoritas."

Moreno smiled, Louis thought a little
scor»fully; but the boy did not speak.
He feared Steffan had been drinking,
which was the case. Then Moreno
went away, and they returned to the
lodging-house.

THE AVE MARIA.

413

Next morning Louis asked Steffan if
he would not buy them some necessary
articles of clothing.

"Here," he exclaimed, "when in a
few hours we can attire ourselves in
the picturesque garments of Mexico ?
That would be double trouble and
expense."

"Mr. Moreno was dressed just as
you are," said Louis.

"Yes, but below the line you will
see that he attires himself like the
others," replied Steflfan.

"If we only had two or three band-
kerchiefs even!" pleaded Rose.

"Well, I don't mind that," was the
response. "There is a place right here
where we can buy them."

On their way from breakfast, Steffan
entered a cheap department store and
asked to see some children's handker-
chiefs. He was at once attracted by
some gayly pictured squares, over the
surface of which were scattered highly
colored Indians in every stage of battle.
He purchased half a dozen of these for
twenty-five cents, and presented them
to the children, who quickly put them
out of sight.

"After they are washed we can use
them, Louis," said Rose, as she tucked
hers away in her pocket. "Some day
I'll wash them. I know they will fade,
and then we can use them."

Moreno was waiting for them at the
lodging-house. The depot was not far
distant. In a few moments they were
again en route. After about two hours
had passed, Moreno said :

"Now we will be there in five minutes.
Over yonder is Ti Juana."

The children looked out of the car
windows, but could see nothing except
a forlorn and solitary platform, with
a house close by, and beyond it a
few other houses, poor, "mean, and
scattered.

"It is a very small place," remarked
Louis, in a tone of disappointment.

"Yes, it is," answered Moreno. "But

this is the American side. The Mexican
town is larger."

The children's spirits rose again.
Steffan also had been quite chagrined
at the contrast between the reality and
what he had pictured to himself.

Presently the train stopped. They
left the car, and Moreno led them to
a dilapidated stage, into which a crowd
of tourists were pouring, following the
lead ot a "personal conductor."

"You go in this over to the Mexican
side," said Moreno to the children.
"Your father and I will walk."

The stage started, stopping in less
than five minutes, in order that the
tourists might be shown the dividing
line between the United States domin-
ions and those of Mexico, marked by a
granite shaft enclosed in an iron fence.
Then they pursued their way through
shifting sand and dust, with many an
upward heave and downward jolt;
and in a short time the stage stopped
once more to let off" the visitors, who
scattered among several very attractive
curio stores in that otherwise most
unattractive town, consisting of a few
miserable buildings, over the doors of
most of which was inscribed the word
"Saloon," in English and Si)anish.

There was not one inviting prospect
to greet the eye, though later on the
children discovered some pretty little
places with neatly kept gardens. The
dust was ankle-deep, the sun scorching.
The children stood sorrowfully at the
corner where the stage had stopped,
wondering what had become of Steff"an.
In a moment they saw him coming
out of a saloon, accompanied by Mr.
Moreno. He was wiping his lips on
his sleeve. They had taken a short
cut over the fields, and arrived before
the stage.

Steffan came over to them at once.

"Well, if this isn't a sell!" he cried.
"This is the most God -forsaken spot
we've struck yet. Nothing but shacks
and dust and saloons, and hogs

414

THE AYE MARIA.

grunting along the road! Where are
your marble courtyards, your beautiful
gardens, your jaunty caballeros?"

Moreno shrugged his shoulders.

"In your fancy, seiior, they must be,"
he replied. "I have told you of none —
at Ti Juana."

"But, I imagined — " began Steffan.

"I am not responsible for that,"
said Moreno. "This is like nearly all
frontier, towns, — a mere business place
for the customs. We do not even call
it Mexico. But I tell you that in
Mexico proper — at Guadalajara and
Chihuahua and in the capital — you will
find all these things. I have lived there,
and I know."

"Those are some of your caballeros,
I suppose?" rejoined Steffan, sweeping
the place with his glance, while his
e3'es rested for a moment on several
swarthy, stalwart forms leaning idly
against the doorposts of their dwell-
ings. "And the dark-eyed senoritas, —
I have not seen any of them."

"We have them," replied Moreno,
dryly. " But we do not send them forth
to display themselves before strangers.
They are busy in their houses, with
their mothers. And as for our caballeros,
at whom you sneer, — seiior, there is
not a man in the town who can not
tame the most fiery horse, or sit in the
saddle as if he were born there. And I
say to you, senor, just now, that if you
do not like to stay here with your chil-
dren, the train returns to San Diego in
an hour. And I say, besides, that when
we Mexicans go up to your city, we
may sometimes see things that do not
please us; but if so, either we keep
silent or talk only among ourselves.
We have at least the good manners
not to abuse American things to an
American."

" Tut, tut. Brown ! Don't get huffed,"
said Steffan. "7 am not an American :
I am a Hungarian, a foreigner, like
yourself I may have been a little bit
hasty, but I didn't mean anything.

I'll mind my business after this; and
be glad to stay, if there's money in it.
That is what I'm after."

"Yes, we want to stay," said Louis,
anxiously. "To-morrow there will be
a good many people here."

"You bet there will!" returned
Moreno. "You will not be sorry. But
come now to dinner, and I beg pardon
if I too have been a little hasty,
Seiior Steffan."

"It's all right, —it's all right!"
replied Steffan, condescendingly, as they
followed Moreno to the vine -covered
veranda of the hotel, where they were
neatly and deftly served by one of the
"dark-eyed setioritas" Steffan had been
so anxious to see, and enjoyed their first
Spanish dinner very much, although
chile and tomatoes seemed to be the
foundation of every dish.

"And now," said Steffan, when they
had finished, "I'd like you to show me
where I can buy something for these
kids to w^ear."

( To be continued. )

An Ancient Coin.

This was the name of an ancient
English coin, originally of the value of
6s. 8c/. ; but for a long period its value
was 10s. The coin was so called from
its obverse bearing the figure of the
Archangel Michael overcoming the
dragon. An old verse in which its name
appears is a very convenient "ready
reckoner"; it runs thus:

Compute but the pence

Of one day's expense,
So many pounds, angels, groats, and pence,
Are spent in one whole year's circumference.

So that if a penny a day be spent, the
amount at the end of the year will be
equal to one pound, one angel, one
groat, and one penny, or 1/. 10s. 5d.
Twopence a day is equal to two pounds,
two angels, two groats, and two
pennies, or 31. Os. lOd., and so on.

THE AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

415

— A new volume of "Literary Essays" by
Augustine Birrell is announced for publication
this month.

—A critical edition of the English works of
Blessed Thomas More is announced. Mr. D. S
O'Connor and Mr. Joseph Delcourt are already
at work on it.

— Among the books which Messrs. Isaac Pit-
man & Sons have in press is a new novel by
Father Benson, author of "By What Authority,"
etc., entitled "The King's Achievement." It is an
historical romance of the reign of Henry VIII.,
and introduces many well-known personages.

— We welcome another new book from the ever-
industrious pen of Mr. Percy Fitzgerald — "The
Life of Charles Dickens as Kevealetl in His Writ-
ings." Portraits and facsimiles enhance the value
and interest of the work. Mr. Fitzgerald is almost
the last, we believe, of those who were numbered
among the friends and associates of Dickens.

— From G. P. Putnam's Sons there has come
to us " Man and the Incarnation," by Samuel J.
Andrews, a non- Catholic theologian. The intro-
duction states that "this book is written for
those only who believe that Jesus Christ is the In-
carnate Son of God, very God and very Man...";
and in so far as it may help to preserve in many
of those outside the true Church an abiding faith
in Christ's Divinity, now so commonly denied,
we may wish it Godspeed. The fact that in
neither table of contents, index, nor the 300 pages
of the book proper (rather more than cursorily
examined) have we been able to find a single
reference to Mary, the Mother of Jesus, is a
sufficient indication that the volume is not one
for profitable Catholic reading.

—In a controversial pamphlet entitled "Bishop
Gore and the Catholic Claims," Dom John
Chapman, O. S. B., deals, chapter by chapter,
with "Roman Catholic Claims," a book first
published some sixteen years ago by the Rt. Rev.
Charles Gore, recently enthroned as bishop of
the new Anglican See of Birmingham. Dr. Gore's
appointment to that See synchronized with the
appearance of a sixpenny edition of his con-
troversial treatise, and this circumstance Dom
Chapman rightly regarded as a challenge which it
behooved some one on the Catholic side to accept.
Readers of the pamphlet in reply to Dr. Gore will
\x thankful that the latter's glove, somewhat
ostentatiously thrown down, has been picked up
by a knight so thoroughly equipped for the onset
as is the scholarly Benedictine, himself a convert
from Anglicanism. Kindly in tone, temperate
throughout, and uniformly courteous, the reply

is nevertheless a triumphant vindication of the
Catholic position on all the points assailed.
The doughty champion of Anglicanism, jauntily
riding with couched lance into the polemic lists,
has been rather ignoininiously unhorsed ; and
whether or not he and his friends recognize
the fact, impartial spectators of the joust will
proclaim him "down and out." Longmans,
Green & Co.

— A noteworthy rarity soon to be sold by
auction in Philadelphia is a piece of music entitled
"The Battle of Trenton, a Sonata for the Piano-
Forte," dedicated to General Washington, and
printed in New York by James Hewitt. The outer
sheet contains a portrait on copper of Washing-
ton, the only one known to exist, and doubly
interesting from the fact that it once belonged
to Washington himself.

— In a laudatory notice of Father de Zulueta's
"Letters on Christian Doctrine," the excellent
handbook of Catholic belief and practice recently
noticed in these columns, the Irish Monthly has
this comment: "The foreign look of the writer's
name might give one a wrong impression. In
England the owners of foreign names are often
thoroughly naturalized, as we see in the Bishops
of Salford and Southwark in one department and
Dante Rossetti in another."

— It is altogether too soon for publishers to
announce the "in.side history of the peace con-
ference between Russia and Japan"; however,
some fresh information concerning the workings
of this great conference is given in the current
Harper's Weekly by Dr. E. J. Dillon, St. Peters-
burg correspondent of the London Daily Tele-
graph, who stands in close relations with the
Russian diplomats. Neither the Russians nor the
Japanese, writes Dr. Dillon, really desired to end
the war. Wittd was sent on his mission by the
bureaucracy with the idea that his expected
failure would ruin his career; and the Japanese
were made to feel that they were going through
a set of mere formalities. The wholly uncx])ected
result of the deliberations was as surprising to
the Russian envoys as it was bitterly disap-
pointing to the great mass of the Japanese
people.

— One of the best abused men
States is Mr. Anthony Comstocki
for the Suppression of Vice. He lij
than is publicly known for. the
has so much at heart. Bw not
discourages him — misreprcsenlatior
position, insults, tlircats, pcrsioiud
has uncomplainingly endured this for long years,

416

THE AYE MARIA.

sustained by the co-operation of men who appre-
ciate his services, and encouraged to continue
his laborious work by its far-reaching beneficial
results. It- is always gratifying to hear of an
advantage gained by this strenuous, ever -alert
opponent of immoral literature. The following
paragraph is from a New York newspaper which
at times has manifested a decidedly unsympa-
thetic attitude toward Mr. Comstock:

The picture post card craze has inspired some of the
publishers of Continental Kurope, with u business instinct
uncurbed by moral considerations, to make a strong effort
to flood the United States with cards that are popular with
a certain class abroad. Anthony Comstock, of the Society
for the Suppression of Vice, said yesterday that he had put
a stop to much of this sort of traflie by working against
the foreign publisher in his ownciiy. Recently a publisher
in Amsterdam was suspected of supplying dealers here. Mr.
Comstock, using another name and pretending to be a
dealer, wrote to the publisher for a lot of cards, and got
them. Then he put the case before the State Department,
which notified the American Minister to Holland, who
informed the Dutch authorities that the publisher was
violating the American postal and other laws. The
publisher was invited to leave Holland. He did so, but
took his business with him and continued it at Budapest.
From there he sent word of his change of base to
Comstock, supposing him to be a dealer in improper
pictures and not knowing that it was Mr. Comstock
that had got him into trouble. The American Minister
to Austria- Hungary was notified, and the publisher was
orced out of Budapest.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catliolic readers. The latest books will
appear at the bead, older ones being dropped out
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
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HENCEFORTH ALL GENEDATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUW, I., 4S.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, SEPTEMBER 30, 1905.

NO. 14.

[Published every Satuiday. Copyright : Rev. D. E. Hudson, C.S.C]

En Voyage.

BY ELMER MUKPHV.

C UNSET and sea and the night again!

The call of the land afar !
Now do they lay them down once more

Where the hills and the valleys are.

Now do they lay them down to sleep
'Twixt the tides of the circling sea.

I wonder, in ail the dreams they dream,
Is there ever a thought of me?

Nothing to keep them kin of mine,
To bridge the void that bars

Our parted ways, save the stars above,
And Him above the stars.

Youthful Devotion to Our Lady.
As Practised DnRixG the Ages of Faith.

BY MARIA.N .NESBITT.

EVOTION to Our Lady is
like a finely cut diamond,
of which the many facets
give forth rainbow gleams
of exquisite and sometimes
startling brilliance. Perhaps one of the
brightest and most striking examples
shines out in the unfailing and scrupu-
lous assiduity with which this devotion
was inculcated by parents during the
Ages of Faith. If we take the trouble
to glance back into the far -distant
past, we shall see that in childhood,
boyhood, and youth, a high, chivalrous
love, and a deep, tender reverence for

Mary, God's " purest of creatures,"
were strenuously advocated and widely
practised.

"British children," we are told by one
who has given much studious thought
to this subject, "were carefully trained
up in the love of Our Ladye." The
great St. Dunstan, whilst yet "a fair
diminutive boy," was sent to the
ancient Abbey of Glastonbury, in order
there to dedicate himself "to the service
of God, and of Blessed Marye, Mother
of God." (Act S. S. p. 348.)

Before giving details, however, atten-
tion must be drawn to the fact
that, from the earliest days of Chris-
tianity, the name of our Blessed Lady
has been held in the greatest honor;
although, curiously enough, says a
reliable authority, "this veneration has
differed widely in its expression in
different ages." At one time the name
of Mary was refused even to queens ;
at another, it was found in almost
every family. But it is sufficiently evi-
dent that many centuries elapsed before
the name was habitually conferred or
borne, and this out of reverence for
her whose immaculate purity raised
her to the dignity of Mother of God.

The Irish carried their reverence for
the holy name of Mary to quite a
remarkable length. Influenced, in early
ages, by profound sentiments of humility
and respect, they never assumed the
name of the Blessed Virgin, or indeed
of the saints ; instead, they adopted the
pVefix of Mael, or Maol, so common
in Irish names, which signifies servant.

418

THE AVE MARIA.

Thus, Maelisa means servant of Jesus ;
Maelmuire, servant of Mary ; Mael
Padraic, servant of Patrick. Maelmuire
was borne indiscriminately either by
men or women ; and, as a proof of the
antiquity of this charming and pious
custom, we quote at random two out
of many such instances. Maelmuire,
son of Flannagan, Lord of Feara-Li,
died A. D. 893. Maelmuire, daughter
of Nial, son of Aedh, died A. D. 964.*

A curious survival of another prefix —
that, namely, of Giolla, or Gilla ( a
servant), — is to be found in the sur-
names of Gilchrist and Gilmurray;
meaning, it is scarcely necessary to
state, servant of Christ and servant of
Mary. The name Gilmurray is doubt-
less a modern form of the ancient
Gillamuire; for we read that in A. D.
1159 Gillamuire, an anchorite, of Ard-
macha, died; and a century earlier we
find mention of one Gillmuire, who was
killed in the year 1018. Need we add
that the term "gilly," is derived from
this prefix?

At what period the name of Mary
came into habitual use, it is impossible
to fix with any degree of certitude. One
writer — Edmund Waterton, F. S. A.,—
says that he "does not remember to
have found an instance of it in the
Saxon chronicle, or the Codex." Stowe,
however, when speaking of the founda-
tion of St. Marye Overy, over the Rie
(i. e., over or across the river), now
St. Saviour's, Southwark, mentions an
Anglo-Saxon maiden called Marye, who
owned a ferryboat — or traverse-ferry,
as he calls it, — close to where London
Bridge stands to-day. This maiden,
"with the goods left by her parents,
as also with the profits rising out
of the said ferry, builded a house of

* The full beauty of this unique and happy
combination can not be given by any translation ;
nor would it be easy to guess that the name of
the celebrated monk of Ratisbon, known under
the Latinized form of Marianus Scotus, was in
reality Maelmuire; yet such, a learned authority
tells us, was actually the case.

sisters, in place whereof now standeth
the east part of St. Marye Overy
church, above the choir where she was
buried, into which house she gave the
oversight and profits of the ferry."

Reginald of Durham, in his life of
St. Godric, makes mention of a curious
fact. He tells us that a certain maiden
called Juliana, who had been miracu-
lously cured at the tomb of the saint,
thereafter changed her name to that of
Mary. * The record of this change of
name would appear to imply that the
girl, who had been chosen by God for
the manifestation of His divine power,
was henceforward considered worthy
to bear the sweet name of Christ's
most Holy Mother.

A word must be said here about the
form of addressing the Blessed Virgin in
use amongst different nations. The title
"Our Lady," with which we are all so
familiar, is found constantly and contin-
ually in the writings of the Fathers of
the Greek and Latin Church, even from
the earliest ages; and, with the excep-
tion of Ireland, it has been adopted by
practically^ every Catholic nation.

The Anglo-Saxons called Mary,
Immaculate ure Lavedi ; the Normans,
Our Lady St. Mary; the French, Notre
Dame; the Germans, unsere Hebe Frait.
So, too, we find Nostra Donna, Nnesira
Senora ; and, in old Catalan, Madona
Sancta Maria. In Spain, children often
receive the name of the feasts of
our Blessed Lady, such as Anunciada,
Dolores, Rosaria ; whilst to this day
in Paraguay we meet with Loreto,
Immacolata, and the like. The Anglo-
Saxons also called the Blessed Mary
Queen of the Whole World, f The Irish
invoked her as "Lady or Mistress of
the Tribes. "t By a decree of the Diet
in 1655, under John Casimir, the "Queen

* See Libellus de Vita S. Godrici, p. 4;iS,
Su rtees-Socie ty .

f Aelfric's Homilies.

t See the Leabhar Mor, now called Leabhar
Brae, f 121, in the Library of the Royal Irish
Academy.

THE AVE MARIA.

419

of Heaven" was proclaimed "(Jueen of
Poland." From that time onward the
Poles have continued to invoke her
in the Litany thus: Regina Cceli et
Poloaix. *

It has been suggested that the reason
why Erin, the Island of Saints, did not
adopt the title of "Our Lady" — an
appellation almost universal in Chris-
tian countries — was because of the
facility afforded by the rich and beautiful
Irish language •" for the use of terms
which to other nations would be impos-
sible without the sacrifice of elegance
and euphony." This explanation seems
by no means improbable, seeing how
many and varied are the Celtic turns
of expression. To come, however, to
the instructions given in childhood and
boyhood.

From what we find in old books
and manuals on this subject, it is
abundantly evident that, after the God
who made them, and the Saviour who
redeemed them, children were taught
to love and honor Mary, the "Virgin
bright," — that tenderest of tender
mothers, whom they early learned to
recognize as their gentle advocate with
her Divine Son.

It is said in the Icelandic Saga, or
the story of Archbishop Thomas, the
"Blissful Martyr" of Canterburj', that
he grew up in London, "obedient to
father and to mother, pleasing and
gentle toward every man, bright and
blithe of visage, and of a turn of
countenance, as it seemed to wise men,
that the sweetness of God's grace was
clearly seen in him." His mother, Maild,
true type of the devout women of her
day, weighed her boy each year on his
birthday, against money, clothes, and
provisions, which she gave to the poor.
She was, moreover, "both wise and
willing to give counsels to him. Con-
cerning these counsels, there is this
amongst other matters to be read, that

• Montak-iiibcrt, iKuvres, t. iv, p. 245. Paris,
1860.

she taught him to adore and reverence
the Blessed Maiden, God's Mothei
Mary, beyond all other saints, and to
select her as the wisest . guide of his
life and of all his ways."

Children were taught the "Hail
Mary," together with the Pater Noster
and Creed, as we see from the "In-
structions for Parish Priests."* And it
is interesting to note that an ancient
font at Bradley, in Lincolnshire, bears
the inscription: "Pater Noster, Ave
Maria, and Crede, leren ye chjlde et
es nede." This plainly indicates and
inculcates an accepted custom. Again
we read: "Godfaders and godmod's of
this chylde, we charge you that ye
charge the fader and moder to kepe it
from fyer and water, and other perils
to the age of VII yere; and that ye
leme, or see it be lemed, the Pater
Noster, Ave, and Crede."

In a most interesting old work, en-
titled "The Boke of Curtesay," printed
by Caxton about the year 1477-8,
Lytyl John is admonished to "worshipe
God" on rising in the morning; and
the quaint rhyme further adds:

With Chryste's Crosse loke ye blesse you thrise,
Your Pater Noster saye in devoute wise,
.4ve Maria with the holy Crede;
Thenne alle the day the better shal ye spede.

After their prayers, the next lesson
children were taught was that of
courtesy, in which, says the author of
the "Lytylle Children's Lytyl Boke,"
writing about 1480, "alle vertues ame
closide," seeing that "courtesy from
hevyn come —

When Gabryelle Our Lady grette,
And Elizabeth with Mary mette."t

It would appear, moreover, that the
Office of the Blessed Virgin was a devo-
tion which English children were urged
to practise as soon as they could read.
We have already seen how Lytyl John
was instructed with regard to his
morning prayers; and, later on, in the

* Written by John Myrc, about the year 1450.
t See Babies' Book. Early English Text Society.

420

THE AVE MARIA

same book, he is told to say Our Lady's
Hours " withouten drede," and to "use
this observance every day."

At CathoHc Eton, the statutes pre-
scribed that all the choristers, after the
Matins and Prime of the daj', should
recite the Hours of Our Lady according
to the use and ordinal of Sarum ; the
scholars also were expected to recite
the Matins of Our Lady before going
into school; and in the evening, before
leaving, they were to sing an antiphon
of Our Lady, with the Ave Maria and a
collect. After Vespers (of the B.V. M.),
which were said before supper, the
choristers and scholars, in surplices, had
to recite, every day excepting Maundy
Thursday and Good Friday, a Pater
Noster on their knees before the crucifix,
and then, rising, to sing the Salve
Regina before the image of Our Lady.
Ere retiring to rest, "at the first peal
of the curfew bell," more psalms,
prayers, the entire hymn, Salvator
Mundi Dotnine, and another antiphon
"were said. Besides the above devotions —
strange contrast, indeed, to the few
religious exercises practised in our
great English public schools at the
present day, — the whole Psalter of
Our Lady was recited.

At Winchester — which, it need scarcely
be added, was founded by that learned
man and devout client of Mary, William
of Wykeham, — either the Stella Coeli
(an antiphon given in all the editions
of the well-known "Libellus Precum")
or the Salve Regina was always sung
in the evening; and "the prior's charity
boys in like manner sang an evening
antiphon of Our Lady, together with
the De Profandis."

As Henrj^ VI. founded his public school
at Eton wholly upon the plan of
Wykeham, whose statutes he tran-
scribed without any material altera-
tion, it is evident that the scholars at
Winchester were not less assiduous in
their prayers and Offices ; for Eton was,
so to say, the daughter of Winchester,

and its royal founder took the greatest
personal interest in his pious work,
going five times to Winchester in order
that, in the words of the Protestant
historian, "he might more nearly inspect
and personally examine the laws, the
spirit, the success, and good effects of
an institution which he proposed to
himself as a model."

William of Wykeham dedicated his
college to our Blessed Lady, whose
statue yet stands in a niche over the
principal gate; and it is interesting to
note that the old Catholic custom of
raising their caps as the^- passed Our
Lady was observed by the scholars
until a comparatively recent date.

Our Lady of Eton is also frequently
mentioned. In the expenses of Elizabeth
of York, under the date "March 24,
1502 : Offering to Our Lady of Eton,
XX cf." It is interesting to see that this
offering was made on the eve of Our
Lady's Annunciation. Again, in the
accounts of the Duke of Buckingham,
April 14, 1521, this entry occurs: "To
Our Ladye of Eyton, near Windsor,
6s. 8d."

But if devotion to Mary w^as incul-
cated and religiously practised in big
schools like Winchester and Eton, not
less did it grow and flourish in the
universities. In the statutes of Mag-
dalen College, Oxford, founded by Bishop
Wayneflete, we read the following
regulation concerning the antiphon of
Our Lady: "Our pleasure is that on
every Saturday throughout the year,
and on all the eves of the feasts of the
Blessed Virgin Marye, after Compline,
all and each of the said Fellows and
scholars and ministers of our chapel do
devoutly perform among themselves in
the common hall, by note, an antiphon
of the said glorious Virgin."

Again, after instructions as to the
saj'ing^nd hearing of daily Mass, there
is a very definite statement in respect
to the recitation of the third part of
the Psalter or Rosary, by the presi-

THE AVE MARIA.

421

dent and each of the Fellows, who are
ordered to say every day, "in honor
and remembrance of the Most Blessed
Virgin Mother of our Lord Jesus Christ,
with all possible devotion, on their
bended knees, fifty times over the
Angelical Salutation, together with the
Lord's Prayer after every ten rehearsals
of the Salutation aforesaid."

The statutes of King's College,
Cambridge, founded by Henry VL, are
not less exact on this point. Besides
the Divine Office, the Hours of the
Blessed Virgin were to be said "every
day, at proper appointed times"; and
"on each and every day of the year,
in the evening, the Provost, or, in
his absence, the Vice - Provost, all the
choristers present at our Royal College,
together with the choir-master, shall
come to the church, and therein with
lighted candles, and arrayed in surplices,
shall sing before the image of the
Blessed Virgin, solemnly, and in the best
manner they know, an antiphon of our
Blessed Ladye, with the verse AveAIaria
and a prayer."

In schools and colleges, the same
grace before and after meals as is now
said with us was recited, but with the
addition of an antiphon of Our Lady. *

It is pleasant to picture the Oxford
student of bygone days sitting in his
"poure scholer's room," amidst "bokes
gret and smale," and making —
On night's melodic
So svveteley, that all the chjimbre rong
Whilst Angelas ad Virginetn he song.

All that might be said on this inter-
esting subject would far exceed the
limits of one short article; but the
few examples given above will at least
suffice to prove that our Catholic
forefathers held Mary Immaculate ever
before the eyes of their children, repre-
senting her, as in truth she is, as the
tenderest of mothers, the true Morning
Star of boyhood and of youth.

* Sec Early English Meals and Manners.
Edited by F. J. Purnevall, M. A.

Katrina and the Baby.

BY MARY CATHERINE CROWLEY.

? T was a hot day in August. The
■> j sergeant of New York Police Station

>{ No. sat at his desk checking off

* the names of inebriates, disorderlies,
and petty criminals, on the long daily
list that lay before him.

"If you please, sir — "

He scarcely heard the timid words
or was aware that some one stood
outside the railing.

" If you please, sir, I want that you
have my husband arrested."

The tone was louder and the voice
more resolute.

The sergeant looked up from the
record of miserable "cases already sent
on," and inquired sharply:

"Well, what is the trouble?"

Confronting him stood a young
woman, blue -eyed and round-faced,
unmistakably a daughter of " the
Fatherland." No hat or bonnet covered
her smoothly parted yellow hair, which,
wound in a heavy braid about her
head, shone like silk; her sleeves were
rolled up; she was in her workaday
attire, and had evidently run over in
haste to the station. But her dark
print gown was trim and neat, and
there was a wholesome freshness about
her which suggested a liberal acquaint-
ance with soap and water.

Shining too, as after a vigorous
washing with soapsuds, was the face
of the year-old baby she carried in her
arms, — a smiling, dimpled, pink-cheeked
little creature, the image of what the
mother must have been at the same age.

The brows of the sergeant unbent.
The girl — for she was only a girl in
age — and the child made a picture
very different from those that usually
p/isscd before him in the precinct's
living biograph of wretchedness and
sin. Familiar as he was with the

422

THE AVE MARIA.

aspect of painted and tawdry misery,
he thought of the country and of breezes
blowing over fields of new-mown hay,
as his keen glance rested upon the
young wife who so sturdily invoked
the power of the law.

"What is the trouble?" he repeated,
twirling his pencil.

At this moment the baby, stretching
out a tiny hand to him, uttered a
sociable "Goo-goo," and shrieked with
delight when he smiled.

The mother took courage to tell her
story.

" My Fritz, he his evenings at the
saloon spends; he good wages earns;
his meals I must cook, yet he gives me
no money. All the time he is cross ;
he no longer takes notice of his baby
and me. Is it not that he must be kind
with us?"

"Ah, I see! Non- support. What is
his name?"

"He is Fritz Siebert, I am Katrina,
and the baby is just das kleineKatcben/'

"Katrina, he shall be promptly
brought into court. But think a
moment. You may be sorry when it is
too late. Your husband can be required
to take care of you ; but as to ' being
kind,' I am afraid no tribunal in the
land can compass that. And if you take
this step, will it bring you any nearer
to your wish?"

The sergeant had seen so many homes
wrecked by sullen anger on one side
and spite on the other, that, whenever
possible, he strove to pour oil on the
surging waters of domestic strife.

" My Fritz will not heed what I saj^
I no more patience have. Let him then
heed what the law says," persisted
Katrina, placidly.

"Oh, very well, very well! "

The precinct's representative of the
city's authority over its citizens wrote
down the name and the address which
she gave. The baby gurgled and patted
its rosy hands together. Hushing the
child, Katrina turned abruptly, and, as if

fearful lest her resolution might desert
her, walked quickly out of the station.

Thus it happened that a few days
later Fritz Siebert was summoned
before the judge of the District Court,
to answer his wife's charge against him.
In the courtroom sat Katrina, now
dressed in her best, — a neat black skirt
and white shirt-waist, with a blue
ribbon around her neck, and her pretty
hair crowned by a glory of red roses
apparently growing out of a mass of
cheap blacTt lace.

The baby was resplendent in bright
blue, with a little white Dutch cap. The
strings of the cap being untied, das
kleine Katchen coquettishly pulled it
down over one of her small ears, in
an infantile attempt to attract the
attention of an officer of the court
whose gilt buttons caught her feminine
admiration.

Katrina had her will. Fritz was here
to account to the law for his neglect
of her. Yet, as she looked across the
room at him while they sat awaiting a
hearing of the case, her air was neither
triumphant nor happ\' ; on the con-
trary, she looked frightened, and her face
was flushed as though she h'.d been
crying. As a matter of fact, the young
wife was dismayed by the dilemma she
had brought about. But two years
out from Germany, she had expected
simply that Fritz would be required
to appear before the sergeant, where-
upon the latter would lecture him with
regard to his duties. Now^ it seemed
to her that she was causing him to
be arraigned like a criminal.

"Oh, I never meant to shame him
thus before the world ! I never meant
it?" she whispered convulsive^, bury-
ing her face amid the short rings of
the baby's flaxen curls. "Ah, instead
of acting so I should have gone to
the church and prayed for him to Our
Lady of Good Counsel. Is it not true,
/v/f/ne.?"

In response, das kleine Katchen

THE AYE MARIA.

428

stretched out a pair of azure -shod feet
and laughed up at her.

The judge had reserved this hearing
to the last. It was a commonplace
one to the auditors who all the after-
noon had crowded the room ; and they
slipped away gradually, until only a
few individuals remained present when
Fritz was called up.

Katrina uttered an involuntary
exclamation of distress, which she
fjuickly smothered behind the baby's
head. Her husband threw her an angry
glance, that softened, however, as it
rested upon das kleine Kiitchen. The
judge, a shrewd, kindly man, noted the
bit of byplay.

Fritz w^as not a bad-looking fellow.
He stood six feet in his stout, broad-
soled shoes, and one could see from his
bearing that he had served his three
years of conscription in the Kaiser's
army. His clothes, though cheap, were
clean ; his shirt, open at the throat,
slightly revealed a splendid chest. Like
Katrina, he was light-haired ; but bis
blue eyes had a sleepy expression, and
one could tell at a glance that he
loved his ease; also that he would be
indolently good-natured if let alone,
but surly when taken to task or
contradicted.

"Where is the complainant in this
case?" demanded the judge.

"Here, your honor," answered the
official of the gilt buttons.

Katrina found herself thrust forward.

"You are this man's wife?" inquired
the court, with a sternness that almost
made her think her relation to Fritz
quite reprehensible.

"Yes, sir," she faltered, hardly above
a whisper.

" And what is your complaint against
him?"

Katrina's eyes sought Fritz, and
suddenly the enormity of her disloyalty
(to her mind) overcame her. Was it
for a wife to turn against her husband
as she had turned against him ?

"What is the complaint, I say?"
repeated the judge, with impatience.

Katrina trembled, then grew brave.

"O sir, there is none at all!" she
stammered excitedly. "My husband he
a good man is, the best man in all
the world, — only — he so much to do,
so many friends has, that he forgets
some small things like me and das
kleine Kiitchen here. So I just thought
it might please you, sir, to order him
to be kind with us, already yet."

The baby, feeling called upon to
confirm its mother's words, here nodded
to the judge, and then, in an effort to
reach its father, almost escaped from
Katrina's arms.

The judge was something of a wit,
and the impulse seized him to mete out
justice in kind to this simple couple;
or, in other words, "to make the
punishment fit the crime," after the
manner of his Serene Highness in the
extravaganza of the Mikado.

"Frederick Siebert," he commanded,
assuming his most judicial manner,
"listen attentively to what I am about
to say."

Fritz shifted from one foot to the
other, and then met his gaze for an
instant.

"You are required by the court to
comply with the following conditions,
under penalty of the law if you dis-
regard them. You are to kiss your wife
at least once a day. On the Saturday
half- holiday, you are to take her and
the baby on an excursion of some
sort. On these occasions or at home
you are not, however, to speak an
unnecessary word to her. You are only
to watch the baby play. Remember
what I tell you, — watch the baby
play ! "

Here the judge actually smiled, and
nodded his grey head at das kleine
Kiitchen. Then he went on:

"Further, Frederick Siebert, for the
present, out of your wages you are
to pay over to Katrina six dollars a

424

THE AVE MARIA.

week. You understand the order of
the court?"

"Yes, your honor," mumbled Fritz,
studying the cracks between the boards
of the floor without being conscious
that he saw them.

"You understand, Katrina?"

"Yes, your honor," echoed Katrina,
with a beaming face.

If das kleine Kiitchen did not under-
stand, it might be inferred from the
exuberance of her spirits that she
considered the situation a very jolly
state of affairs.

During the next few days Fritz was
surly enough. Katrina knew he felt
a bitter grudge against her for what
she had done; and in her heart she
reproached herself for it, although she
would not admit as much to him. She
could not have told whether she had
reason to be sorry or glad over her
husband's daily kiss, so perfunctorily
yet scrupulously given. For, in his
peasant simplicity, Fritz obeyed the
judge's injunction to the letter, fearing
that if he disregarded it, he should fall
into the clutches of the law.

And Katrina, too, was not free from
concern on his account. She sometimes
imagined that he was shadowed by
detectives w^hose duty it was to make
sure he observed the conditions upon
w^hich he had been permitted to go
at large. Therefore, indignant as the
unwilling demonstration made her, she
dared not decline it. If she might only
push Fritz away, and vow he should
never kiss her again; or else, on the
other side, if, casting herself with all
her strength against the barrier of
constraint that had grown up between
them, she might just throw her arms
around his neck and give him a
genuine, fond, wifely kiss straight from
her heart ! But no ! Such an exhibition
of feeling on her part would, she sadly
felt, be unwelcome.

When Saturday came, Fritz threw

down his weekly wage on the table of
the living room and bade her: "Take
it all." But Katrina silently picked up
the sum decreed to her by the court,
and left the remainder to him.

She had made herself and the baby
ready for the required outing. Fritz
noted the preparations without a
word. When he had taken his dinner
he stood up, put on his hat, took das
kleine Katchen in his arms, and nodded
to his wife to follow him.

They went in a trolley car uptown.
The ride was a novelty to Katrina,
and she would joyfully have shared
with her companion the delight she
found in the many objects of interest
that greeted her eyes, or the pleasant
little incidents that pleased her fancy.
But, alas ! he was forbidden to speak to
her. Worse than all, he did not want
to speak to her ! For, after transferring
the baby to her lap, he hid his face
behind a copy of a socialist journal,
and was gloomy as a thundercloud
when they alighted from the car at the
farther end of Central Park.

Here there were not many people to
be met upon the walks, and compara-
tively few equipages bowled along the
winding roads, wh'ch were beyond the
fashionable driveway. Katrina sat on
a bench under a tree ; and from another
bench, a short distance away, Fritz,
looking over the edge of his newspaper,
dutifully watched das kleine Katchen
as she rolled on the grass, or, holding
tight to Katrina's finger, took her first
steps on the smooth path. Then, when
the dusk began to fall, the estranged
husband and wife, with the baby,
went back to their close tenement on.
a West Side street that teemed with
population.

The change of scene to the rural
beauties and pure air of the park had
been-like a glimpse of paradise to the
couple. The baby's little face glowed
like a dainty pink rose petal because
of the wholesomeness of the summ

THE AVE MARIA.

425

breeze blowing across the wide lawns,
over the broad lakes, and through the
shady groves. Nevertheless, Katrina
felt that the afternoon had not been
a success. She and Fritz had not
exchanged a word with each other.
For her part, she would rather have
stayed at home.

The working -days of the following
week were a repetition of the ones
that had gone before. Fritz did not
go to the saloon, but he had to work
at his trade in the evenings, he said.
He was a carpenter, and a contract
made by his employer must be finished
on time. Katrina heard the statement
without comment.

On the second Saturday the couple,
with the baby, went again to the park.
Fritz was moodier than ever, and again
intrenched himself behind the paper his
wife hated. Katrina made up her mind
not to care. In defiance of the park
regulations and the sign "Keep off the
grass," she sat on a little green knoll
and entertained both herself and the
baby. Never had das kleine Katchen
been sweeter or in a prettier humor.
Musical as a bird's was her light treble
voice; like the sound of the plashing
fountain was her merry laugh. Mother
and child coquetted and played hide-
and-seek together. Katrina herself felt
like a child ; and when at last the
shining braids of her hair, clutched at
by gleeful baby hands, fell down about
her shoulders, she laughed almost as
gaily as the little one.

Both had, for the nonce, entirely
forgotten Fritz. But now, looking up
suddenly, Katrina saw her husband
standing above them and looking down
with a tense expression that frightened
her. Misunderstanding it, she stopped
short in her romping with the baby,
and, coloring with annoyance— for his
glance seemed to take her to task for
her childishness, — she hastily began to
pin up her hair.

To her amazement, however, and

regardless of legal consequences, Fritz
broke out into a torrent of impetuous
speech :

'' Ach, liebchen, do not your golden
braids put up already yet! To-day
you are like the pretty friiulein you in
Germany w^ere when we first each other
knew. Only here, now, you prettier
than ever are, my Katrina, — here das
kleine Katcben with. But this silence
I can no longer bear. I must to you,
my Katrina, speak. But I must say
that I you more than ever love, — you
and das kleine."

At the beginning of this unexpected
outburst Katrina had started to her
feet, growing by turns red and white
with astonishment. As he finished
speaking he folded her in his arms
and kissed her with a lover's fervor.
Katrina began to cry softly, and buried
her face in his breast.

Das kleine Katcben was not going to
be left out of the reconciliation. Raising
a shout of infantile satisfaction, as
though the dramatic little scene had
been enacted for her amusement, she
clung to her father's knees, calling
to him imjjeratively. Fritz caught her
up, and, with the abandon of a boy,
pranced away down the walk, while
she rode on his shoulder like a tiny
queen carried in state. The socialist
sheet, to which Katrina laid the blame
for all his unkindness, lay on the
ground forgotten. Dazedly happy, she
now followed the runaways. Presently,
however, when the trio sat all together
on the same bench now, she exclaimed
in perfect seriousness, a frown gather-
ing updn her usually smooth forehead:

"Ah, my Fritz, but what will the
judge say once when he finds that you
have defied his command and have
spoken with me, — when he finds out
that we intend to speak every day
with each other, and so much as we
I^lease oursel ves ? ' '

"Donncr und Blitzen ! what he says I
do not care," answered the young man,

426

THE AVE MARIA.

recklessly. "He may, indeed, fine me
much money, he may put me in the
prison if he will; but that to me will
be nothing. For no punishment so
great to me seems as to be separated
from you by a wall of silence, liebchen."

Again Katrina melted to tears.

"In this quarrel I too have been
something to blame. I ask your for-
giveness, my husband!" she faltered.

A few moments of b'issful silence
followed. Suddenly the truth dawned
upon Katrina.

" Himmel, the daylight I begin to
see ! " she cried. " The judge, he did but
make a jest of us. He a married man
is, he quarrels with his wife sometimes, —
yes, of course. He knows what he
himself deserves; then he tries it on
you, my poor Fritz! How can it be
that a man should be forbid with his
own v\rife to speak? That nonsense is."

" Liebchen, you are right!" agreed
Fritz, as, taking pipe and tobacco
from his coat pocket, he celebrated his
happiness by a quiet smoke.

From that day he and Katrina got
on very amicably together. Satisfied
with this assertion of his independence
versus the law, as he termed it, Fritz
dropped his socialistic club and spent
his evenings at home.

"Your honor is a Solon!" said the
police sergeant to the judge, one
morning before the end of the term.
"Fritz Siebert, the man whom you
forbade to speak to his wif;, has
become a devoted husband."

"Humph! I am glad to hear it,"
returned the judge, with a laugh. "But
I take no credit to myself: it all
belongs to the baby. I bowed to the
superior wisdom of the baby in its
knowledge of how to bring about
a reconciliation between the parties.
And, so long as Fritz is kind to
Katrina and das kleine Katchen, we
will overlook his flagrant contempt
of court."

A Beautiful River,

BY E. P. CURRAN.

■\X7HAT makes a beautiful river?

The clear, cool water that fills its bed.
And speeds along with a rippling song
To the ocean far ahead.

What makes a beautiful mind?

The sweet, pure thoughts that mingle there,
And blissfully to memory's sea

They pass — an endless prayer.

In Seelen Dorf.

BY E.M.WALKER.

SEELEN is not a well-known place.
It is just a tiny Alpine village in
the canton of Graubiinden, Switzerland,
not very many miles from the fashion-
able Engadine. Yet to me it is one of
the dearest and the most beautiful
little places in the world, and its very
remoteness and unobtrusiveness do
but add to its charm. Perhaps I love
it so much on account of my friend,
Maurice Fairholme. It is a chapter in
his history that I am now about to
confide to you.

A year or two ago, while on a
solitary walking tour in Switzerland,
I was overtaken by a thunderstorm.
The road led through a pine forest, and
I sheltered for a while under the trees, —
not a very wise thing to do, by the
way. But the thunder muttered all
round me, and the rain fell as only
Swiss rain can fall ; and so after a time
I determined to push on, hoping that
a village was not far distant.

I was soon drenched to the skin ; and
when at last some houses came into
sight, I quickened my pace to a run,
turned into a tiny village street, and
came'to a halt before a very old and
dilapidated inn, — the one inn of the
place, apparently. Notwithstanding my
plight, I hesitated before entering, it

THE AYE MARIA.

427

looked so utterly God -forsaken, dirt)'
and deserted. The sign which swung
before the door was so faded as to
be quite unintelligible; many of the
w^indow panes were broken, and there
was not a soul in sight. The door was
open, however, and I walked in.

I found myself in a large kitchen
with a stone floor. At first I thought
that it was empty ; then, growing
accustomed to the gloom, I made out
the figure of a man sitting by the long
w^ooden table, his head in his hands.
Thinking that he had something to do
with the inn, I went up to him and
accosted him in German. He raised
his head, smiled faintly, and answered
in English :

"Caught in the rain like me, I sup-
pose ? Better sit down, if you can find
a chair with more than two legs."

It was no easy matter to take
his advice; but, after searching for a
minute or two, I lit upon a chair which
seemed capable of bearing my weight,
and cautiously sat down upon it. The
stranger's head was resting on his
hands again, and there was silence for
the space of half an hour, broken onlj'
by occasional claps of thunder and the
steady Ijeating of the rain against the
windows.

At last I could stand it no longer; I
felt I must hazard a remark.

"The rain's coming in," I said.
" There's quite a little pool on the floor."

And I rose and struggled with the
window, which resisted all my efforts
to shut it.

"Leave it alone," said the stranger,
languidl)'. "There's nothing to spoil."
This was undeniable; and I sat down
again, thinking what a handsome,
interesting face my chance companion
had. His hair and e^-es were very dark,
and he had something of a gipsy look
about him. But he was evidentl)' ill :
his cheeks were hollow and his face
drawn, and his air of weariness and
melancholy went to my heart.

" I believe we shall have to stay the »
night here," I said presently.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"That would be a last resource
indeed."

".\ren't you hungry? Can't we get
anything to eat in this miserable
place?"

At this moment a little, dripping
woman, with a face prematurely aged
and wrinkled, dashed in at the door.
She seemed quite taken aback at the
sight of two visitors installed in her
kitchen. Whatever her reason for keep-
ing an inn, it was certainly not with
a view to guests. I addressed her in
my Ijest German, but she replied only
in sulky monosyllables.

"Don't bother her," said my com-
panion in English. "She's not quite all
there. You seem a big, strong fellow :
rain won't hurt you. I advise you to *
push on tp the next village, which is
only about five miles. As for me, I
must stay here, I suppose. A thorough
wetting might cost me my life, — not
that that would matter."

"I shall stay here with you," I
returned quietly. "The rain, as you
say, would not hurt me; but, then, I
have only one suit of clothes."

And I turned to the old woman and
demanded a bedroom. She led me up a
creaking staircase and opened a door.

"That will do," I said.

There was absolutely no furniture
in the room except a bed. I laid hold
of a rug and some blankets which had
apparently not been used for months —
years, for all I knew, — and carried them
downstairs to air.

"Now sticks to makeafire," lordered.

My new friend began to look inter-
ested. He sat up in his chair, and
volunteered to make coffee if the
materials could be found. After some
expostulation, the poor, crazy woman,
with what sounded like a muttered
curse, darted out into the rain again to
buy bread and eggs. Ultimately we got

428

THE AVE MARIA.

some sort of a meal, and spent the
evening smoking in front of a glowing
fire. My companion became more com-
municative. He told me that his name
was Maurice Fairholme, and that he
was an artist by profession.

"Once upon a time," he said, "this
was quite a decent inn, just like many
of these little Swiss places, — neat and
clean and well-managed. When the pro-
prietor died, his wife and son continued
to keep it, until one day young Moritz
fell over a precipice. He was all his
mother had in the world, and the loss
unhinged her mind. She stays on here,
but she has let everything go to rack
and ruin. She spends most of her time
. wandering about on the mountains as
if she were looking for him and expect-
ing him to come back."

"How did you find all this out?" I
asked.

"Oh, I have, often been here before —
not to stay, though!" he added, smil-
ing. "I live out here for my health,
and know most of the villages round.
Shall we go to bed now ? Are we each
to carry up our own blankets ? I think
they're w^ell aired, thanks to you."

At the top of the stairs he paused.

" Good- night ! " he said. "I'm glad
you stopped."

This was all, yet I fancied the grip of
his hand was both friendly and grateful.

Next morning when I awoke, the
brilliant sunshine was streaming in
upon me. I rose and dressed, and went
down, expecting a struggle over the
breakfast, or at least to have to get
it myself What was my surprise to
find some coffee ready, and two cracked
cups, one plate and a teaspoon laid
upon the table? The poor woman
seemed a little less "grumpy" than she
had done the night before.

Presently Maurice Fairholme put in
an appearance. In spite of the sun-
shine, his talkative mood had vanished
and he ate his breakfast in silence. I
could not help feeling that if he would

only cut his hair shorter and shave
regularly, it would vastly improve
his appearance; he would look less
melancholy, even though not quite so
picturesque.

After breakfast we sauntered out
together. It was still early, and the
air was delightfully fresh and pure
after the rain. Opposite us was the
post-ofiice, a primitive, whitewashed
building, with a huge painting of St.
Michael over the doorway. Indeed,
there was hardly a house in the village
that was not painted with some design
or other. Pictures of the saints and of
our Blessed Lady predominated.

At the end of the village street was a
steep hill, and on the top was perched
a tiny church. We climbed up to it by
a rough, stony path, pausing before the
little wayside chapels containing the
Stations of the Cross. At the summit,
a hole in a low stone wall admitted
us into the churchyard. I think I shall
never as long as I live forget that
churchyard, with its long, green grass,
its luxuriant Alpine flowers, and the
hum of the bees mingling with the
rush of the stream below. In front lay
a long, wooded valley, rising up and
up until at the far end it was closed
by snow-capped mountains. It was an
exquisite scene.

"Who could help being happy in
such a beautiful world!" I exclaimed
enthusiasticall3^

" Why, our poor old friend at the
inn, for one," said Maurice, with his
melancholy smile. "But, then, she has
not the artistic sense. Indeed, I'm
afraid the Swiss are singularly lacking
in it, or they would not tolerate such
gaudy daubs on their chapel walls."

I followed the direction of his glance.
The chapel door was open, and through
it I caught a glimpse of brilliantly
painted figures ; but I looked beyond
them to the flickering red light which
showed that He was there who made
the pine woods and the rivers and the

THE AVE MARIA.

429

snow -mountains. Through the hot
summer and the long, cold, snowy
winter. He was pleased to stay in the
humble honje these simple-minded
peasants had built for Him. They
gave Him of their best. Since He was
content, who were we that we should
criticise ?

Suddenly the voice, beside me said,
more gently :

"Don't speak! I understand. I, too,
was brought up a Catholic. Come
and say a prayer at Moritz Riickert's
grave."

Some one was there before us, — a lone
little figure, that rose as we approached
and fled down the steep path.

" Poor old soul ! " said my companion.
'• You think she's mad : I don't. She's
only one of us — us unfortunates. It's
so easy to understand how she gave
way when the great trouble came, and
lacked courage to pull herself together,
and just let everj'thing go; and how
people came first to shun and ridicule,
and then to fear her. But who knows ?
Perhaps even yet she may one day
wake out of her bad dream. I — I under-
stand her, and I believe she half likes
me. It appears I resemble her dead
Moritz, and I bear his name too. She
got our breakfast this morning: she
wouldn't have done that for any one
else."

Poor fellow ! I felt singularly drawn
toward him. He .seemed so alone and
so embittered. While he murmured a
prayer for the dead Moritz, I sent uji
a flying petition for the living one, —
four little words which exi)ress so well
the great need of the lonely and
unhappy: " Monstra te esse Mat rem,"—
a mother's care, a mother's patience!
Yes, that was what he needed ; and
there is only one Mother whose patience
never fails, and who sometimes seems
to love the unreasonable children best.

As we turned to go, Maurice pointed
to a little stone hut near the church
porch. It was piled up with human

skulls and bones. I suppose i hey had
been dug up out of the churchyard to
make room for newcomers, and placed
here, within sight of the altar, to await
the resurrection.

" As I was, so be yee ;
As I am, yee shall be,"

quoted Maurice.

"They take all the horror out of
death," I remarked. "They look so
clean and white and shining."

"Come away, you incorrigible opti-
mist ! " he exclaimed. " I ought to have
brought you here on a gloomy, windy
evening, and then you would have had
the creeps."

One last look at Piz Michel and the
Tinzenhorn, their glorious, snowy peaks
gleaming in the sunshine, and then we
retraced our steps toward the village.
As we descended the hill, Maurice said
bitterly :

"This country which seems so beauti-
ful to you, is a desert to me. Would
you be happy, think you, if you were
exiled from your own land, forced
to abandon the profession you loved,
and to give up all hope of a career?
What is a man's life worth without
work ? There is no place for me in
the world."

"But you said you were an artist,
and surely here you have only to paint
what lies before your eyes."

" My dear fellow, 1 am no genius to
evolve things unaided out of ray own
head. I ought to study in Paris,
in Italy ; and here I am, stuck five
thousand feet above sea level."

I was silent. I should have liked to
know something about his past life, his
home, his friends ; but his reserved and
moody countenance forbade questions.
We went for a walk, and talked of
Alpine flora.

It was noon when we regained the
inn, and Maurice said :

" I suppose you'll go on now ? You
can't stay here: it's too comfortless.
As for me, I've a fancy to retouch that

430

THE AVE MARIA.

old sign this afternoon, and I've sent for
some paints b^' the carrier. Look at it.
Can 3'ou tell me what it's meant for?"

"Not I, indeed."

"Look again! You can just trace
the lines of the letters, Dtr Silbcrne
Stern, — 'The Silver Star.' It's a pretty
name, isn't it? Probably it has a
religious significance, for on the other
side there is a rude painting of the
Blessed Virgin."

At this moment Frau Riickert
appeared on the threshold. "Herr
Moritz must stop to dinner," she said
authoritatively'. " The butcher has
been here. I am cooking."

"Of course," said Moritz, kindly.
Then, turning to me, "A miracle!" he
muttered. "Will you stop too?"

"Willingly," I replied. "And if you
are going to spend the afternoon
repainting the sign, I shall mend the
chairs; for carpentering is my hobby."

The hours fled all too quickly, and
supper -time found us still at Seelen.
Then, half in fun, I said, laughing :

"Suppose we stay here for a few
days and put the crazy old place
shipshape? "

"Well," returned Maurice, "I don't
mind. It would certainly be a novel
way of spending 3'our holiday.
Mutterchen, if you will wash out the
guest room, this gentleman and I will
stay with you for a week."

" Lkber Himmel!" she exclaimed,
throwing up her hands. "It has not
been touched for a twelvemonth."

But Maurice had his way. And I
think I never worked so hard in my
life as I did during the ensuing week.
Frau Riickert scrubbed the floors,
while I mended the tables and chairs;
and then there was varnishing and
painting to be done, and all the
broken panes of glass to put in, and
windows to clean, and mattresses and
rugs to beat, and blankets to wash.
By the end of the week it looked
quite a different place; and three stray

tourists, struck by the beauty and
solitude of the quaint little village,
insisted on staying at the Silver Star.
The next step was to induce Frau
Riickert to engage a servant. She gave
in at last.

It was a sad day when I had to say
good-bye to Seelen, with its pure,
snowy peaks, and rushing mountain
torrent, and great, dark, whispering
pine woods. No more should I hear the
cowbells tinkle on the mountain -side,
nor go out in the evening to watch the
goats come home. I was going liack to
a big city, and to the constant whir
and buzz of machinery. I almost envied
Maurice.

I left him at the Silver Star.

"I am not going yet," he said. "The
priest has asked me to paint his house."

"Well, I shall come back next year,"
I answered, teasingly. "I dare say you
will still be here, and by that time you
will have painted all the houses in
the village."

Jesting words; but there is many a
true word spoken in jest, they say.
Maurice is still at Seelen. He is always
delicate, but he has filled out a little,
his cheeks are less hollow, and, though
naturally grave, he has a quietlj' cheer-
ful air. He has painted the houses,
too, — or rather he has brought to life
again the curious and crude designs
which were fast fading from the walls.
Whether his artistic sense is less keen,
or whether his soul is more in tune with
the simple peasant nature, I can not
say ; yet I am glad to think that when
the children of Seelen look up with
reverent admiration at the great St.
Michael mounting guard, with drawn
sword, over the doorway of the little
post-oflice, it is the selfsame St. Michael
that their grandfathers loved before
them. " Perhaps it is not always neces-
sary Lhat a symbol be a.'sthetic," says
Maurice in excuse.

The Hotel of the Silver Star is run by
a Limited Company, and Maurice is

THE AVE MARIA.

431

director, with Frau Riickert as man-
ageress. For she has awakened out of
her bad dream, and so has Maurice.
And now when I come across any poor
fellow, ill morally or physically, at an
end of strength and courage, I send him
out to Seelen ; and Maurice looks after
him, and Miitterchen scolds him and
pets him by turns in that impossible
Swiss-German tongue. Ah, he is a very
important and useful man, the excellent
Maurice! I really don't know what I
should do without him.

Only this September, when I parted
from him, we had the following con-
versation :

"You are content now, Maurice?"

"Why, yes! Now I have a little niche
in the world, though a humble one."

"And if your masterpiece never gets
painted?"

"Fiat! I am content still. After all,
I have eternity to paint it in. Besides,
who knows? I am working."

" Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Direktor."

" Auf Wiedersehen, my friend. Post
me those new patent labels you spoke
of directly you get to England. This
season's jams are in such a confounded
mess, and I do want to get my store-
room in order."

Was I not right when I said that a
mother's care was all he needed ?

God knoweth best what is needful
for us, and all that He does is for
our good. If we knew how much He
loves us, we should always ht ready
to receive equally and with indifference
from His hand the sweet and the bitter :
all would please that came from Him.
The sorest afflictions never appear
intolerable, except when we see them
in the wrong light. When we see them
as dispensed by the hand of God,
when we know that it is our loving
Father who thus tries us, our sufferings
will lose their bitterness and become
even matter of consolation.

— Brother Lawrence.

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY A.NNA T. SADUER.

XXXV. — (Continued.)

AT first Eben .Knox, continuing to
stare at the woman where she
stood, tightly clasping her child, took
no heed of his housekeeper's appear-
ance. Finally, however, as if by a
sudden realization of her presence, he
turned toward her and, indicating the
others by a gesture, demanded :

"Who are they? Who is she?"

It was upon Mother Moulton's tongue
to deny all knowledge of their identity,
and to ask in turn why she should
be expected to have knowledge of all
strolling vagrants. But something in
the mill -manager's face told her that
he could not be deceived, and that
frankness was the better policy. She
answered, therefore, defiantly:

"She is my daughter."

"Your daughter? I might have
known. That is why I thought for
an instant it was you, — your wraith,
your spirit come back from the past. I
thought you had grown young ar;ain,
Mother Moulton."

He laughed hideously. Then another
thought struck him.

"And if she is your daughter," he
said, sitting erect in the chair, "she is
also his."

His visage lit up with eagerness. He
rose and began to pace the room. An
expression of malignant cunning stole
over Mother Moulton's face as she
watched him.

"And if it be," she said, — "and if it
be, what's that to you, Eben Knox?"

"It's the devil's own luck" the
manager retorted, "that brought her
here just now. You're welcome, my
dear woman, to my fireside, — to the
hospitality of this house, though it ill
befits your father's daughter. Sit down
clc*Se to tht hearth until your good

432

THE AVE MARIA.

mother has spread out a feast for us."

This address, and the base joy which
lighted the saturnine countenance of
Eben Knox, seemed to terrify the young
woman more than any anger could
have done. She glanced helplessly at
Mother Moulton, who made a sign for
her to obey the manager.

"What happy chance brought you
to my door just now?" he asked, again
addressing the woman, w^ho sat down
tremblingly upon a chair near the fire,
and took the child upon her knee, still
keeping watchful eyes upon the dreaded
manager. "We want you here just
now," the latter resumed. "You will
help to make things spin, — not at the
mill: I am not referring to the looms.
But I may want to introduce you to
young Mr. Bretherton."

He laughed and chuckled delightedly
at his own grim humor ; and the little
one, who had been regarding him with
solemn eyes, suddenly began to cry.
The manifestations of that hideous
mirth were too much for its infantile
composure. The mother bent over,
trying to hush the child, and fearful
of the effect of its untimely weeping
upon the grim master of the house.

The latter, however, approached with
elephantine playfulness.

"Come, come, little one! I am Uncle
Eben, the friend of children."

The child, for only answer, hid its
face in its mother's dress and wept
more passionately than ever.

"Mother Moulton," cried the man,
"hasten to spread the festal board,
and then these tears will disappear in
the sunshine of confectionery."

Mother Moulton, who entertained
doubts, certainly not ill-founded, of her
employer's sanity, kept a sharp eye
upon him as she laid the table and
bustled in and out of the kitchen, in
preparation for such a meal as she had
never before seen in the m#l-housa^

When all was ready, Eben Knox,
with mock ceremony, led Mother

Moulton's trembling daughter to the
table, addressing her as his honored
guest. During the progress of that
singular festivity he looked from her
to Mother Moulton, and from Mother
Moulton back again to her, indulging
each time in a prolonged " Ha, ha, ha ! "
which very nearly had the effect of
causing a renewal of the infantile tears.
It was only the saving power of Miss
Spencer's tarts and cakes and candies,
plentifully displayed upon the table,
which prevented the relapse.

Never had there been a stranger
repast than this over which the master
of the house presided like a death's-head.
His hideous mirth, into which Mother
Moulton, after her fashion, entered,
seemed like those phosphorescent lights
which play over noisome marshes.
The very plenty of that hitherto parsi-
monious board seemed a portent. The
younger woman, in her terror and
amazement, ate little, but watched,
with distended eyes and a lip which
still quivered, the ghoulish avidity
with which her mother consumed
the unaccustomed good things, and
the robust appetite of the manager.
The child was helped plentifully, and
certainly enjoyed its share of the
sweets.

Every once in a while Eben Knox
arose and piled more fuel upon the fire ;
and he lit a second and a third and
even a fourth lamp, till the room was
fairly ablaze. When the meal was near
its close, he raised a bumper of water
to his lips.

"Here's to you. Mother Moulton," he
exclaimed, " loveliest of your sex ! "

"I was fair enough once," the crone
responded, with a flash of her bleared
eyes. "Aye, I was bonnie enough to
win the favor of a score of men, and
the marriageable love of two."

"H»4 ho!" roared the mill-manager.
"Here's to Mother Moulton, who
brought down the stars from heaven
and wedded a proud gentleman! I

THE AVE MARIA.

433

pledge you in water, my lady ; though
there is a superstition that she whose
health is drunk in water dies within the
year. In another year's time, Mother
Moulton, if all goes well, I'll have no
need of you. Who knows but I'll have
another to keep house for me?"

It was a baleful fire which shot from
the beldame's eyes as she answered :

"Will you so, Eben Knox? Then I
w^ish her joy of as ill a job as ever a
woman attempted."

"Oh, it won't be an ill job for her!
She'll be fed on dainty fare and clothed
in silken raiment ; she'll live in a palace,
if she wills, and have servants to wait
on her, and Eben Knox to worship her
all the year round."

"I'm thinking she'll hold that to be
the worst of the bargain," snarled
Mother Moulton, casting a furious look
upon the manager, whose face had
changed and softened and become
almost human at thought of Leonora.
"She'll value your worship as much
as the sun values the worship of that
dirty yellow weed that they say turns
its face toward him daily. In the lady's
beauty and her youth, she'll regard you
as she does the mud that soils her
dainty shoon."

The old woman forgot all prudence
in the wrath which Eben Knox had
evoked in her by his allusion to her
death and to his determination to be
rid of her. For, wretched as was the
mill -house, Mother Moulton had not
only found therein food, shelter, and
certain, if ill -paid, employment; but
she hud dominated that sordid domain
absolutely, and had been, in its com-
plete isolation, far happier and more
peaceful than elsewhere.

Possibly, she now realized for the
first time what Eben Knox's marriage
would mean to her, and how completely
he was resolved to cut away from his
squalid surroundings, and to set her
adrift with the rest. I'or her it would
mean destitution, the breaking up of

the habits of years, and the misery of
a forlorn old age. Nor was she entirely
sure that her employer spoke without
foundation for his words. She had
lived long enough to know that the
most unlikely things very frequently
happen ; also that wealth can some-
times buy youth and beauty. She had
recourse, how^ever, ta that vein of
superstition which, as in many godless
men, existed strongly in Eben Knox ;
and she took a certain comfort from
her own gipsy arts, in which she had
at least a half belief.

"The stars in their course are against
you!" she cried, bending toward her
master from the other side of the
table, with a malignant laugh. " You
do not cross her horoscope, Ebenezer
Knox, save as a dark cloud obscuring
a brilliant planet. Her star follows the
course of another — of another,— do 3'^ou
hear, my love-struck man?"

A look of fury replaced the sinister
mirthfulness which had contorted the
manager's face.

"You hag!" he screeched, shaking
his fist at her. " How dare you taunt
me with your cursed witchcraft? You
lie, or the stars lie in their courses !
My beautiful one shall never marry
another."

"She shall dree her weird," declared
Mother Moulton; "and neither you
nor mortal man shall say her nay. I
read the stars that night at the big
house yonder, and hers and the hand-
some gentleman's ran side by side. Oh, \
a bonnie lad he is, and as good as
bonnic ! She'll be a happy woman that
he loves, — a happy woman!"

With a glare of concentrated rage
and hate, Eben Knox rose from the
table, pushing back his chair, and
bringing down his fist with a force
that set the dishes rattling and the
child crying.

"Take your scjuealing lirat," he said
to the younger woman, "and get out
of my sight!"

434

THE AVE MARIA.

^The woman obeyed, nothing loath;
but as she was about to leave the
house he stopped her.

"No!" he roared, "you'll not leave
here. I have need of you. There, — go
there, — go into her room! She'll find
a bed for you."

He pushed the trembling woman with
her child through the door leading
into Mother Moulton's apartments ;
and then he turned, with livid face and
burning eyes, to confront his sturdy
housekeeper.

"You witch -woman! you beldame!
you wild -cat!" he screamed, seizing a
fagot from the hearth. "I could kill
you w^here you sit, and stop your
lying tongue forever!"

Mother Moult on laughed. Whatever
inward tremors she may have felt, her
mien was undismayed.

"And that'll bring you the sooner to
the bride that's most fit for you — the
hangman's daughter."

Though Eben Knox still glared
at her, he let fall the arm 'which held
the fagot, and turned away with a
muttered curse.

But Mother Moulton was not satis-
fied with her victory.

"Think you," she said, "that the lily
will wed with pitch ? Faugh ! Have
sense, my man, and seek such a mate
as befits you."

He stared at her sullenly, wiping from
his forehead the great beads of sweat.
Then he turned and rushed out of the
door, banging it after him ; and Mother
Moulton, with a laugh, extinguished
the mocking lamps which Eben Knox
in his unnatural mirth had lighted,
and went to seek her daughter.

(To be continued.)

What is it to resign one's self? It is
to put God between self and sorrow.
— Mme. Swetchine.

When Fortune caresses us, she wishes
to dec'eive us.— P. Cvrus.

Heart Legacies.

IN the quaint old Middle Ages the
human heart, supposed to be the
seat of the affections, was regarded as
a precious object, and it was often the
custom for people to leave their hearts
as bequests to some favorite abbey or
shrine. When such legacies were made,
the relatives of the deceased would
carefully embalm the heart, place it in
a costly casket, and deposit it in the
place named.

Robert of Leicester, dying in 1118,
was buried in the Abbey of Preaux;
but he left his heart to the hospital
at Brackley, which he had founded.
Isabella of Gloucester, who died in 1239,
ordered that her heart be sent in a
silver cup to her brother, the Abbot of
Tewkesbury, "to be buryed there beefore
ye high altar." "The noble Countess
of Gloucester," says Matthew Paris,
"was taken dangerously ill of the
yellow jaundice, and was at the point
of death. After having caused the
ample tresses of her flaxen hair to be
cut off, she made a full confession of
her sins, and departed to her Lord."

Henry, her son, while hearing Mass in
the Church of St. Laurence in Viterbo,
was assassinated b}' Simon de Mont-
fort, in revenge for the death of the
latter's father at the battle of Evesham,
for which death, however, Henry was
in no manner to blame. His heart was
sent in a golden vessel to Westminster
Abbey, and interred in the tomb of
Edward the Confessor. His monument
was decorated with a heart inscribed :
"I bequeath to my father my heart
pierced with a dagger." His father
died of grief at the murder, and his
heart was buried in the church of the
Minorites at Oxford.

A curious disposition of a heart was
made by the widow of John Baliol,
Lord of Castle Barnard. He died in
1269, and his widow had his heart

THE AVE MARIA.

435

embalmed in an ivory casket orna-
mented with silver. This the Lady
Devorgilla caused to be placed on the
table beside her at every meal; and
when she died, commanded that it be
laid upon her bosom within the casket
which was the last resting-place of her
own faithful heart. She was buried in
New Abbey, and from this it received
the name of Dulce Cor, or Sweetheart
Abbey.

The Crusaders who died in the Holy
Land bequeathed their hearts to their
friends at home; though it was also
the custom for the pious to send their
hearts to Jerusalem. Edward L having
promised to return to Palestine, was
prevented by the Scotch wars and the
troubles of his reign, and died suddenly
in 1307 without fulfilling his vow.
Upon his deathbed he commanded his
son to send his heart to Palestine with
an escort of one hundred and forty
knights, and he provided two thousand
pounds of silver for the expedition.
"My heart being conveyed thither-
ward," he said, "I trust me that God
will accept this fulfilment of mj* vow,
and grant His blessing upon this under-
taking; and may eternal damnation
rest upon any one who shall expend the
money for aught else!"

Edward's foe, Robert Bruce, also left
strict injunctions that his heart should
be interred in the Holy Land ; but
in the case of neither was the wish
carried out. As King Robert lay dying
he called to him his tried friend, James
Douglas, and entreated him to carry
his heart to Jerusalem, because he had
been unable, on account of the hostility
of England, to keep his promise to assist
in the Crusade against the Saracens.
Upon his honor as a knight. Sir James
promised to fulfil the trust ; and after
the King's death embalmed the heart,
j)laced it in a silver case, and suspended
it from his neck by a silver chain.
With a retinue of knights and squires
he started for the Holy Land.

Upon crossing Spain, he found the
King of that country engaged in a
fierce conflict with the Saracens, and
lent his aid. Completely ignorant of
Moorish methods of warfare, he was
soon surrounded, and saw that escape
was impossible. Despairing but still
courageous, he threw the heart of
Bruce far ahead of him into the conflict,
and charged after it, crying, " Pass on
as thou wert wont : I follow thee or
die! " His dead body was found at the
close of the battle, covered with wounds,
lying over the heart of Bruce ; and his
remains were interred in the family
church of St. Bride at Douglas. The
heart of the King was brought back
to Scotland by Sir Simon Locard, and
buried in Melrose Abbey, where it still
rests, — a fact which Mrs. Hemans
commemorates :

Heart that didst press forward still,
Where the trumpets' notes rang shrill.
Where knightly swords were crossing.
And the plumes like sea -foam tossing!
Leader of the charging spear,
Fiery heart, and liest thou here ?

Lord Edward Bruce, who was slain
in a duel at Bergen in 1613, was buried
in that place; but a story became
current that his heart had secretly been
sent away to Scotland to be interred
in the burial ground of the abbey
church of Culross, in Perthshire. No
one had ever seen the grave, and the
tale was generally disbelieved until the
year 1806, when search was made for
the relic. Two flat stones peculiarly
set together were found about two
feet below the level of the ground.
They bore no inscription, but, upon
being separated, there appeared a silver
case embellished with the name and
arms of Lord Edward Bruce. When
this was opened it was found to con-
tain a heart preserved in a brown
liquid ; and, after drawings had been
made of it, it was replaced in its former
position.

One of the latest bequests of a heart

436

THE AVE MARIA

is that of Paul Whitehead in 1775.
Poet and litterateur, he was greatly
under obligation to Lord Le Despencer,
and left to him his heart "to be
deposited in his mausoleum at West
Wj'comb"; and here it was placed with
great ceremony, the sepulchre being
inscribed with the lines:

Unhallowed hands, this urn forbear :
No gems nor Orient spoil

Lie here concealed, but what's more rare—
A heart that knew no guile.

Children and Prosperity.

Contrary to an opinion that seems to
be gaining ground in more than one
modern nation, the old Arabs believed
that children bring prosperity. In
Lamartine's "Turkey," we read that
the nurses of the desert, who came
usually to compete for the newborn
children of the wealthy, did not present
themselves at the door of Amina,
Mahomet's mother, because she was a
widow, and that widows, usually poor,
did not remunerate so liberally as the
fathers the nurses of their children. At
length Halima, one of those women of
the desert who sold their milk, not
having been able to find another
nursling in the city, returned to Amina
toward evening, and took her infant.

The observant Arabs remarked that
from the day when this child was intro-
duced into the tent of Halima "all the
prosperities and fecundities of nomad
life made it their centre." This is
merely the Oriental method of declaring
what would be expressed in Occi-
dental parlance by the statement that
little Mahomet brought good luck to
Halima's dwelling. The nurse indeed
fully recognized the desirability of pro-
longing the child's stay with her as
much as possible, and she actually
refused to give him back to his mother,
for fear of losing with his departure
the benedictions of her tent.

Notes an(i Remarks.

Newspaper reports of the recent un-
veiling of a number of stained -glass
windows in the Protestant Episcopal
cathedral of St. Louis, Missouri, state
that one window bears the inscription,
"The Blessed Virgin Holding the Christ
Child." Commenting upon this signifi-
cant fact, the Western World says :

We note this matter simply to call attention
to the fact that it is becoming the fashion among
Protestants to refer to the Mother of God as the
"Blessed Virgin," instead of merely "the Virgin,"
as was formerly the custom. The Episcopalians —
that is, the High Church Episcopalians, — now
carry rosaries and crucifixes. Even some other
denominations speak at least with respect of the
Blessed Virgin and the saints of the Church. Not
long ago a minister eulogized St. Joseph and
held him up as a model for the heads of families.
All this goes to show that the rabid bigotry and
ignorance which once prevailed, and that not so
long since, with regard to the Catholic doctrine
and practice of honoring the saints, are passing
aw^aj'.

The comment is just. As the real
Catholic doctrine is beginning to drive
from Protestant minds the hideous
caricature which they so long accepted
as a truthful portrait, their attitude
toward the Church and her teachings
grows notably saner and more respect-
ful. As for the specific point mentioned
above, we wish that even all Catholics
would place the traditional "Blessed"
before the name of Our Lady ; but
we have before vxs a learned work, by
an exemplary and scholarl^^ cleric,
dedicated "To the Virgin Mary." The
abridged form, we confess, grates
harshly on our ears.

The most surprising circumstance
regarding recent disclosures of the
methods by which funds for the great
political campaigns are collected is
that the surprise occasioned should be
so general. We had supposed that
almost every voter knew how the wind
was raised, as the expression is. The

THE AVE MARIA.

437

great corporations were made to feel,
with the farmers, pensioners, and others,
that it would be money in their pocket
to have one or the other political
candidate elected ; and these monied
men were simply, and sometimes rather
unceremoniously, requested to "pony
up." We have it from one of themselves
that the late Senator Hanna could
demand one hundred thousand dollars
with perfect blandness. Our informant
stated further that he once heard a
great political manager declare that for
a certain sum — we forget how many
millions it was — he could place any
reputable American citizen in the White
House. The late Senator from Ohio
secured the election of President Mc-
Kinley by methods of which he was a
master, and which are no secret even
outside of political inner circles. One
must be simple indeed to suppose that
political machinery in the United States
is operated on any other than a cash
basis. "Money talks," is a common
saying among political leaders; and
none know better than they that it can
be made to shout on occasion.

The return of the "campaign gifts"
accepted last fall would not, we feel
confident, have the effect of stopping
the scandal that has been raised. What
excuse can possibly be offered for
demanding and accepting the money
in the first place? The only sane
thing to do under the circumstances
has occurred to the mind^of President
Roosevelt — namely, to enact legislation
prohibiting the acceptance by national
campaign committees of any politi-
cal party of contributions from any
corporation affected in any way by
Congressional action.

scholarships in the universities and
technical schools under Government
auspices. American Catholics will find
food for thought in the following para-
graph. To our mind it suggests even
more than it expresses:

Catholics are but a small body compared with
the general population. If they are to make
headway they must fortify themselves at every
hand. The obstacles and difficulties they have
to face are great, but there is no real ground
for discouragement. The advance they have
made within the last fifty years in these islands
is marvellous The hostility and prejudice which
beset them have largely disappeared. The day
when they were hated has passed away ; so
has the day when they were barely tolerated.
At the present time they are treated pretty
much as other citizens, and will be judged in
the same way. If they let it be seen that their
creed ensures success in life — not the success
of money -getting, but the success of earnest
endeavor to procure and spread enlightenment
and to benefit the public, — people will respect it
and be drawn to it. To bring about this end
we know of no better means than that of
enabling Catholic boys and girls to cultivate
and make the fullest use of the talents with
which they are endowed. Thty are thus best
fitted for being of service to others, for reflecting
credit on the Faith they profess, and for pro-
moting the progress of the land in which their
lot is cast.

The successes of Catholic students
at the recent Oxford Local and other
public examinations was the inspira-
tion of a ringing leader in the London
Catholic Times, urging that in future
greater efforts be made to secure

The truth of the saying, "There
is nothing new under the sun," is
frequently and sometimes strikingly
illustrated. A missionary among the
Basutos tells of a method, long in use
among this tribe, of sending messages
from village to village, which is only
another form of wireless telegraphy.
The code of signals is a secret which
is carefully guarded by the operators,
whose skill is said to be remarkable.
The instrument employed is a common
gourd covered with the dried and
stretched skin of a kid ; it gives out a
sound which travels and can be heard
at a distance of from five to eight miles.
(Amateur Work.)

. In the excavation of Bismya, the
ancient Sumerian or pre- Babylonian
city which flourished 4500 years ago,

438

THE AYE MARIA.

a most ingenious system of drainage,
perfectly adapted to the alluvial plain
of the Mesopotamian desert, has been
discovered ; it is described at length by
Prof. Edgar Banks, of the University of
Chicago. Not less surprising is the an-
nouncement that the arch, until recently
supposed to have been unknown to
the ancients, was frequently employed
by pre-Babylonians. "Such an arch, in
a poor state of preservation, was, a few-
years ago, discovered in the low^est
stratum, beneath the Babylonian city
of Nippur. More recently an arched
drain was found beneath the old city
of Fara, which the Germans have ex-
cavated in central Babylonia. The city,
although one of the earliest known, was
built upon an earlier ruin, and provided
with an arched drain constructed of
small, plano-convex bricks. It measures
about one meter in height, and has an
equal width." (Scientific American.)

In concluding his interesting article.
Prof. Banks remarks: "While delving
among the ruins of the oldest cities of
the world, we are thus finding that at
the time when we supposed that man
was primitive and savage, he provided
his home and city with ' improvements '
which we are inclined to call modem,
but which we are only reinventing."

The current issue of The Nineteenth
Century and After contains an inter-
esting paper by Lord Avebury on the
recent increase, in England, of Sunday
trading. The author is arguing for
the passage of a new Sunday closing
bill, the object of which, he declares, is
"not to make Sunday trading illegal, —
it is illegal now. The object is to make
the present law effective." The scope
of the proposed legislation, while fairly
wide, can not justly be styled extreme.
The exemptions which the bill suggests,
indeed, have won for it the opposition
of the Lord's Day Observance Society,
an organization which in England, as
in Canada, often defeats its aims by

absolutely refusing to compromise, even
when no real principle is involved.
The point is made that the shopkeepers
themselves desire to close on Sunday;
and that thej' keep open simply in
self-defence; that is, "a few insist on
remaining open, and all in the same
kind of business feel they must do so
too." The fact that the bill is supported
by more than three hundred tradesmen's
associations in all parts of England is
an encouraging sign. The concluding
paragraph of Lord Avebury's paper is
worth reproducing in full :

One day's rest in seven — rest for the body and
rest for the mind — has from time immemorial
been found of supreme importance from the point
of view of health. But rest of the spirit is even
more necessary. Philosophers, theologians, and
men of business in all ages have agreed that every
man ought to be set free on one day in the week
to studj', to pray, and to think; to examine his
own life, his conduct, and his opinions ; to lift
his mind and thoughts from the labors and
cares, from the petty but harassing worries and
troubles of everyday life, and of this splendid
but complex and mysterious world, and to raise
them to the calmer and nobler, the higher and
purer regions of Heaven above.

Rather interesting, if not particularly
edifying, are the "Confessions of a
Yellow Journalist," reprinted from
Public Opinion hj the National Review.
Discussing the method jf manufactur-
ing news for the journals of which he
writes, the author relates that on one
occasion it was desired to .secure an
expression of opinion from Archbishop
Farley on a notorious case of lynching
in Delaware. Premising that "probably
no man in New York is more reluctant
to give an interview than the Arch-
bishop," this journalist declares that the
reporter who was sent to the prelate's
residence saw only Mgr. Farley's secre-
tary. We quote the sequel:

"His Grace would never consent to an inter-
view OTV-such a subject as you suggest," said
Father Hayes. "His opinions on such matters
are always directed by the laws of the Church
and the laws of the country." With this for a
basis, there appeared in the American a two-

THE AVE MARIA.

430

column interriew. That interview was not
denied. You, who read this, should admit that
we must have written that interview cleverly.
Around the words of the Archbishop's secretary
we built statements which he dared not deny.
To have done so must necessarily have been
construed as a denial of the facts of the interview,
which were based solely on the premise, "the
laws of the Church and the laws of the country."
We took care that his Grace should not be made
to say anything heretical.

On another occasion, Mgr. Farley
being in Rome, this typical "great
newspaper" had the impertinence to
request his Grace to act as its special
commissioner in securing from the Pope
some kind of greeting to American
Catholics. The request was, of course,
peremptorily denied. Then :

A few days afterward we printed, under a
Roman date line, something which we knew had
been written by the Archbishop. We called it a
greeting from the Pope through his Grace to the
Catholics of this country ; and also said it had
been obtained especially for the Hearst publica-
tions; but really it was only an excerpt from
the Archbishop's annual pastoral letter given
out before he left for the Vatican. Archbishop
Farley heard of our work liefore the mails took
him the news. And then we did get a cablegram
from him. We had to discover that our corre-
spondent in Rome had been "imposed upon."

This is certainly illuminative as to
the genuineness and authenticity of
much that appears in yellow journals
over the signatures of men eminent in
Church and State; but, as Bamum
discovered long ago, the American
people like to be humbugged.

The first exile to Siberia was the
famous bell of Uglitch, which was
flogged and banished to Tobolsk in
1593, by order of the Tsar, for having
rung the signal for the insurrection in
Uglitch at the time of the assassina-
tion of the Crown Prince Dimitri.
The insubordinate church l)ell has been
purged of its iniquity, has received
ecclesiastical consecration, and now
calls the orthodox jjeople of Tobolsk to
prayers. The inhabitants of Uglitch have
recently been trying to recover their

bell, on the plea that it has been suffi"
ciently punished by three centuries of
exile for its political untrustworthiness
in 1593, and that it ought now to be
allowed to return to its home. The
ma3'or of Tobolsk, however, argues
that the bell was exiled for life, and
therefore its term of banishment has not
yet expired. He contends, furthermore,
that, even admitting the original title
of the Uglitch people, three centuries
of adverse possession by the city of
Tobolsk has divested the claimants of
their rights, and that the bell should
be allowed to remain where it is. The
question, it is said, will be carried into
the Russian courts.

The cynicism of the chaplain of the
Anglican chapel at Boulogne, who in
a communication to the Church Times
declared that an expression of sympathy
with the Church of France was "sheer
nonsense and waste of breath," is
rebuked by another Anglican clergy-
man, the Rev. A. P. Loxley, of St.
Ninian's, Whitby, writing in the same
journal. He says in part:

The Church of France, all defects and short-
comings notwithstanding, has done a noble work
for God in the land, and she is at the present
moment suffering cruel wrong and indignity.
Her churches and revenues are Ijeing confiscated ;
her clergy (perhaps the best and most devoted
in Christendom) reduced to almost beggary ;

worst of all, her schools closed and destroyed

No thinking person can doubt that the real object
of what is going on now in France is the
complete overthrow of the Church, and, indeed,
of religion altogether. It is not much more than
a year ago that the figure of the Crucified was
removed by order from every Court of Justice
throughout France, and the day chosen for the
deed was Good Friday. That shows the animus
of it all. The fight is not against clericalism or
the religious Orders, but against Christianity,
against Christ.

An Anglican layman, Mr. Edward
Asling, of Barnes, England, also pro-
tests in the strongest manner against
\yhat he characterizes as the "cynical
callousness" of the English chaplain
at Boulogne.

440

THE AVE MARIA

Notable New Books.

The Gospel of the Four: A Life of Christ. By
Rev. A. Lloyd, M. A. The Kinkodo Publishing
Co., Tokyo.

The author of this volume states that it is
the outcome of his personal needs. He found it
necessary for himself to investigate the founda-
tions of his religious faith, and this work is the
result of his study. It is an outline of the Life
of our Blessed Lord drawn from the Gospels,
with comments which are always readable, and
footnotes and appendixes of varying interest
and value. We should hesitate, however, to
recommend this book to Catholic readers in
general, much as we have enjoyed its perusal.
Dr. Llo3'd gives one the impression that he is not
always sure of his ground, and that on some
points of Christian doctrine his convictions are
as yet unsettled. The diatessaron published a
few years ago by Father Henry Beauclerk, S. J.,
is an incomparably better book for those who
hold the Catholic faith in its entirety and are
fairly well instructed in it. For such as arc in Dr.
Lloyd's position — alienated from the Christian
sect in which they were born, yet hesitating to
become members of God's great Church — his
book may be of much service. Indeed, such
passages as the following might be read with
profit by all classes of Christians. The wonder is
that the first of these could be quoted approv-
ingly by any one who is not a Catholic :

"Christ will not suffer those men who will not obey
Him to comprehend Him with the understanding. He
could not do so without denying HimselC He will not
surrender His doctrine or the offices of His house as a
prize to classical attainment and critical acumen. The
understanding of the prudent shall not have the glory
of doing that which the Holy Spirit has been sent to
effect. Therefore has so little been written of the sacred
historj' and doctrine; and even that, in such a form that
the understanding of those who do not walk in the light
finds obscurities and stumbling-blocks, exhausts itself
on apparent contradictions, and stumbles with all its
pretended sincerity. Thus does the Lord take the wise
in theiiV own craftiness. Yet the sacred record is the most
certain of all records. No other, be it confirmed with a
thousand oaths, has the same continual divine confirma-
tion. All other heroes and teachers of antiquity have
died, and continue dead. Christ alone lives; and His
Church is as immortal as He. He works in her as her
ever-present Head. She knows Him as the same whom
the fourfold Gospel presents to us. His life is continued
in her; He acts and speaks in the midst of her by His
Spirit, as He once did in person on earth. All that
Scripture says of Him becomes intelligible in the Church.
For her it is living truth, and therefore perfect certainty.
The history of Christ is written for the Church. No
book of the New Testament, especially no (iospel, was
written for unbelieving or ignorant persons The sacred
books were committed to those churches which the labors
of living witnesses had brought into being. They are
the repetition, combination, confirmation, completion of
that which had been orally declared for the edifying of

the Churcli of God. Hut this declaration, and its com-
mittal to writing, were both guided by profound wisdom
and depth of purpose. The Gospels are a work not only
of inspiration, but also of the greatest human care. They
are written by faithful hands, and atford every security
against misrepresentation. Yet the intiuiries and repre-
sentations of their authors were not intended to supply
what the adversaries demand, and indeed then demanded.
The Ivvangelists did not, in the choice, or management of
their matter, inquire what the criticism of apostates
might approve, but what would most enlighten the
children of God and carry them on to perfection.

"It is undeniable that Christ, during the forty days
after His resurrection, imparted to His disciples, then
endowed with increased capacity, most important things,
which took deep root in their hearts. Yet the Gospels
dismLiis the subject with a few lines. Another and fifth
Gospel could well have been written, containing the
mysteries of the kingdom which Christ then communicated
to the Apostles. Here, therefore, the silence has been
evidently intentional. The same was the case with the
acts and discourses related for the first time by John,
and with the history of Our Lord's childhood. So
great was the reserve and caution of these writers. The
recklessness of antichristian criticism is the complete
opposite of the delicate reverence and prudence with
which the holy writers handled holy things."

The Story of the Congo Free State: Social, Political,
and Economic Aspects of the Belgian System
of Government in Central Africa. By Henry
WelUngton Wack, F. R. G. S. With 125 Illustra-
tions and Maps. G. P. Putnam's Sons.
We have had occasion more than once to quote
from this interesting and informing volume; but
it deserves more formal notice, as the most
complete history that has yet appeared of the
conception, formation, and development of the
Congo Free State. The campaign of calumny
against the government of this wondrously
successful colon}-, though still carried on in
England, has been abandoned in this country,
thanks to our author, whose work appeared
just in time to nullify reports of cruelty and
oppression on the part of the Congo officials,
which were likely to obtain general credence,
and which could hardly fail of causing serious
embarrassment to the Belgian Government.
Our readers are aware of how those reports
originated. Mr. Wack confirms the statement
made in these pages a year or more ago, that
sectarian tnissionaries in Mid -Africa were the
real oftenders ; jealous}' of their more successful
Catholic brethren, and their commercial spirit,
rendering them easy dupes of English merchants
whose dishonesty was on a par with their greed.
Says our author:

Protest-^nt missionaries of various sects, in rivalry
with each other, but often alike in being envious ol the
superior results obtained by Roman Catholic missionaries
in the Congo Free State, denounce the Congo Government
as a gaag of barbarous extortioners, oppressors, mur-
derers. A small but active set of Liverpool merchants,
dismayed at finding that what twenty years ago they
regarded as worthless, has under judicious Belgian admin-
istration, become a valuable asset, and some of whom
appear willing to resort to auy means by which they

THE AVE MARIA.

441

may at least be enabled to share the prize, join their
forces to those of the missionaries, [p. 367]

Among the denunciators of the Congo Administration
a prominent place must be assigned to Dr. H. Grattan
Guinness, a part medical, part missionary, wholly illogical
perverter of facts. The plunges made by this eccentric
individual into the depths of human credulity would
certainly receive no attention in this place but for the
strange circumstance that some people have actually so
far belied their intelligence as to accept them without
investigation, [p. 424.] . . .

It is an unfortunate fact that among missionaries
of the Protestant faith have been included certain
Qaasi-political agents who believe that they find adrantage
in depreciating the Government under which they volun-
tarily elect to live. Others, again, for the purpose of
increasing the zeal of the congregations of the churches
in their fatherland to provide for them sufficient support,
have permitted themselves to excite the sympathies of the
home associations by exaggerated tales of oppression
and cruelty. .\cquisitivene>8 is not an unknown quality
among missionaries. Mr. Stokes, the so-called martyr, who
suffered for supplying arms in time of war to the enemies
of the Congo Free State, was originally a Protestant
missionary, but he abandoned that vocation to become
a trader, [p. 307.]

In his chapter on missions and schools, Mr.
Wack refers to the wide- reaching results of the
earnest labors of our self-sacrificing priests and
religious in Central Africa. ( "There are no
harder workers in the world than the Cath-
olic missionaries of the Congo." ) Statistics are
given to show the marvellous progress of the
Church in this part of Africa since 1878, when
the White Fathers founded the first Catholic
mission. ("The prevailing faith in Congoland
is the Roman Catholic") From statistics our
author passes to records in words; and, after
quoting from that kept by the priest stationed
at Yanonghi, remarks :

It is out of material such as Kalonda [a young cannibal
chief] that Christian missionaries and just laws carefully
administered are evolving a peaceful, pastoral people.
That so large a part of .this prodigious task should
have been achieved during the brief period that the
Congo State has existed places its triumphant comple-
tion in the near future beyond a'l doubt. The patience,
skill, and energy of the men who in circumstances so
difficult have achieved so much, if not appreciated at
their true worth now. will assuredly be regarded by
posterity as one of the brightest pages in the history
of our time.

There can be no question that the Congolese
civilization movement is the greatest colonization
success in the history of the world. The straight-
forward story of its origin and development, its
many obstacles and wondrous triumphs, presented
by Mr. Wack, will be welcomed by all who love
justice and feel an interest in the world's progress
toward better things. The ■ high importance
of this contribution to contemporary history
demanded that it should be adequately pub-
lished, and we are glad to state that Messrs.
Putnam's Sons have done all that the most
exacting critic couitl desire to produce a perfect
specimen of bookmaking.

The Senior Lieutenant's Wager, and Other Stories.

Benziger Brothers.

This is the day of the short story, and it is
well that the Catholic reading public should have
abundant material from their own writers to
satisfy their growing demand for this particular
species of fiction. The present volume contains
thirty tales by as many different Catholic writers,
many of them familiar to our readers as past
and present contributors to the pages of The
Ave Maria, others bearing names often found
in the columns of our Catholic contemporaries,
and still others who are yet struggling for an
assured position in the ranks of Catholic authors.
The stories are naturally of varying merit and
technical excellence ; but all are interesting
enough, and well enough written, to warrant our
hearty commendation of the volume as a whole.

George Eastmoiint: Wanderer. By John Law. Ben-
ziger Brothers.

During the great Dock Strike of London, in
1889, the author of this volume was associated
with Cardinal Manning, and to the memory of
that eminent friend of the masses the book is
dedicated. The story deals with the fortunes of
an aristocrat who becomes enamored of the
cause of the laboring classes, marries beneath
him to identify himself with the people, is dis-
carded l)y his family, and goes through the
varied experiences of a social agitator and leader.
Under the title of Cardinal Loraine, Cardinal
Manning is introduced into the narrative; and
the author's treatment of the great churchman
is sympathetic and appreciative. We have read
this book with considerable pleasure.

The Angel of Syon. By Dom Adam Hamilton,

O. S. B. Sands & Co.

"The Angel of Syon" is Blessed Richard
Reynolds, Bridgettine monk, martyred at Tyburn
May 4, 1535; and to read the records here s^t
forth is to be led as through a portal to scenes
edifying and instructive, viewed either as history
or as lessons of faith. We of to-day think too
little of our heritage of the past ; and this chapter
from the archives of the Bridgettines of Syon
should awaken not only interest, but also deep
gratitude to God.

The Little Flowers of St. Francis. With eight Illus-
trations by Paul Woodruffe. Keegan Paul & Co.
This is another and a charming edition of the
" Fioretti," which to-day is at least talked about
all over the world. The teachings of St. Francis
inculcate the simple life in the only genuine way ;
and those who talk glibly of getting close to
Nature should read the stories that cluster round
Ihe Saint of Assisi, in order to know that to be
near to Nature one must draw near to God.

The Call from Slumber.

BY SYLVIA HUNTING.

^WAKE, O little children!
The morning star has set;
1 saw it fading from the eastern sky
As dawn went gliding by.

Awake, O little children !
Day and the breeze have met;
Up from the earth sweet scents and sounds ascend
To greet the morn, their friend.

Awake, O little children !
Now that tlie stars have gone,
The laughing flowers unfold their petals bright.
Close folded all the night.

Rise, rise, O little children I
How can you still sleep on?
The nightingale has ceased her tender lay.
The lark proclaims the day.

The Emperor and the Abbot.

HARLEMAGNE, Emperor
of Germany, was out riding
one day, when he arrived
at St. Gall's Abbey and
saw the Abbot quietly
walking in his garden. This Abbot
was fresh, rosj', and portly ; for he liked
good cheer, didn't work much, and
slept soundly every night. The Emperor
looked at the stout monk for a moment,
and said to himself: "I feel sure that
this good man has too easy a life. I
must give him something to do."

Charlemagne accordingly rode up to
the monastery, called the Abbot, greeted
him cordially, put a few questions to
him, and finally said :

" Father Abbot, I have three questions
to ask you, and within three months
you must give me the exact answers.
If you succeed, you may remain Abbot

of St. Gall's ; if you fail, you will have
to make the tour of the city, seated
on a donkey, your head facing his tail,
which you will hold in your hand as
a bridle."

The poor monk grew pale and
trembled, for he knew he wasn't very
quick-witted; and, naturally, the idea of
going through the city on a jackass in
the style mentioned didn't please him.

The Emperor smiled at his embar-
rassment, and proceeded :

"Here are the questions. Pay strict
attention, for I shall exact the answers
in three months at the latest. The first
is: How long a time, within a minute
of the precise period, would it take me
to ride around the world ? The second
is: How much am I worth, within a
cent of the exact value, when I have
my crown on my head, my sceptre in
my hand, and all my kingly dress on ?
The third question is: What is my
thought? And you'll be obliged to
prove that the thought is not true."

The monk grew still paler on hear-
ing the nature of the questions; and
the Emperor rode oflf, laughing, with
a warning to find the right answers
under penalty of the donkey -ride he
had threatened.

The Abbot thought day and night of
these three terrible questions. He was
no longer happy, his appetite left him,
he couldn't sleep. After consulting,
without avail, the Prior, who was
noted throughout the whole country
as a man of sound scholarship and
excellent judgment ; and then Brother
Bernard, who had charge of the mon-
asterj' library, and was thought to
know from cover to cover every book
it contained, wrote to a number
of universities and to all the famous
scholars with whose names he was

THE AVE MARIA.

443

acquainted, entreating them to help
him out of his quandary. In the mean-
time he himself became an indefatigable
student, spending long hours in the
library trying to solve the problem, — or,
rather, to guess the riddle. All in vain :
neither he nor those whom he consulted
could find the required answers.

The first month passed with frightful
rapidity ; the second went just as
swiftly; and tfce third was almost
finished without a single answer's being
ready. One day, in despair, the Abbot
went out for a walk through his fields.
He was lamenting to himself the dis-
grace that awaited him, and grew so
absorbed that he started in surprise
when one of his shepherds suddenly
addressed him :

"Good-day, Father Abbot! Are you
sick? You look pale and thin; you
appear very sad. What is the matter,
may I ask?"

Touched by the shepherd's sympathy,
the poor monk replied :

"Ah, my good friend, you are well off
to be only a shepherd ! Just imagine !
The Emperor has asked me how long,
within a minute, it would take him to
ride around the world ; how much he's
worth with his royal dress and crown
on and his sceptre in his hand ; and,
then, what his thought is ; obliging me,
moreover, to prove that his thought
isn't true. If I don't answer correctly, I
will lose my office and be forced to sit
on a jackass, facing his tail and holding
it as a bridle, while I make the round
of the city."

Tears came to the Abbot's eyes as
he mentioned the penalty threatened,
and he was proceeding sadly on his
way when the shepherd stopped him.

"Your reverence," said he, "I'm only
a simple shepherd, but I'm convinced
1 can answer those three questions.
If 3'ou'll lend me your habit, I'll go
to the Emperor's court in your place.
We are not unlike in height and
appearance."

The .\bbot reflected a moment ; then,
thinking that the shepherd would be
obliged to replace him on the jackass'
back in c&se the questions were incor-
rectly answered, he joyfully consented
to the proposal.

Several days later, when the three
months had quite passed, the Emperor
was told that a monk had arrived
and wished an audience. Charlemagne
began to laugh, and said to his servant :

"Show him in."

A moment afterward the pretended
Abbot appeared. The Emperor regarded
him mischievously for a while, then
addressed him:

"Father Abbot, you are not so stout
and ruddy, it appears to me, as you
were three months ago. Now, remem-
ber that your position depends on the
correctness of your answers, and that
if they are not perfectly accurate you
are doomed to take that donkey -ride
I promised you."

The Abbot bowed and gravely replied :

" Yes, Sire, I understand the conditions
perfectly, and I'm prepared to answer
your questions."

Astonished at the monk's apparent
coolness and unconcern, the Emperor
went on:

" Very well. How long, within a
minute, would it take me to ride on
horseback around the world? Take
your time and answer exactly."

The shepherd looked the Emperor in
the face, and, with perfect assurance,
replied :

" If your Majesty gets on your horse
at the very instant the sun appears •
above the horizon, and travels just as
fast as that daystar, your Majesty
will ride around the earth in just
twenty-four hours, — not a second more
or less."

Charlemagne was nonplussed at
this answer. Having nothing to say
against its correctness, he put the
second question:

"How much, within a cent, am I

444

THE AYE MARIA.

worth when I have all my royal habits
and my crown on, and my sceptre in
my hand?"

The supposed Abbot, without mani-
festing the slightest difficulty, and
facing the Emperor squarely, rejoined :

"The Saviour of the whole world
was sold for thirty pieces of silver.
Your Majesty can not, of CGurse7 pre-
tend to be worth as much as the
Redeemer, so I estimate your value at
twenty -nine pieces of silver."

This answer was so good that,
although it didn't please the Emperor
any too well, he could say nothing
against it ; so he returned :

"You have found answers to the
first two questions; but if you don't
guess the third one correctly, you'll
have to take that humiliating ride all
the same. Tell me, then, what is my
thought?"

"Your thought is that I'm the Abbot
of St. Gall's." .

' ' Certainly, ' ' said the Emperor ; ' ' and
I'd like to know how you are going to
prove that my thought is not true."

"I am not the Abbot of St. Gall's,
because I'm only one of his shepherds."

And the pretended monk, taking off
his habit, presented himself in his
ordinary garments.

Charlemagne was so delighted with
the shepherd's wit that he promised
him any reward he should ask.

The shepherd was as humble and
good as he was clever; he refused the
honor, and answered :

"Since your Majesty has promised
me any reward I wish, I ask that my
master, who is one of the best of men,
be allowed to remain in his place till
he dies."

Moved by the devotion of the shrewd
servant, Charlemagne left the Abbot
in peace; but he obliged him to pay
extra wages to the shepherd, who
grew in consequence so rich that he
could afford to wear good clothes and
have meat for dinner every day.

The Little Hungarians.

BY MRS. MARY E. MANNIX.

XXII. — A New Friend.

Moreno took his new friends to a
respectable shop, where, though the
stock was not very extensive, clothing
could be found for all necessities. But
Steffan would not permit the children
to choose what they desired. For
Louis he purchased a pair of light blue
overalls in lieu of trousers, with a
shirt of pink and white, two brightly
flowered handkerchiefs sewed together
to serve as a sash, and a large sombrero
with a band of green and red, — the
Mexican colors. A crimson neckerchief,
loosely knotted, completed the boy's
attire, — one in which he felt very uncom-
fortable and embarrassed.

For Rose Steffan bought a ready-
made frock of turkey-red, while a couple
of yards of green cambric did duty as
a sash. He also purchased a red and
white cotton cap, which looked very-
pretty on her dark, wavy hair.

"You are all right. Rose; but I look
like a guy," said Louis, when he found
an opportunity. "What will Florian
think of us?"

"He won't mind it at all," answered
Rose, who had been looking in the
glass, not without satisfaction at the
reflection she saw there. "Maybe he
has no clothes himself, and maybe he
is chained to the wall."

"0 Rosie, don't say that!" rejoined
her brother. "It is too dreadful."

"I don't believe he is, though," ob-
served Rose, cheerfully. "These people
don't look as though they would chain
anybody to anything."

And so it seemed. Everyone helped
them, everyone was kind to them, every-
one smiled at them. The woman of the
shop brought a comb and brush, curled
Rose's hair on her finger, and gave
the children water, soap and towels, to

THE AYE MARIA.

445

wash themselves before they donned
their new garments. Louis took heart,
and hoped they were not unkind to the
captive within their gates.

Now came the question of lodgings.

" The town is full : there is not a
room at the hotel," said Moreno. "My
brother is the jailer ; he lives there, with
his wife ; they have a spare room they
rent sometimes. If you would put the
children there, Senor Steffan, my sister-
in-law would take good care of them ;
and you could sleep in that tent that
stands behind my saloon, in the yard.
Will you come over and see?"

Louis looked imploringly at Steffan,
who could not understand whether he
wished him to accept the proposition
or not. It did not matter to him. The
fiction of Florian might as well be
demolished as soon as possible. This
was the opportunity to do it.

In reality, Louis was hoping that
he would not accept. He had fancied
himself stealing beneath the windows of
the jail, in the twilight ; Florian would
be looking out; Louis would recognize
his brother at once, but Florian would
not know him, he had grown so much.
And then after he, Louis, had striven
in every way to ingratiate himself
with the jailer — who, he had imagined,
would be a very fierce person, but
susceptible to music, — he would reveal
the identity of the poor suffering
prisoner behind the bars. He had not
calculated on being put down uncere-
moniously under Florian's very eyes, —
he did not think he could bear it.

Steffan's decisive answer brought him
to earth again.

"Yes, yes!" he said. "That will be
very good. Where is the jail?"

"Yonder," replied Moreno, pointing
to a small adobe building standing
close to the customhouse. Behind it,
and built onto it, was a frame cottage,
neatly painted, with a whitewashed
fence surrounding the little garden.
And before they could realize it, or

exchange a word with each other,
the children found themselves standing
alone in a neat little parlor, while a
sweet -faced Mexican woman, young
and comely, was smiling down upon
them, and saying in broken English :

"But how pretty! The dress, how
pretty ! And you will play music and
sing? How nice! How glad will I be
to hear you, and all of us will be!
Come now, chiquitos, — come to the
jail," she went on, with a silvery laugh,
pulling them after her. "But you will
not be afraid ? No ? And it is a clean
room, for never has anybody yet been
in there. We are good Christian people
in Ti Juana : we do not get much in
the jail." ^

Directly into the adobe building she
led them, through a door opening from
her own sitting-room into another with
bars on the windows, but no glass. At
either end stood a cot, clean and white.
On a box covered with a towel stood
a basin and pitcher. Above it hung a
small mirror. Two chairs completed
the furniture.

"I have fixed this," she chattered
on, "because I think maybe the people
come down from town to stay all night,
and will rent it from me. And so they
have come, — the kind of people I best
like— the little children."

They could not utter a word. The
voice of the kind woman reminded them
of Natalia. Their fancied proximity to
Florian completely unnerved them.
Tears began to roll down Louis' cheeks,
and when Rose saw them she sobbed
aloud.

" But what is the matter ? " asked the
Mexican woman, in surpri.se. " Maybe
you are afraid to stay here in the jail?"

"Oh, no, ma'am!" answered Louis.
"We are very tired, but we are not
afraid. You are very good to us, and
we thank you. But we hardly slept
last night, and — "

""I go to get a screen which I will
make for you," she said. "I have lived

446

THE AVE MARIA

in town before I was married, and 1
know the Americans are like that, —
they do not wish to be in one room that
wa3'. Is that maybe why you cry?"

"No, not at all," rejoined Louis.
"But it will be nice to have the screen."

"And then you can undress and lie
down and sleep," she said, hurrying
away.

In a short time she returned, accom-
panied by a boy shouldering a clothes-
horse and some patchwork quilts. The
senora carried a box and tin basin,
with two towels on her arm.

"Now we make two rooms here,"
said the woman.

She extended the clotheshorse, and
balanced it. Then she covered it with
the quilts, and stood back admiringly
as she exclaimed :

"Oh, that is real pretty, real pretty,
that screen ! And there I will put the
box, and on it this towel, with one
to wipe ; and now, now, we have two
rooms! Juan, run out and bring in
the tin basin that I have just washed,
and the clean lard -pail with water,
and the little tin lid with the soap.
Here will j'ou sleep," she said, turning
to Louis; "and there, where is the real
basin and pitcher, your sister."
- "You are too good!" said Louis;
while Rose shyly approached and
smiled up into her face.

"You are a dear child!" cried the
kind woman, stooping and kissing her.

The boy returned with the various
articles, and Senora Moreno said:

"Now undress, both of you, and go
to sleep. But where are your things,
children? Have you no baggage — no
nightgowns?"

" No. We have almost forgotten what
thej' are."

The woman looked at the boy
thoughtfully.

" Never mind," she said. " If you stay
long here, I will see that you have
some. Go to rest now, "and sleep long."

( To be

After she had gone, Louis pointed to
a barred door at the end of the room,
where Rose's bed stood.

" Perhaps Florian is in there," he said.
"Isn't it terrible to think of, Rose?"

"Don't let us think of it till we
wake up," she answered. "It won't do
any good; and I don't feel as though
Florian were there at all, Louis."

"I think he must be, if he is here at
all. There is only one other room."

"Well, I don't believe he is there. I
have told j'ou that before, Louis."

"That would be dreadful," said her
brother.

" Dreadful ? " exclaimed Rose. " Dread-
ful not to find our brother in jail?"

"But after we had expected it."

"Would you rather think him in jail
than not to find him ever ? ' '

"Yes, I would," fejoined Louis, after
a pause.

He was already behind the screen,
undressing. Rose thrust her curly head
around the corner.

"I would rather know that he was
dead than find him here," she said
vehemently.

" Even though he were perfectly
innocent. Rose?"

"Yes; for he might be as innocent
as 3'ou or I, and yet they could punish
him and keep him in jail as long as
they pleased, — all his lifetime."

"And they might let him go free."

"Yes, but there would always be
some one to tell that he had been in jail.
Don't you remember poor Mrs. Mullen's
brother, who once almost killed a man
when he got angry ? Well, after he had
come out of jail he was getting on fine
till some one went and told on him."

"Yes, indeed," said Louis, "I remem-
ber it. Still I would rather we found our
brother in jail than not find him at all."

"Oh, you are so obstinate, Louis!"
murmured Rose, drowsily.

There was no reply. The weary boy
had fallen asleep.

continued. )

THL AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

447

— Little, Brown & Co. announce "□ Libro
D'Oro," a collection of miracle stories and sacred
legends, translated from the Italian by Mrs.
Francis Alexander ; and a new illust>'ated edition
of "Ramona," by Helen Hunt Jackson.

— Prof. John Phillimore, M. A., of Glasgow Uni-
versity, who was received into the Church last
month, is the author of a volume of poems, a
translation of three plays of Sophocles, a number
of Latin versions entitled " Musa Clauda," etc.
He is the fourth son of the late Admiral Sir
Augustus Phillimore, K. C. B., D. L.

— A list of forthcoming books by Longmans,
Green & Co., includes "Addresses to Cardinal
Newman, with His Replies, 1879-81," edited by
the Rev. W. P. Neville, of the Oratory; "St.
John and the Close oi the Apostolic Age," by
the Abb^ Constant Fouard (the final — sixth —
volume of the series of histories of the First
Century); " Self-Knowledge and Self-Discipline,"
by the Rev. B. W. ^■lturin; and "Aspects of
Anglicanism; or, A Comment on Certain Inci-
dents in the Nineties," by Mgr. Moyes, D. D.

— A fresh and most welcome addition to Fran-
ciscan literature is announced by Messrs. Bums
& Gates — namely, "The Seraphic Keepsake: A
Talisman against Temptation written for Brother
I.*o by Saint Francis of Assisi: also his Words
of Counsel and Praise of God Most High.
Printed in facsimile from the Saint's Handwriting,
and Set forth in English by Reginald Balfour,
of the Third Order of St. Francis, Fellow of
King's College, Cambridge." The "Talisman" is
better known as the Blessing of St. Francis.
"Praise of God Most High" was written in
thanksgiving for. the impression of the stigmata,
which, according to Mr. Balfour and the eminent
Franciscan scholar, M. Sabatier (a Protestant),
is as well established as any other fact of history.

— It is interesting to find in the current
Fortnightly Review, under the title ' ' Two
Miracles of Our Lady Saint Mary," a pair of
mediaeval legends such as our readers not
infrequently meet with in our own pages, — The
Vigils of the Dead, and The Lily. Of the latter,
a preliminary note states that "a short and
imperfect version will be found in Canton's
'Golden Legend.'" Catholics, however, are
familiar with a longer and more beautiful
version, James Clarence Mangan's fine poem,
"The Virgin Mary's Knight," beginning "There
lived a knight long years ago," and having
as its oft- repeated refrain "O Mary, Queen of
Mercy ! " Possibly the Fortnightly writer is
unaware, also, that there still exists, even in

this twentieth century, and among a respectable
number of millions, " an attitude of mind which . . .
associates the Hosts of Heaven with every act
of diurnal life, and sees in the Virgin Mary the
watchful and kindly Help of Christians as well
as the Mystic Rose." The Fortnightly' s readers
will doubtless welcome yet other Legends of Our
Lady Saint Mary.

—The Premium Library (H. L. Kilner & Co.)
offers its readers an entertaining bit of fiction
in "That Scamp, or the Days of Decatur in
Tripoli," by John J. O'Shea, author of "The Two
Kenricks." The element of adventure predom-
inates throughout the story; the hairbreadth
escapes of the youthful heroes, Joe Danby and
Kit Ronan, from among the pirates of the deep
will hold the attention of every lad into whose
hands this volume maj- fall.

— Under the happy caption "Saints and Sin-
ners," Mr. Charles F. Lummis, editor of Out
West, lays down some rules, which, though
unvarying, are almost invariably transgressed
by authors, editors and educators. Roars the
"lion" from his "den":

It ought to be possible for some of the leading reviews in
the East to learn the very simple rule which governs the
masculine Saints of Spanish extraction in our geographic
calendar. Tht're are thousands of Spanish names on our
map : we ought to be able to find some one to spell what's
on our map. There certainly is no excuse for the Sew York
Bventng Post to persist in talking about "San Domingo."
It would be just as scholarly to talk of St. Francisco, Cal.,
or San Louis, Mo. In the Spanish language there are four
Saints, and only lour, that invariably take the form
"Santo" instead of "San." These are: Santo Domingo,
Santo Tomfis, Santo Tomtf, and Santo Toribio. All the
other Saints of the harder sexare"San"; all the ladies are
"Santa."

— A probable and quite natural result of the
canonization of Blessed John Baptist Vianney
will be a charming volume on the lines of
St. Francis' Fiorctti, and called "The Little
Flowers of the Cur^ of Ars." Habitual readers
of the Aanales, published monthly in the town
made famous by the saintly pastor, can recall
a number of exquisite episodes, delightful anec-
dotes, poetic prodigies, and graceful dialogues
that would find their proper setting in just such
a book, and there is little doubt that within a
few years the work will be undertaken. In the
meantime we feel prompted to cull, beforehand,
for our readers, one of these little flowers. A
lady from Lyons visited Ars, in 1858, as a
pilgrim. In her company were her two sons,
eleven and five years old. The elder boy had a
brief interview with the Cur^, told him that he
desired to know his vtKation, and heard the
holy man unhesitatingly reply : " Vou will be a

448

THE AYE MARIA.

good priest of God, a good missionary " — a
prediction which, be it said incidentally, was
verified later on. As the mother and elder son
were talking about the matter during the evening,
the younger brother listened attentively. For
some months past he had been set to work
at his primer, a book he cordially detested. The
mere sight of the A B C's moved him to tears.
Now, since the Cur^ of Ars decided what was
right and could read the future, why shouldn't
he be consulted by the little as well as the big
brother? "Mamma," he declared in a very
positive tone, "I'm going to ask the Curd if I
must learn to read." — "Very well, dear. To-
morrow you may ask him ; but, remember, you
must do as he says."— "Yes, mamma." Accord-
ingly, at noon the next day, when M. Vianney
came out of the church, the first thing he saw
was a tiny little fellow who dropped on his
knees before him and demanded with a well-
defined tremor in his voice: "Monsieur the Curd,
must I study or must I play?" The good priest
looked down, patted the rosy cheek, and, with
a smile such as his Master must have worn
when He welcomed the little ones, said: "Play,
my child; yours is the age for it." One jump,
and the boy was at his mother's side, exclaiming
in triumph: "Mamma, mamma! the Curd of
Ars says I must play!"

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list /s to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catliolic readers. The latest books will
appear at the bead, older ones being dropped out
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may he sent to oar Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will be imported with as little dclny as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad
Publishers' prices generally include postage

"The Story of the Congo Free State: Social,
Political, and Economic Aspects of the Belgian
System of Government in Central Africa."
Henry Wellington Wack, F. R. G. S. $3.50,
net.

"George Eastmount: Wanderer." John Law.
$1.10, net.

"The Senior Lieutenant's Wager, and Other
Stories." $1.25.

"The Angel of Syon." Dom Adam Hamilton,
O. S. B. $1.10, net.

"The Little Flowers of St. Francis." Illustrations
by Paul Woodruffe. $1.60, net.

" That Scamp, or the Days of Decatur in Tripoli."
John J. O'Shea, 60 cts.

"Bishop Gore and the Catholic Claims." Dom
John Chapman, O. S. B. 25 cts.

"Grammar of Plain-Song." Benedictines of Stan-
brook." 50 cts.

"RexMeus." •$!.

"Sir Thomas More. (The Blessed Thomas
More.)" Henri Bremond. $1, net.

"The Yoke of Christ." Rev. Robert Eaton.
$1, net.

"Some Little London Children." Mother M.
Salome. 75 cts., net.

"Ireland's Story." Charles Johnston and Carita
Spencer. $1.55.

"The Common Lot." Robert Herrick. $1.50.

"The Life of St. Patrick, Apostle oi Ireland."

Canon Fleming. 75 cts., net.
"Sermons Preached at St. Edmund's College."

$1.60, net.
"Jubilee Gems of the Visitation Order." $1.
"Plain Chant and Soltsmes." Dom Paul Cagin,

Dom Andrd Mocquereau, O. S. B. 45 cts., net.
"Reminiscences of an Oblate " Rev. Francis Kirk,

O. S. C. 75 cts., net.
" The Mirror of St. Edmund." 80 cts., net.
"The Saint of the Eucharist." Most Rev. Antoine

de Porrentruy. $1.10.
"The Christian Maiden." Rev. Matthias von

Bremscheid, O. M. Cap. 50 cts.

Obituary.

Remembei them that are in bands. — Heb., xiii, 3.

Rev. Charles Stapley, of the diocese of South-
wark; Rev. F. S. Henneberry, archdiocese of
Chicago; Rev. Edward Lafiferty, archdiocese of
Philadelphia ; Rev.T. B. Nolan, diocese of Trenton ;
and Rev. Edward Purcell, diocese of Buffalo.

Sister Marie Antoine, of the Sisters of Notre
Dame; and Madame Purdy, Ladies of the Sacred
Heart.

Dr. A. G. Blincoe, of Bardstown, Ky. ; Mrs.
Elizabeth Morris, Fall River, Mass. ; Mr. James
Carey, Wheaton, 111.; Mrs. J. L. Shcvlin, St. Louis,
Mo.; Mrs. George Butler, Cleveland, Ohio; Mr.
Charles Cannon, Wilmington, Del. ; Mrs. Mary
Delany, Chester, Pa. ; Mr. George Schwartz,
Youngstown, Ohio; Mrs. Margaret McGrady,
San Francisco, Cal.; Mr. Henry Waldeck, Warren,
Ohio; Mrs. Catherine Kellehcr, Seymour, Conn.;
Mr. R. Gcbele, Erie, Pa.; Mrs. Mary Maloney,
Wichita, Kansas; Mr. John Boland, Thonipson-
ville, Conn. ; and Mr. James Hammond, Sr.,
Winsted, Ct.

Requiescaat in pace !

MATER AMABIUS.
(Raphael.)

A{\aeS^^W^$^

HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CAU ME BLESSED. ST. LUHE, r., 4S.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, OCTOBER.?, 1905.

NO. 15.

(Published every Saturday. Copyright: Rev. D. E. Hudson, C.S.C]

October Jewels. A Hundred Years Ago.

BY THE REV. ARTHUR B. O'NEILL, C. S. C.

I FEASTED my eyes on a casket of gems,

And joyed in the riot of color
That flashed from rings, bracelets, and diadems,

Than tints of the rainbow scarce duller.

There was sparkle of diamonds varied of hue,
There were rubies rich-red in their glowing,

Fair opals, with amethysts violet-blue,
And pearls of a lustre outflowing.

Rose-topazes nestled with emeralds green,
Moss-agates and garnets beside them;

While a cluster of sapphires glittered between.
Too brilliant for rivals to hide them.

With vision quite dazzled, I turned me away
From the casket— an earthly queen's treasure,—

And mused on the jewels, all purest of ray.
That outvalue these stones beyond measure.

My gems, they are strung on a chaplet of beads —
Small wealth and less art in their stringing,—

But I count them with love, and Our Lady e'er
heeds
My requests while her praises I'm singing.

If we knew the secrets of the lives of
those — alas! innumerable — who seem
to have no real apprehension of any-
thing, none of the hght which, it is said,
lighteth every man that cometh into
the world, it would probably be found
that they have not been born without,
but have forfeited, their noblest human
heritage by repeated practical denials
of the things which they have seen.
— Coventry Patmore.

A Glance at the Former Position of English
AND Irish Catholics.*

BY the rt. rev. f. aidan gasquet, o.s. b., d.d.

A R D L Y more than a century
ago — that is, at the very begin-
ning of the year 1801,— Pitt,
the illustrious Pitt, greater son of
a great father, felt himself compelled
to resign the office of Prime Minister
of England because King George III.
obstinately refused to agree to the
measure of Catholic Emancipation pro-
posed by the ministry. At the present
day, when for more than two gener-
ations we have been accustomed to
enjoy full liberty in religious matters
and to claim our rightful position in the
State as citizens, it is somewhat diffi-
cult for us English, and more difficult
for you in free America, to realize the
meaning of that term " Emancipation,"
and to understand the actual position
of our English and Irish Catholic fore-
fathers at the dawn of the nineteenth
century. They were still suffering under
the very real remnants of the penal code
which had been designed to destroy
them, and from which Pitt had pledged
himself to his Irish supporters to free
them.

Pitt was not alone in his desire to
assist the small and impoverished body
of Catholics to obtain some relief

A lecture now first published.

450

THE AVE MARIA.

from the intolerable yoke which they
had borne so long with exemplary
fortitude. For the last quarter of the
previous century most, if not all, serious
English politicians had recognized the
essential injustice of the attempt to
force men by pains, penalties and
disabilities, to accept what their con-
sciences rejected; and already some
measures of relief had eased the pressure
of the previous two hundred years. The
success, in 1774, of Lord North's Bill,
which practically established Catholi-
cism in Canada, led Parliament a few
years later to look nearer home. In
spite of Chatham's denunciation of
the "Quebec Act," as the Canadian
measure was called, which he declared
to be an overt "breach of the Refor-
mation," Sir George Savile introduced
a bill in 1778 to relieve English Cath-
olics from some part of what Mr.
Lecky characterizes as "the atrocious
penal laws to which they were still
subject."

It is hardly possible to exaggerate
the hopeless condition to which at
this time Catholics had been reduced.
Ingenious repressive measures had
taken the place of more active perse-
cution, and the Catholic at best found
himself an alien in his own country.
Whilst the statute book still recorded
against his property, his liberty, and
even his life, laws which were ever held
in terror over him, and which were
at times, through spite or religious
fanaticism, even invoked against him,
he was sedulously shut out from all
participation in the national life of
his country, and all professions were
equally barred against him. At first,
and for generations, Catholics had
struggled to free themselves from
the strong grip of the State upon
their throats, which was intentionally
choking the life out of them. Like a
suffocating man under like conditions,
some did not stop to think whether
their efforts were right or politic, or

could be justified by the cut-and-dried
principles of casuistry.

It is easy for us, who do not feel the
strong arm of the law ever threatening
our existence, to criticise and condemn
the action of this or that individual
amongst them who, as he saw himself
and others lying, writhing, helpless
and dying, thought to make terms
which would give them air and life and
hope again. But at the time of which I
now speak, even these bids for liberty
were things of the past ; and — to carry
out my simile — the Catholic body had
ceased to struggle in its agony, and
lay breathless and almost without any
visible sign of life under the mailed hand
of the State, assisted by the studied
repression and neglect of the Protestant
nation. Hope had long since departed
from the breasts of most; and almost
the only prayer which in the records
of that terrible time the historian can
recognize as uttered by the rapidly
dwindling body of English Catholics, is
one for resignation and for the grace to
be left to die in peace.

There were, of course, exceptions;
but gloom and despair seem to have
settled down as a black cloud over
English Catholics from the middle of
the eighteenth century. Those who
persisted in acting and agitating were
looked on, even by those for whom
thej' fought and strove, as dangerous
disturbers of a tacit truce, and as men
who by their indiscretions might well
bring down again upon the heads of
all the rigors of active persecution.
Sad indeed — terribly sad — was the lot
of that band of the faithful few at that
time. In all the chronicles of history I
know of no page which records a more
touching, a more heart-rending story
than that of this ^-early diminishing
remnant of those who had never bowed
their knees to Baal, who had proved
themselves ready to undergo the long-
drawn agony of a life -martyrdom for
the faith of their fathers.

THE AYE MARIA.

451

" My thoughts," says the great Daniel
O'Connell, speaking to English Cath-
olics,— "my thoughts turn to that
period in your history when religious
dissension assembled all its elements
together, and scattered to the wind the
faith and ritual of your forefathers.
Sad, indeed, since that time has been
the record of religion and its sufferings
in England. He who would follow it
seems to himself as though present at
a shipwreck where nought may be
discerned on every side but scattered
and disjointed fragments, — here perhaps
the broken plank, there the shattered
spar. But still the helm was left; it
was fashioned of the heart of oak, and
while that survived there was hope for
those who clung to it."

But even hope itself had well-nigh
departed ; and in the darkest hours
that went before the dawn of better
times, the thoughts of many hearts
were but little removed, except by
resignation to God's will, from blank
despair. Still, some souls chafed at
the situation, and were restless under
the debasing and precarious condition
in which they found themselves.

"Shall I," wrote one of the most
vigorous of the malcontents, — "shall I
sit down silently satisfied, because the
good humor of a magistrate chooses
to indulge me, whilst there are laws of
which any miscreant has daily power
to enforce the execution ? My ease, my
property and my life are at the disposal
of every villain, and I am to be pleased
because he is not at this time disposed
to deprive me of them. To-morrow
his humor may vary, and I shall then
be obliged to hide my head in some
dark comer, or to fly from this land
of boasted liberty."

From time to time this did take place ;
and, as the historian of the eighteenth
century has recorded, the poor Papist
was forcibly reminded that the harsh
measures of the penal code could still
with a little ingenuity be applied to

him. Some busybody of an individual —
an enemy or a zealot — not unfrequently
exhumed obsolete and half- forgotten
laws for the purpose of extorting
monej', of gratifying revenge, or appeas-
ing his thirst for the persecution of
those who differed from him. In 1761
a lady was tried at Westminster to
recover a penalty of £20 under a law
of Elizabeth, because she had not been
to a place of worship for the previous
month. Down to the days of Pitt, the
law still adjudged £100 reward to any
one who would procure the conviction
of a priest. As late as 1767 a priest
was tried at Croydon on the charge
of having administered the sacrament
to a sick person, found guilty and
condemned to perpetual imprisonment.
He actually lay in jail for three or four
years for his offence, and then was
banished out of England. In the same
year a chapel in Southwark was forci-
bly suppressed, and the priest escaped
from the officers by the back door ; and
although probably Father Malony was
the only priest actually convicted and
sentenced for being a priest during the
reign of George III., the attempts were
sufficiently numerous to cause constant
apprehension of what might at any
time happen, and to render the position
of Catholics sufficiently precarious.

Lord Mansfield and Lord Camden,
the former in particular, incurred odium,
and in fact suffered popular violence,
for the way in which they set them-
selves as judges to defeat the end of
such vexatious prosecutions. In 1768
and 1769 two priests named Webb and
Talbot — the latter a brother of Lord
Shrewsbury — were prosecuted, but
acquitted because their orders were
held by the judge as not legally proven;-
and another priest escaped by Lord
Mansfield's suggesting all kinds of diffi-
culties from the bench. So careful were
the clergy to abstain from attracting
notice of any kind that Dr. Oliver relates
that Mrs. Lingard, the mother of the

452

THE AVE MARIA

historian, who died in 1824 at the age
of ninety -two, remembered the time
when her family had to go to hear
Mass at night, with the priest (wearing
a round frock to make him look like
a poor countryman) the driver of the
cart which carried them.

The position of the laity was no
better. In 1770 Sir William Stanley, of
Hooton, was indicted at the Assizes
for refusing to part with his four-coach
horses for a £20 note, under a law
that gave the right to any Protestant
neighbor to claim possession of any
horse owned by a Catholic on the
payment of £5. Another gentleman is
said to have shot a valuable hunter
thus claimed by an enemy rather than
let him get possession of it ; and though
Sir William Stanley was acquitted by
the jury, it was merely on the technical
ground that a bank note was not
legal tender.

As Mr. Lecky has pointed out, the
position of every Catholic landowner
was one of extreme precariousness.
He was subject to a double land-tax;
he was shut out of every learned pro-
fession and every civil position; whilst
a commission in either the army or
navy of his country was refused to
him. He was at the mercy of every
common informer, who could find two
justices ready to tender to him the
oath of supremacy ; whilst the oath of
allegiance, which might have saved him
and his forefathers for almost nearly
two centuries had he been allowed to
take it, was declared by the keepers of
his conscience to be unlawful. Ground
to the dust between the upper and
nether millstones of the law and con-
science, the lot of the English Catholic
gentleman during the century about
which I speak may well stir the deepest
feeling of pity and command our
unfeigned admiration. "They" (the
English Catholic gentry), writes Mr.
Lecky, " were virtually outlaws in their

own country, doomed to a life of
secrecy and retirement, and sometimes
obliged to purchase by regular contribu-
tions an exemption from persecution."
The Relief Bill of 1778 was intended
to redress some of the most glaring
items of legal injustice which the
Catholics had long endured with the
fortitude of Christian martyrs. It did
not effect much in the way of actual
freedom, but it repealed such galling
provisions of the penal code as that
any Catholic bishop or priest could be
summarily apprehended and tried at
the Assizes for his sacerdotal character;
as that any Catholic keeping a school
could on conviction be condemned to
perpetual imprisonment; as that no
Catholic could legally inherit or pur-
chase land in his native country. Still
no one could send his boy over the
seas, say to Douai or St. Omer's, except
in peril of the law ; and every informer
on conviction could still claim his £100
reward. A Catholic schoolmaster could
no longer be put in prison for li/e,
but he could for a year; and Catholic
chapels and Catholic meetings of any
kind were still contrary to the law.
But it was the beginning of a measure
of justice, or rather the beginning of
the end of many measures of injustice;
and Charles Butler, the trustworthy
witness to whose account of the
troubles of our Catholic ancestors
we owe so much, has recorded that,
"though the legal benefits Catholics
derived from the Act were limited, .. .it
[the Act] shook the general prejudice
against them to the centre It re-
stored to them a thousand indescribable
charities in the ordinary intercourse of
social life which they had seldom experi-
enced." As a sign of their acceptance
of this measure of justice, the Vicars
Apostolic, on June 4, 1778, ordered pray-
ers to be said in all churches for the
King, and even directed that his name
be inserted in the Canon of the Mass.

( To be continued. )

THE AYE MARIA,

453

Her Guardian Angel.

BV SARAH FRANCES ASHBURTON.
I.

Ts) ED by an impulse she could not
1^ control, Mme. Jaline entered the
■f large department store, through
whose imposing glass doors the crowds
went hurrying all day long. They closed
insolently after her, as though resenting
her presence in that sumptuous palace,
to which she could pay only the tribute
of admiration which the feminine soul
must ever yield to beauty.

In truth, the atmosphere of the place
penetrated her very being. As she
entered she recognized the advent of
the sensations which always assailed
her. The noise of the crowd, albeit
subdued; the questions, remarks; the
tinkle of silver dropping from the
purses of the customers on the glass
show-cases; the tap -tap of the sales-
women's pencils as they summoned the
cash-boys ; i he rustle of silk, the thou-
sand and one perfumes pervading the
place, — all pressed and crowded upon
her, filling her with a nameless fever
which she at once dreaded and invited.

At first she glided with the crowd,
her eyes cast down, imbibing the deli-
cious, sensuous atmosphere to which
she was an alien, of which she could
never hope to be a part. But after a
while she opened them, to find herself in
the centre of the immense caravansary
of humanity and the wares with which
it adorns itself. Every sort of finery
that a woman might hope and desire
was there displayed. Suddenly she felt
herself stifled with admiration and
hopeless longing. Then her mood
changed once more, and gradually she
began to accustom herself to the
enchantment around her. She could
enjoy it only vicariously, from afar;
but that she was resolved to do.

All at once she found herself in

front of a monstrous pile of laces. The
lightness of foam, the softness of
down, the brilliancy of satin, and the
glitter of passementerie, — all swirled
and billowed before her. She no longer
heard the murmur of the crowd, the
tinkle of silver and gold, the tap-tap
of pencils, the flutter of silken gowns.
For her, at that moment, there was
nothing in the world but laces. Her
brain throbbed, her heart beat like a
hammer in her breast ; the blood rushed
to her cheeks, then flowed back again,
leaving them pallid. She cast her eyes
furtively around, extended her hand,
drew it back ; stretched it forth again,
and once more withdrew it, saying
between her closed lips: "O my God,
help me! Thou knowest the struggle
that is within me."

And then she returned to herself
again ; her breath came more freely ;
she looked about her, wondering how
she could ever for a single instant
have dreamed the mad dream which
possessed her. Every time she entered
the place she went through the same
programme. It enthralled her, possessed
her, tempted her. For a moment she
would find herself on the point of
yielding; then the prayer rising to her
lips would act like a wave of cooling
water upon a burning wound ; and,
taking her will in both hands, she would
walk swiftly away from the fatal spot.

It had all come about so strangely^
so inexplicably. She was thirty years
of age, the widow of a naval officer,
with one child,— a little girl ten years
old. Her husband had left her compara-
tively poor. While he lived they had
spent more than they could aff'ord,
although she was not aware of it. He
had liked to see her well dressed, and
she was fond of beautiful things. When
he died she was forced to deny herself
all but the necessaries of life. She was a
devoted mother; the little girl had all
her own sweetness of disposition, with
the gravity of her father. To her mother

454

THE AVE MARIA

she was a reminder of the past, her only
hope for the future. They were seldom
apart. Mme. Jaline would not confide
the education of her daughter to any
one but herself. She had the artistic
temperament in a superlative degree.
Her touch on the piano was exquisite,
she painted skilfully, and added to her
slender resources by decorating fans.

It w^as one day when she w^as seeking
to enlarge the sphere of her labor that
she first entered the department store,
to which she now made many a stolen
visit. Stolen we may say, because she
had come to know in her inmost soul
that it was to her a repetition of the
story of the Garden of Eden. Suddenly
she paused, unable to move in the
cBOwd surging about her, near a table
covered with beautiful handkerchiefs.
At her side, as close to her as she could
possibly stand, was a woman who,
deftly stretching forth her hand, seized
a dozen fine handkerchiefs tied together
by a blue ribbon, and hid them under
her cloak. At first, shocked and dis-
gusted, Mme. Jaline had wanted to
cry out: "Thief! thief!" But her lips
would not move.

She followed the woman through the
crowd ; she saw her take here a pair
of gloves, there a comb ; followed her to
the very door, without denouncing her.
She felt herself in some sort to be an
accomplice. She could not help reproach-
ing herself for cowardice; she had
violated her conscience. She felt ashamed
to look into the eyes of her child. The
thought of what had happened clung
to her, pursued her, tormented her.

After a few days she returned to the
shop, and passed, almost without her
own volition, to the handkerchief table.
There they lay, piled up before her—
hundreds, thousands of them, — filmy,
lacy, so fine that they could pass
through her wedding ring, so delicately
embroidered that they might have been
worked by genuine fairy fingers.

And then— and then— the temptation

assailed her ; like the grasp of a demon
it fastened upon her, prodded her,
goaded her, devoured her. The crowd
pressed up behind her, would not let her
escape, enveloped her, — and five minutes
later she was hurrying through the
glass doors with a dozen fine hand-
kerchiefs, embroidered and lace -edged,
under her mantle. She was a thief!

And now, before the bewildering pile
of laces, she battled with herself once
more; thinking to atone, by thrusting
herself into temptation and resisting
it, for the crime she had committed
a fortnight ago. In her heart of
hearts she felt that one day she would
succumb; that her only refuge was in
flight, in absenting herself from the
scene of her former offence. To-day
the temptation was fiercely upon her.
She repressed the words of supplication
which were about to rise to her lips.
Her hand was stealthily extended,
when she felt a touch on her shoulder.
Terrified, she drew back, only to find
that another woman had thus tried to
steady herself in the throng.

The moment passed. She returned to
her senses, made her way through the
crowd, walked slowly up the broad
stairway to the gallery which ran all
around the store. There she seated
herself on a sofa from which she could
overlook the foamy pile, the scene of her
latest temptation. Something stirred
near her. She looked around quickly.
Behind a heavy portiere stood a man
surveying the crowd, watching lest some
one should carry away— steal — an atom
of the costly, heaped-up, lacy billows
on which she had been about to lay her
fingers. She shuddered and grew cold.
The man had a clear, steely blue eye.
She thought he could read her very
soul. He looked all-seeing. All-seeing?
Ah, there was only One who could be
called that; and He was looking into
her heart every moment of her life.1^!!!!^

The problem always confronted her.

THE AVE MARIA.

455

How was it, why was it, that, after
years of the most scrupulous honesty,
she should suddenly find herself assailed
by a temptation to which she had
hitherto been an entire stranger? And
why should it have presented itself in
this guise? Often, on going to the
bank, she could see piles of gold and
sheafs of bills within the enclosure that
separated the sacred precincts of Midas
from the outeide world. It must be a
peculiar madness which had attacked
her brain. She could not understand
it, she could not explain it.

On the particular day of which we are
speaking, after the portiere had fallen
again and the watcher disappeared, the
temptation had disappeared also. She
remained seated for some time, trying,
as she had done a hundred times before,
to solve her despairing problem. But
she could find no solution in her poor
weary brain.

"Are you ill, Madame?" inquired a
masculine voice.

Mme. Jaline started, confused and
embarrassed. It was the man of the
steely eye; he had been watching, per-
haps suspecting her. It might be that
he had seen her take the handkerchiefs,
and was only awaiting the opportunity
to surprise her in another theft.

" I beg your pardon, sir ! " she replied.
"I am not very well."

Rising, she hurried away, half fearfiil
of a detaining hand.

II.
Returning home, Mme. Jaline's first
impiilse was to seek the faateuil under
which she had hidden her stolen treas-
ure. It stood in an obscure corner; it
was not likely that little Heldne would
ever disturb it; and yet, if she should,
and ask a question about the hand-
kerchiefs, what could the mother reply ?
She had always meant to return them,
but lacked courage to make the effort;
on the contrary, she was daily on the
point of adding fresh plunder to her
store.

The handkerchiefs were still there.
She longed to remove them, to hurry
with them to the shop from which she
had abstracted them; but her hands
trembled, her limbs failed her. Once
more she murmured: "O Gpd, help me!
O God, come to my assistance! Show
me the way!"

She was not a religious woman, but
hers was a fervent prayer. And as
the words came slowly, through her
agonized breath, to this woman, frail,
sinful, unfortunate, God put forth His
merciful hand. She was to be saved,
and that through the medium of her
adored and adoring child. A sudden
resolution seized her. She almost ran
into the bedroom where Hel^ne was
sitting, making a dress for her doll. She
sat down beside her.

"Listen to me, darling!" she cried.
"Try to understand what I am going
to tell you. I am very, very unhappy.
You must tell me what to do."

The child gazed at her wonderingly.

"First, mamma," she said, "let me
take off your hat. You look so tired."

The mother submitted. The little girl
removed the pins, and laid the hat on
the table, after which she seated herself
on her mother's knee. Then the mother
began her story.

Ah, that lamentable confession! —
which, after all, was not complete ; for
she told only of the temptation con-
stantly assailing her, not of the crime
she had committed. That she could not
bring herself to do.

When she had finished she said :

"Do you understand, my darling? I
am like a poor sick creature who must
be taken care of, and you are the one
who must take care of me. Come with
me when I go to the store, as I have
done for some time past every day. I
have resolved to continue going there
until I feel the temptation no longer, —
until I can resist it. And you shall come
with me, you shall hold my hand, you
shall watch me, my dear little guardian

456

THE AYE MARIA.

angel! Ycu will save me, I know it.
You will deliver me from the peril that
besets me."

Serious, profoundly moved, the child
threw her arms around her mother's
neck, hiding her head, and kissing her
passionately.

"Mamma," she said, "I will go with
you, I w^ill w^atch you, I will help you
all I can. But you must pray,— you
must ask God to help you."

"I have asked Him, my treasure!
It is He who inspired me to tell you
about it. I feel it, I know it."

"Do not cry, mamma dear!" said
the child. "We will try, and it will be
all right very soon."

The innocent child had fully under-
stood. Day after day, whenever her
mother was ready to go out, she
w^ould put on her hat and accompany
her. Sometimes they walked past the
department store, but usually they
went in. With the child beside her,
the poor woman never experienced the
temptation to touch anything she saw-
before her.

One afternoon, however, while H^lene
was visiting a neighbor, Mme. Jaline
suddenly felt the desire to know what
would happen if she went without her.
Hastily putting on her bonnet, she
left the house, and soon found herself
standing in front of the lace counter, in
the heart of a bustling, seething crowd.
Her eyes gloated upon the beauty
around her; a dozen times her hand
was outstretched, a dozen times she
resisted. Then as the tips of her fingers
came in contact with a piece of the
delicate fabric, a sweet, childish face
seemed to float in the air before her.

Forcing her way through the crowd,
she hurried down the stairs and through
the long aisles to the door. On the
threshold she met the child, her hair
streaming from beneath her hat, her
breath coming quick and fast, from the
speed with which she had run through
the streets.

"Mamma!" she exclaimed, in a tone
of agonized pleading.

"No, darling,— no! It is all right!"
answered the mother, seizing the feverish
little hand as they passed into the
street together.

And thus it went on for weeks, till
the child grew as haggard as the
mother, and the mother as frail and
delicate as the child. And then, after
a night of w^akefulness, Mme. Jaline
arose, went to the fauteuil, removed
the handkerchiefs and threw them on
Helene's bed.

"My darling," she said, "I have
deceived you, and the horror through
which we are passing is killing us both."

In a few^ moments she had revealed
everything, and the child said :

"Mamma, we will take them back
to-day, and then God will begin to
help us. He could not have done it
before. Now everything will be easy, —
I know it."

And so it proved. From the moment
she thrust the stolen handkerchiefs
under the great piles that filled the
table in the centre of the immense
shop, Mme. Jaline never had a single
temptation to take what did not
belong to her, — neither that year nor
the next, nor even after the death of
her angelic daughter, who left her at
the age of fifteen.

As the young girl lay dying of
consumption, an angel — though never
since the day of her baptism had she
been within the walls of a church, — the
mother began to recall the time -when,
a supposed orphan, and a pupil of the
Sisters of Charity, she had dwelt in
an atmosphere of virtue and holiness.
Finally, she began to teach her child
the truths she herself had almost for-
gotten, paving the way for the priest,
whom she soon called to supplement her
instructions by his own. Helene drank
eagerly of the sublime truths of religion,
received her first Holy Communion on
her deathbed, and expired a few days

THE AVE MARIA.

457

later in the arms of her heart-broken
mother. Thenceforward Mme. JaUne led
a Ufe of great piety, and the terrible
temptation never returned.

One day, in front of a church in Paris,
two retired naval officers — men quite
advanced in life— were engaged in con-
versation. As they stood there, a lady in
black passed them on her way to Mass.

"That is a beautiful woman," said
one of them.

"Yes," replied the other; "and I had
her in my mind the other day when we
were quarrelling about your pet hobby
of heredity. I did not mention her,
however; but now that you have seen
her, and probably will never see her
again, I can not refrain from telling
you about her."

"Well? I am interested," observed
the first speaker.

"She is Mme. Jaline, the widow of a
Lieutenant of Marines who died long
since. She was a pensionaaire of the
Sisters of Charity, who supposed her
to be an orphan. You know what a
good man my brother was, — the judge,
I mean? It was he who paid her
tuition at the convent, after having
sentenced her mother to a long term of
imprisonment. She was then a child of
four. Jaline had a sister in the same
school, and so met his wife. My brother
Arnand felt it his duty to inform the
young fellow of the girl's antecedents;
but he was so deeply in love that he
seemed to care nothing about them.
And it was a very happy marriage,
while it lasted."

"And did she herself know ? "

"No. She remembered and was told
nothing."

"Just as well. But I can hardly
believe that angelic-looking woman to
be the daughter of a criminal. What
was her crime?"

"Stealing, shoplifting. Her mother
was one of the most notorious of her
class. They called her 'the lace-fiend,'

on account of her penchant for fine laces
and embroideries. She served time in
nearly every large prison in the country.
For aught I know she may still be
living. And that woman," continued
the old man, indicating with an inclina-
tion of the head the black-robed figure
which had just entered the church,—
"that woman is a living saint."

St. Francis and the Birds.

BY GERTRUDE E. HEATH.

"THERE is an ancient story—

1 have read ttie quaint old words,—
Of how the blest St. Francis came
And preached to the wayside birds.

Around his feet they gathered,

Down drooped each little head;
St. Francis made the Sign of the Cross,

And these were the words he said:

"Oh, come, my friends, draw near me,—
Come every fluttering bird !
For ye are my little sisters.
Now heartcen to God's word.

"Praise God for all His goodness:
He has given you home and nest;
Praise Him for air and sunshine.
And the plumage over your breast.

" He has given you wings and freedom. —
All praise to Him doth belong.
But, best of all His giving.
He has given the gift of song.

"Then sing, O sing, little sisters!
And hearken to my words:
Praise God that here in the treetops
He has made a home for His birds.

"He has given you food and raiment, —
So praise to Him doth belong.
But, best of all, little sisters.
He has given the gift of song."

The good Saint ended his preaching,
And he blessed them on head and on breast ;

And they flew to the north and the southward,
And they flew to the east and the west

All over God's world they are singing:
"All praise to God doth belong!
He has given us wings and freedom.
But, best, He has given us song!"

458

THE AVE MARIA.

My Pilgrimage to Lourdes.

HOURDES ! Is there on the face of
the earth a Catholic who does
not feel drawn as if by an interior
charm toward the city of the Immacu-
late Conception? From my childhood
I had yearned for a visit there. The
necessity of crossing the Atlantic, with
its monstrous angry waves, does not
stop the faithful American child of Our
Lady; but the obstacles in my way,
if less dangerous, had hitherto been
even more formidable. Year after year
the cherished project had to be aban-
doned, until at last, on the eve of the
Assumption, I was able to secure for
my mother and myself two tickets for
the National Pilgrimage.

Having arrived at the Parisian Gare
d 'Orleans an hour and a half before
the departure of our train, we settled
ourselves comfortably in one of the
ladies' compartments, — each of us choos-
ing, of course, a corner seat. The two
other corners were soon occupied by
a Sister of the Congregation of St.
Paul de Chartres and a lady in black.
In time two other ladies joined us,
and we were thankful for the agreeable
company. Before the train started,
a young ijriest passed through all
the carriages, distributing red woolen
crosses to be pinned, in true pilgrim
fashion, on one's breast.

The night wore on amid prayers and
occasional naps, and we were all glad
when, about six in the morning, the
train made a five minutes' stop at a
w^ay station. As the time was too
short to think of repairing to the
dressing-rooms, there' was a general
rush to the public fountains on the
qua3^ A picturesque sight, — ladies,
gentlemen, priests also, running as for
their lives, with towel and soap in
hand, and then performing a summary
ablution as best they could in the open
air. There was no rudeness or disorder

of any kind ; all were good-humored
and ready to allow others a place at
the fountains. Be it said here that the
railway officials proclaim pilgrims the
easiest travellers to manage, as they
never give the slightest trouljle. The
employees, in fact, merely stand by,
contenting themselves with opening or
shutting the carriage doors.

When the train went on again, devo-
tions began anew in every car. The
prayers of the Holy Sacrifice were
said in union with the Masses being
celebrated in every village church we
passed; and then the Rosary was recited
over and over again. Later on, hunger
began to assert its claims. The pilgrims
had been warned to provide their own
food, as there would be no stoppage
admitting of a meal until Bordeaux
was reached. Now, even in a railway
carriage one can easily judge of
character, and I forthwith formed one
judgment. The rosy-faced Sister, while
tasting nothing herself, opened her
basket betimes to offer her companion
some dainty or other. We had been
informed that this lady was an invalid.
"At least," I thought, "she is not
going to Lourdes to regain her appe-
tite"; and I w^ondered what ailment
could beset her. She looked wonderfully
hale, the only peculiarity about her
being an apparently gloomy disposi-
tion. Some time afterward, when we
exchanged a few words, she whispered
mysteriously: "I am mad!"

The startling intelligence sent a chill
through me, you may be sure. In a
second my imagination pictured some
wild fit, and no man to come to the
rescue. A glance at the strong wrists
of the Sister, however, and at the other
two ladies, restored my peace of mind.
If the lunatic pilgrim became frantic, we
three would unite our efforts to the
nun's, and my mother could at least
pull the alarm-bell. Fortunately, how-
ever, the occasion to test our muscular
powers did not arise.

THE AVE MARIA.

459

Prom Tarbes the hours appeared
interminable. The train went on like
a snail; and, to keep our patience, we
had to remember the poor sick that had
passed over the same track some hours
before, many of them in an agony of
pain the whole time. A glorious sunset,
followed by twilight, deepened into
black night, and still the train rolled
on, when at last we perceived, to our
right, a blaze of lights near the ground.
"Oh, the Grotto! See the tapers!" we
exclaimed. All six of us were gazing for
the first time on the celebrated shrine.
The Basilica above, delineated in lights,
seemed studded with diamonds, rubies,
and emeralds, exquisite in effect.

A minute later the journey was over,
and our companions set out for their
lodgings. Mother and I rather envied
them as we stood forlorn in a town
where we knew not a soul. And the
lodging-houses were either so full or
so uninviting that we almost despaired
of getting a roof over our heads at
all that night. An earnest prayer to
Our Lady and St. Joseph kept up
our courage. At last a hotel -keeper
furnished us with a guide, who led us
to a countrified house, where an honest
widow welcomed us to a large, airy
room,— just what we wished for.

Our first wish the next morning,
Sunday, was to hear Mass at the
Grotto. On arriving there, however, we
found that a sermon was being preached
before an immense congregation. We
accordingly returned to the Basilica,
likewise crammed to overflowing, and
managed to hear Mass at a side altar.
So incessant was the flow of worshipers
approaching the high altar, we found
it would be impossible to receive Holy
Communion for hours to come; so we
retraced our steps and came once more
into the open air. I left my mother
leaning against a low wall while I
went to see whether the Crypt or
Rosary Church was more accessible.
Vain hope! The congregation, densely

thronged, rendered any attempt to
reach the high altar simply out of the
question.

Sadly disappointed, I thought that
the water of Lourdes at least ought to
be the first thing we tasted ; and, going
to the blessed fountain, I filled my glass.
Oh, the delicious beverage! Often had
I drunk the same water conveyed to
Paris in bottles, but how different was
it from this ever fresh spring! I drew
another glass to take to my mother,
and was carrying it cautiously, when I
heard the Magnificat intoned behind
me. Several brancardiers at once cleared
the way for a sick person coming out
of the piscina, cured. In his excitement
to witness the sight, a pilgrim spilled
half my precious water ; but I readily
forgave the accident, so enchanted did
I feel at my first contact with a miracle.

About the time of the Angelus, the
churches were slowly emptied of their
worshipers; and while the well-to-do
pilgrims went toward the town in
quest of a repast, the majority remained
close to the sanctuaries, sitting upon
stone benches or steps — anywhere, in
fact, — and, opening their baskets, spread
out their provisions. These honest
peasants, from every part of France,
were most edifying to observe, even
during their meals. They ate merely to
satisfy nature, speaking little, without
even a smile, — all being as recollected
as if in a hallowed place. For the four
days during which the pilgrimage
lasted, their demeanor never varied. At
meal hours the fountains were beset
with men and women filling bottles
of the miraculous water, their sole
beverage. Numbers had no shelter, and
spent the nights either in the churches
praying, or slept upon steps, or in any
available comer.

Taking advantage of the momentary
solitude of the churches, we visited
them at leisure. The Basilica, less
spacious than I expected, is of elegant
proportions, and gives an impression

460

THE AYE MARIA.

of exquisite taste in even the smallest
detail. Every one of the side chapels
would deserve a devout and artistic
inspection.

It is the miracles w^rought at Lourdes,
however, that, after all, e.xert the
greatest fascination over the multitude
of pilgrims; and the cures of Satur-
day, the 19th, at the procession of the
Blessed Sacrament, immediately after
the arrival of the White Train, raised
buoyant hopes. We are told of a little
child who during the procession kept
repeating : " Blessed Virgin, cure baby ! "
His poor mother had taught him this
simple prayer before parting from him
in Paris. The ladies around him tried
to hush the shrill little voice; but
the tiny invalid, quite astonished, pro-
tested; "Baby is good! Baby knows
his prayer!" He was among the first
to rise and walk.

As for scenes at the holy Grotto, any
one anticipating theatrical display or
sensational excitement would be disap-
pointed. No such thing exists at Lourdes.
The impartial observer could notice
nothing but prayer,— fervent, unceasing
prayer. Pilgrims have no other purpose.
They pray in the churches, on the
Esplanade, on the way to and from
the Grotto. Human respect is a feeling
unknown near the Rock of Massabielle.
Before the Grotto prayer is incessant;
and the pulpit is ever occupied by
priests of admirable zeal, who exhort
the pilgrims, recite the Rosary or the
Litany of Our Lady, and give out
invocations, repeated with the most
ardent faith. Thousands of souls are
constantly beseeching Heaven — Farce
Dominel — and the pilgrims drop on
their knees and kiss the dust.

The sick are here in the reserved space
forbidden to the crowd ; they, too, pray
with all their might. I can still see a
poor young workman, his eyes sunken
in their orbits, shouting like the blind
man of Jericho : " Lord, make me see ! "
While the prayers go on — they never

stop — people are allowed to pass
through the Grotto and kiss the rock
beneath the recess of the Apparition,
occupied, as everybody knows, by the
famous statue of Fabisch. The rock
appears polished by the touch and
kisses of millions of loving clients of
Our Lady. Owing to the crowd, one is
not allowed to tarry.

Before the piscinas, the scene is even
more touching still. When a grand
malade is carried behind the drapery,
the pilgrims are breathless. "Will he
come out cured?" A priest stands in
the enclosure before the piscinas, and
implores the mercy of Almighty God,
through the intercession of the Health
of the Sick. The priest throws himself
on his knees; the supplications seem
irresistible. I confess that my own
idea of Lourdes was of an undisciplined,
noisy, though pious throng, each indulg-
ing in loud extemporary ejaculations, —
outbursts of individual devotion. Quite
a mistake! Not a word is spoken
aloud except the docile repetition of the
priest's invocations; no shouting, only
an earnest tone that might be allowed
within the precincts of a church.

The most sublime feature of the
National Pilgrimage is the daily pro-
cession of the Blessed Sacrament. The
sacred cortege leaves the Basilica at
half-past four, while the chiming bells
announce the advent of the Lord.
Benediction is given at the Grotto to
a number of sick — the Blessed Sacra-
ment rests upon the head of each, and
the procession wends its way to the
Esplanade.

On the 21st I was before the piscinas,
assisting at the procession. Hundreds
of men with lighted tapers passed; and
I admired the rich banners, particularly
thai jaf the diocese of Verdun, represent-
ing the Sacred Heart embroidered on
white watered silk, with the inscrip-
tion in gold : Cceur Sacre de Jesus, de
r ingratitude, nous vous consolerons.
Instead of the usual flowing ribbons

THE AVE MARIA.

461

held by dignitaries, two crystal rosaries
glistened in the sun like diamonds.
Each diocese had its own banner,
recalling some famous local pilgrim-
age,— that of Aix-en- Provence having
one of its ribbons held by a Negro. Are
not all men equal before the Creator?

The procession advanced, with its
interminable double row of priests —
fifteen hundred, — various types from the
different provinces easily recognizable.
One hand held a lighted taper, while
the other held a rosary, generally of
the commonest kind. Every face bore
the stamp of strong faith. The proces-
sion stopped just before me, and the
Blessed Sacrament entered the enclosure
where the sick await their turn at the
piscina. The monstrance was placed
on the head of each suffering creature.
The priests and brancardiers following
the Blessed Sacrament looked intently
at the invalids, watching for a change.
Suddenly one of the sick rose from his
couch,— and the procession moved on.

At the Esplanade, the function grew
still more imposing, the surrounding
mountains in their splendor seeming
especially to glorify their Maker.
Fifteen hundred sick lay on mattresses
or litters, or in bath-chairs ; others were
seated on benches, — all awaiting their
God. Behind these was the multitude,
in number thirty thousand, some say
more. Of the prayer on the Esplanade,
I will only say it resembled the billows
of the sea. Shutting one's ej^es as the
air re-echoed, "Hosannah to the Son
of David ! Blessed is He that cometh in
the name of the Lord ! " one could fancy
one's self nineteen centuries back, in the
days of our Saviour in Palestine. One
is carried away, not by enthusiastic
excitement, but by faith, and compas-
sion for the sufferers so touchingly
helpless, so anxiously hopeful. Private
wants and requests retreat to the back-
ground, and every pilgrim, however
selfish by nature, joins with his whole
heart in the plea: "Lord, make nit see!

Lord, make me hear! Lord, make me
walk! Lord, if Thou wilt, Thou canst
cure me! Lord, cure our sick! Lord,
pity them!" While the Blessed Sacra-
ment was borne around the immense
Esplanade, the multitude on their knees,
with outstretched arms or bowing low,
received Benediction given from the
peristyle of the Rosary Church.

A commotion ran through the crowd.
Four sick people had risen! The
brancardiers linked their arms, making
a stout rampart for the favored ones
against popular demonstrations of joy.
Being fortunately placed near the
Bureau des Constatations, I had full
view of a young girl with a white
veil, a man, and two little boys, these
latter raised high on the shoulders of
the brancardiers. The little boy with
flowing curls had risen out of a
surgical apparatus. The doors of the
Investigation Office remain hermetically
closed to idle or pious curiosity; they
are wide open to physicians.

The Bishop of Tarbes, Mgr. Shoepfer,
always presides at the National Pil-
grimage, and, moreover, welcomes his
brothers in the episcopate. They were
numerous at this season : Mgr. Dubois,
the zealous Bishop of Verdun, so
devoted to the sick ; the eloquent Mgr.
Pagis, his predecessor in the See of
Verdun; Mgr. Lavigne, Vicar Apostolic
of Ceylon ; Mgr. Espinosa, Archbishop
of Buenos Ayres, who in 1883 came to"
offer to the Virgin of Massabielle the
flag of the Argentine Republic; Mgr.
Ferrero y Escolada, Bishop of La Plata ;
Mgr. Frischler y Cordova, Bishop of
Yucatan, Mexico; Bishop La Rocque,
of Sherbrooke, Canada, with his Vicar-
General, Mgr. Chalifoux ; Bishop O'Dea,
of Nesqually, U. S. A. ; and Bishop
Keiley, of Savannah. The American
prelates were accompanied by a number
of their clergy, whose piety greatly
edified the pilgrims. The genial manner
of Bishop Keiley won all who had the
privilege of speaking to his Lordship.

462

THE AVE MARIA.

A word about the litter-bearers, —
brancardiers, as they are called. This
noble phalanx perform their work of
charity as perfectly as if they wore the
habit of St. John of God. They carry
the sick long distances to and from
the hospitals, — invalids in a precarious
state being conveyed slowly and gently
to avoid the least jolt, whilst ladies
fan their face or hold smelling-salts to
their nostrils. This is far from being
the only duty assumed by these true
Christians: they nurse their sick, feed
them, wash them, dress their wounds,
etc. When one reflects that these offices
are performed by men of rank and fort-
une— at least the greater number being
magistrates, officers of the army and
navy; for instance, Admiral Mathieu,
the ever kind and active friend of the
poor, — the words of the Abbe Bertrin
summarize one's feelings: "Lourdes is
a school of charity."

To sum up Lourdes, I should say that
the great miracle there is the prayer,
the importuning supplications of thirty
thousand souls. The mere vocal prayer
is not so striking as the countenance
of the worshipers : the weather - beaten
faces are ennobled by a supernatural
look of reverence. Peasants make the
Sign of the Cross with a slow and
impressive gesture, that is an act of
faith in itself An old man beside me
chanted the Ave Maris Stella in Latin.
•And let it not be thought that they
exceed in piety men of gentle birth.
The fervor, absolutely free from human
respect, of men of refined mien is perhaps
what surprises one most. To give an
instance, in no wise exceptional, of
the spirit of prayer manifested by a
class of men little given to public
worship: on the afternoon of the 23d
the space before the statue of Our Lady
of Lourdes on the Esplanade was, as
usual, thronged by devotees. Among
them knelt a gentleman well groomed,
as the English term it. He prayed with
extended arms— the customary attitude

at Lourdes, — kneeling upon the damp
soil ; damp, for the rain had fallen
heavily in the morning. Having finished
his prayer, he kissed the ground on
a muddy spot strewed with litter.
Such men were legion at the National
Pilgrimage.

The time for departure approaching,
we hurried back to assist at the last
procession of the Blessed Sacrament.
The White Train was off for Paris, but
many sick of other places called upon
Divine Mercy to heal them at the last
hour. A Franciscan nun confined to a
bath-chair interested us particularly.
We had met her and her two compan-
ions frequently during these days. Her
name is Soeur Marie Celine, of the
Petites Sceurs Franciscaines of Mont-
pellier. Utterly disabled from walking
for seven years on account of caries, at
the procession she stepped out of the
bath-chair, and I had the joy of seeing
her walk to the Investigation Office.
A little later we were paying a parting
visit to the dear Grotto, when she ap-
peared, surrounded by the brancardiers,
to give thanks to God and His blessed
Mother. Soeur Marie Celine walked
with a firm step, unsupported ; and
while other miracules beamed with joy
at recovered health, no such emotion
could be traced upon her pale face. True
daughter of St. Francis, she welcomed
the will of God, whatever it might be,
with holy indifference.

The National Pilgrimage is concluded
only at the evening meeting of the 25th
of August, at Notre Dame des Victoires
in Paris. I took care to be present, and
so did ScEur Marie Celine and her two
Sisters; all three slipped noiselessly to
a retired spot in the crowded church.
The front rows before Our Lady's altar
were occupied by the favored ones of
the pilgrimage; behind them were the
sick and maimed, still hopeful. (Is
not this hope one of the marvels of
Lourdes ? ) After a stirring sermon by
the Abbe Yi^, Yicar-General of Orleans,

THE AVE MARIA.

463

and solemn Benediction of the Blessed
Sacrament, accompanied by the typical
hymn of the pilgrims, Are, Ave, Ave
Maria ! that seemed a prolonged echo
of the poetic torchlight processions,
most of the faithful slowly left the
church ; while others lingered and drew
near Our Lady's altar, as if to impress
more deeply on their hearts the lessons
of the hour, and to implore an increase
of the faith that moves mountains.
Happy those who possess that gift!
And to acquire it, surely no more
effective means can be found in our
day than a pilgrimage to Mary's
Pyrenean shrine. M. M.

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SADLIEB.

XXXVI.— Leonora Writes a Note of
Dismissal.

XT must be owned that when Jim
Bretherton turned away from the
door of Rose Cottage, it was with a
burning sense of indignation. He knew
almost to a certainty from Mary Jane's
manner that Leonora was at home,
and he felt that it was a most cavalier
way for her to treat a visitor whom
she had every reason to expect. In fact,
a visit from him, under the circum-
stances, was imperative; and it was
no less incumbent upon Leonora to be
prepared to receive that visit.

As he passed out of the gate, he was
hailed by Jesse Craft, who, despite the
coldness of the weather, sat as was his
wont upon the porch.

"Hi there! Whew!" he called out.

Jim Bretherton stopped, though he
was in no mood to reli.sh the old
man's pleasantries nor his probable
references to Leonora. He stood still,
with compressed lips and darkened
brow, and that general apifjearance
which had led Miss Spencer, the con-
fectioner, to surmise that he had a

temper of his own. Jesse Craft, either
unobservant of these signs or disre-
garding them, made divers signals to
the young man to approach his gate.
This, after a moment's hesitation, Jim
Bretherton did. Jesse then hobbled
down as fast as a touch of rheumatics
would permit, and at once undisguisedly
revealed the fact that he had been
listening.

"I heerd what the girl said, and I kin
guess pretty certainly what brought
you here. 'Twas advertised pretty gen-
erally through Millbrook the other night
of them picters up yonder. Besides, I
noted some passages between you and
her from time to time in the garden."

Bretherton's brown cheek flushed
beneath the tan. But for that innate
gentlemanliness, which made Craft's
age and his inferior social station
ramparts against attack, he would most
certainly have made a sharp rejoinder.

"Anyhow, battered old hulk as you
see me, I know a lover by the cut of
his jib, and I suspicioned when I see
you comin' down the street that you
were goin' to put things straight with
Miss Tabithy, and clinch the bargain
with Miss Lenora."

Bretherton made no remark, nor
did the old man give him time to
reflect upon what he ought to say, but
rapidly pursued his way :

"Thar's one thing jest about as
certain as Gospel truth: that Miss
Lenora sets great store by you."

"She takes a peculiar way of show-
ing it," the young man observed, with
involuntary bitterness.

"So she do, and so do every woman
that ever was born since the time of
Mother Eve. They're upon the airth,
first and foremost, for the purpose of
cajolin' men and makin' things lively
generally. If they didn't keep the ball
rollin', why, they'd seem somehow or
other t(} have failed in their mission."

The eyes of the rustic philosopher
twinkled as he thus rambled on. It

464

THE AVE MARIA.

evidently afforded him a particular
gratification to dilate upon feminine
foibles. He continued, more gravely:

"If 'twas any other specimen of the
female sex as ever I came across, I'd
vow that she was actin' in the way she
did to-day jest to show her power over
you and to bring you down on your
marrowbones. 'Tain't so with Miss
Lenora. She turned you away from
that door, for she is in the Cottage
all right enough. I seen her come in,
and she hasn't gone out since."

Bretherton listened with growing
irritation. Whatever Craft's reason was
in speaking thus, he was only making
things worse, and seemed inclined to act
that venerable but always unpopular
role of Job's comforter. The impatient
lover would willingly have stopped him
in the mid-stream of his eloquence, only
that Craft made it extremely difficult
so to do. He laid a hand impressively
upon the young man's shoulder.

"If Lenora refused to see you, 'twas
for some good reason of her own. You
take my word for it. Crows are signs of
dirty weather, and jest before you come
I seen goin' into the Cottage a crow
as black as any the Creator ever put
feathers on. And a hanged sight slimier
and dirtier he is; for them thar birds
attend to their own business, and if
they do dirty work it's because it's
appointed them. Now, that critter went
in and he stayed talkin' to Miss Lenora,
as I knowed by Miss Tabithy's puttin'
her head out of the windy overhead,
pale and scared like. Jest a short while
before you come, out steps the crow,
mighty cocky, with a grin on his face.
I had a desire stronger than was
natural to let fly at him. I knew right
off by the look of his face that he'd
been up to mischief, and that he'd got
what he wanted, too."

Now, this was anything but agreeable
intelligence to Jim Bretherton. Why
should Leonora, who was almost, as he
considered, engaged to himself, remain

for a length of time in private conversa-
tion with any man, and particularly
this one, who was not only objection-
able in himself, but, by his absurd
pretensions to the girl's favor, had
given rise to talk in Millbrook ? What
could she possibly have to say to such a
fellow ? Why say anything at all ? He
did not, however, give any indication
of his feelings to Jesse Craft, whatever
that shrewd observer may have secretly
surmised ; while the latter impressively
continued, changing at will the pet
metaphor in relation to snakes which
he had employed in conversing with
Lord Aylward :

"Now, you and I had better watch
the movements of the crows, and when
we see a chance pot them."

Bretherton thought that he would
have no objection to pot that crow,
or at least to engage in some sort of
warfare against him. But, in truth,
there was nothing to be done. He could
not very well proceed to the mill and
engage in an altercation with a man
for the sole offence of calling upon a
lady who was apparently willing to
receive his visit. He was downright
angry, however, with Miss Chandler,
and considered her conduct altogether
unjustifiable.

It is to be feared that he indulged in
some bitter reflections, as he w^ended
his homeward way, upon the coquetry
of womankind. Leonora, he thought,
had certainly given him what was,
for a girl of her type, a good deal of
encouragement; and it did seem that,
even if she had changed her mind, she
might have taken a more considerate
means of acquainting him with the
circumstance. He showed some of the
signs and symptoms of that malady
which" is said to be inseparable from
true love, and which is commonly
ascribed to the green-eyed monster. It
was a sUfete of mind totally foreign to
his ordinary habit of thought, and he
had worked himself up to quite an

THE AYE MARIA.

465

uncomfortable condition by the time
that he had reached the Manor.

He almost persuaded himself that,
by some singular perversity of taste,
Leonora might prefer the ill-favored
manager of the mill. He recalled many
things which he had heard or read of
women's reversing all ordinary laws,
and upsetting every theory, in the
matter of choosing a husband. Nor was
it calculated to improve matters when,
on reaching home, a note was handed
to him by Nort Jenkins, who in turn
had received it from Dave Morse. It
was from Leonora, and it briefly said
'that her first intuitim had been
correct : that any engagement between
them would be a disastrous mistake,
and that circumstances indeed rendered
such an engagement impossible.' This
epistle was expressed as tersely and
briefly as possible, not a regret ex-
pressed, not a word of tenderness or
of sentiment.

Bretherton, feeling as one stunned by
some unexpected blow, put the mis-
sive in his pocket, and paced up and
down the lawn in silence and dejection.
During dinner, however, the course of
which seemed to him interminable, he
made a valiant eff"ort to appear as if
nothing had happened.

He was relieved when Lord Aylward
afterward suggested that they should
walk down together to Smith Jack-
son's, as he was anxious to have a
word with Reuben about a football
match. Though he had so lately trav-
ersed that selfsame road, Bretherton
felt that anything was better than
remaining indoors. There was, more-
over, a certain gratification in walking
past Rose Cottage, as if it could
have changed its aspect in that short
interval of time. Possibly, too, despite
his resentment, he had hopes of catch-
ing a glimpse of Leonora.

The two set out, walking side by side
through the darkness. The last gleam
of the sunset, ^ith its streaks of dull

red on a leaden sky, had faded. The
wind was blowing the dust and leaves
before them. It was a contrast to those
lovely summer dusks in which the two
had often walked together. Their way
was mostly in silence. Jim Bretherton
smoked hard, the tip of his cigar
making a fiery point of red in the
gloom. Once only he laughed, and his
mirth had a harsh and unpleasant
sound. It was when Lord Aylward, in
perfectly good faith, urged his friend
to come over with him next morning
for a game of golf at Thorney croft. The
thought suggested itself that the links
over there were to be a kind of asylum
for Leonora's rejected lovers, where
they should find consolation in the use
of the clubs or in the smiles of the houris
who inhabited those elysian fields.

Lord Aylward glanced at his friend
with a quiet, searching look, but he
asked no question. Perhaps he divined
that something was amiss; and pres-
ently' Bretherton said, in his lightest
and most careless tone:

"No, Bob, I'm not in good form for
golf just now; and the Thomeycroft
girls don't cotton to me. There would
be a regular freeze -out if I were to
appear upon the links."

Lord Aylward was, no doubt, of
opinion that this was a frost which
might be easily dispelled by a very
slight eff"ort on the part of "the young
gentleman from the Manor." He did
not say so, however ; and both relapsed
into silence, and walked rapidly along
the familiar roadway.

As they reached the mill, young Mr.
Bretherton looked at it as if it had
suddenly assumed a human form, like
those malignant genii of ancient lore.
Lord Aylward likewise cast__^ long
glance in its direction, n
alliance into which he he
Jesse Craft to make
snakes." He could not
what manner the canipa\j
conducted, but he was wilini^hi2>-<fflopt

466

THE AVE MARIA

any fair and honorable means of carry-
ing out that mihtant project.

Rose Cottage lay silent and dark,
save for a faint light from the sitting-
room lamp, which gave both young
men a pleasant recollection of an
interior brightened by a blazing wood
fire, and still more by the presence of
a woman young and fair and possessed
of a subtle attraction.

At the door of the Jackson emporium,
the brown and white spaniel began to
jump upon Jim Bretherton, evidently
in memory of his association with
Leonora. The soft, woolly thing thus
added another pang to the lover's
heart ; but he bent and caressed the dog,
responding genially to its advances.

When the two young men entered,
a sudden and significant silence fell
upon the group assembled in the shop.
It was evident that the conversation
had been of a personal nature, touching
one or both of the newcomers. In
fact, the rustic assemblage had been
in the full tide of a discussion upon
the pros and cons of the mysterious
"pull" which Eben Knox seemed to
possess at Rose Cottage, and which
apparently threatened the outcome of
a love affair which was now dear to
the whole of Millbrook.

For was not a Bretherton of the
Manor about to choose a wife from
the very heart of the town, and raise
its most beautiful girl to a position
befitting her charms ? The prospect
pleased the democratic spirit of the
people, without derogating from that
aristocratic and exclusive air which
had from generation to generation sur-
rounded the Manor. And now Eben
Knox was circulating in all directions
the unwelcome intelligence that he, the
hated and despised, was to carry off
that prize which popular sentiment had
declared worthy of a Bretherton.

The two young men may have been
conscious of the atmosphere; for they
stood an instant or two, uncertainly, a

distinguished and interesting pair, the
cynosure of all eyes. Tommy Briggs
felt so keen a sympathy for one, at
least, of the two, that he was tempted
to thrust into his hand a copy of verses
which he had surreptitiously written
touching the entire episode.

Reuben Jackson,, whom the fellow-
feeling of having hopelessly admired
Miss Chandler for many years rendered
wondrous kind, cast sheepish but
expressive glances toward these two
victims of the tender passion, and
especially the popular favorite.

Up from a quiet corner sprang Mr.
Venn's German assistant, to wring Jim
Bretherton's hand in demonstrative
friendliness. He had understood scarcely
a word of the previous conversation,
but had somehow gathered from its
general tenor an impression that some-
thing was wrong with almost the onl3'
personage in Millbrook for whom he felt
a cordial regard. The young magnate,
despite his preoccupation, exchanged a
few kindly words in his own tongue
with the butcher's assistant.

Mr. Venn, who was in close conver-
sation over a pipe with Smith Jackson
at the rear of the store, and who had
totally misunderstood the trend of the
talk that had lately been in progress,
cried out in stentorian tones:

" Good-evenin' to you, Mr. Bretherton !
So you're gettin' married, are you, sir ? "

A flush mounted to the very roots
of Jim Bretherton's hair, while every
eye was upon him ; and the speaker
proceeded :

"Well, I thought as much ever since
that night of the show up to the
Manor, when you was in the picters
with Miss Tabithy's pretty niece. I'm
real glad the old woman's euchred,
anyway. She wanted the other fellow."

There was no way of making the
irrepressible butcher cease, since he had
become more deaf than ever. The group
were aghast. Lord Aylward muttered
execrations under his breath. Jim stood

THE AVE MARIA.

467

beside him, holding his head very high,
and with that look upon his face which
at critical junctures made him resemble
his father.

"You have my good wishes, sir; and
I will say that I guess you'll have
about as good-lookin' a wife as any
man in the State of Massachusetts."

This was a great deal from Mr. Venn,
and in ordinary circumstances would
have been received with applause. As it
was, a second and more awful pause
ensued. The butcher began to be
uneasy, the more so that he felt the
force of a vigorous kick from Smith
Jackson. He glanced about him, noted
the expressions upon the various faces,
and especially that upon Jim Brether-
ton's. He stopped in the middle of his
congratulatory remarks, and, turning
to his neighbor, asked in a very audible
whisper :

"What's the matter? Isn't he goin'
to get married, after all?"

Smith Jackson made further but still
ineffectual efforts to Oppress him. The
butcher, putting his hand behind his
ear, asked with anxious solicitation :

"What do you say? Is it the other
young man that's goin' to carry off the
prize?" And, turning to Lord Aylward,
he proceeded to offer his hearty felici-
tations: "My respects to you, Lord
Aylward ; though we may in a manner
regret the young woman's choice. I
reckon you stand in the estimation of
Millbrook a good second-best."

It was Lord Aylward's turn to blush
furiously and look helplessly round ;
while Miss Spencer muttered to Mrs.
Stubbs, who sat near her:

"Will no one get that man out?"

Brethcrton, however, made a diver-
sion ; smiling and observing with a
happy assumption of carelessness :

" Mr. Venn seems determined to have
a wedding. We are sorry to disapjioint
him, but Lord .\ylward and I came
down here instead to make arrange-
ments for a football match."

Immediately there was a chorus from
all the younger men present. Every-
one began to talk at once about the
approaching contest, with a view to
drowning any further remarks which
Mr. Venn might see fit to make. Miss
Spencer, Mrs. Stubbs, and the other
w^omenfolk present, breathed freely ; the
former fanning her rubicund counte-
nance, casting ireful glances the while
at the discomfited butcher, who began
to be aware that he had "put his foot
in it." Lord Aylward, following his
friend's lead, quickly rallied ; and the
discussion became animated and
extremely technical, so that Miss
Spencer and her cronies, listening with
benevolent interest, could scarcely
understand a word.

There was an atmosphere of rude
comfort about the shop, which was
distinctly inviting upon that bleak
wintry night, and of which the two
friends were fully sensible. The homely,
kindly faces of the townspeople, so
many of whom were there assembled,
the somewhat motley display of good
cheer, flitches of bacon and hams sus-
pended from the rafters, the huge
cheeses, the bins full of assorted biscuits,
the fruits and candies, and the warmth
diffused from the great stove, — all were
pleasantly suggestive ; and it was with
something of regret that the two young
men passed out again into the gloom
of the night.

It was a dreary evening; a driving
blast raised a cloud of dust, and sent
the lingering dead leaves whirling in
a chaotic race. The pair hastened to
button up their coats, while Lord
Aylward exclaimed :

"It's uncommonly chilly."

"Yes," assented Bretherton, with a
laugh; "and we're both frozen out, —
left out in the cold."

Aylward glanced hastily at his friend ;
but in the dim light he could make
nothing of his countenance, and he
did not like to ask a question. He

468

THE AYE MARIA.

waited, therefore, for the information
which he felt sure his companion would
presently impart.

Passing the Cottage, both involun-
tarily' looked toward the light which,
as' a mocking will-o'-the-wisp, shone
out upon the darkness; but the silence
remained unbroken till the two had
reached that point where the short cut
went down past the alder bushes to
the mill. Bretherton, as if moved by
some association of ideas, announced
abruptly :

"She's thrown me over. Bob!"

The note of pain in his voice was so
observable that Lord Ay 1 ward involun-
tarily stretched forth his hand.

"Oh," he cried, "I'm quite sure,
Jimmy, there must be some mistake!"

"Not much room for mistake in
the terms of my dismissal. They were
direct and to the point. But I shouldn't
complain : I should tr^' to be as plucky
as you have been, dear old fellow!"

"You have at least this consolation,"
Ayl ward said quietly: " that, whatever
may be the motiv: of her action, she
loves you."

"I wish I were sure of that! She
certainly takes a strange way of mani-
festing her preference: turns me from
the door and writes me half a dozen
formal lines of dismissal — "

" Probably for the very reason that
she does care for you."

"Well, in any case I won't blame her.
I suppose .she had sufficient cause to
change her mind."

"And the cause, I am convinced, is
there!" declared Aylward, emphatically,
as he pointed toward the mill.

Bretherton followed the direction of
his friend's gesture, while both stood
and regarded the huge building as if it
had been a sentient being.

"I wonder," he said, "what influence
the manager can exert upon her?"

"She is reached only through her
aunt," Lord Aylward explained. "From
what Miss Tabitha mtimated, and old

Craft has shrewdly surmised, I feel
assured that the mystery lies there;
and by Jove, Jimmy, if I w^ere in your
place, I would solve that mystery ! "

"If I could only solve in the first
place that initial mystery of a woman's
heart, and assure myself that she really
cares a farthing about me!"

As they thus stood and reflected, Jim
Bretherton, who was a little behind
his friend, and a trifle nearer to the
clump of skeleton alder bushes, suddenly
heard a voice, which seemed at first as
if it had come up out of the ground.
He started and listened. There was no
sound but the wind rustling the dry
branches. He thought for an instant
that the voice was the effect of an
overwrought imagination. Presently,
however, he heard the sound ver}' dis-
tinctly repeated ; and, turning, began a
careful scrutiny of the surroundings.

( To be continued, t

The Story of an Ex-Voto.

^'^HE Archconfraternity of the Most
Pure Heart of Mar3', erected first
of all in the year 1836 in the Church of
Our Lady of Victories, Paris, and thence
propagated throughout Christendom,
is noted for the frequency wherewith
miracles of grace are worked in the
case of hardened sinners, in answer
to the prayers of the members, and
particularly their invocation of the
Holy Heart of Mary. Father Des
Genettes, the founder and for many
years the director of this Sodality,
alleges that never since its institution
has the feast of the Heart of Mary or
that of the Conversion of St. Paul been
known to pass without some striking
and wonderful conversion, being effected
by her who is the channel of grace to
us all. Both before and immediately
after those feasts, special and fervent
prayers are offered in the Church of Our
Lady of Victories on behalf of sinners.

THE AVE MARIA.

469

The annals of the Confraternity record
that in the year 1863 both festivals
were kept on the same day — January
25, — and that day was marked bj' a
signal conversion. A gentleman, com-
paratively young, of good family, well
educated, and brought up piously by
Christian parents, had almost from
boyhood entirely neglected his religious
duties and become estranged from God.
It might almost be said that he had
practically apostatized, since he never
entered a church or said a prayer;
moreover, his way of life and his con-
versation were enough to prove how
utterly irreligious he had become. The
only Christian sign that he possessed
was a medal of the Immaculate Concep-
tion which his mother had given him;
this he kept always in his purse as
a souvenir of his childish days, and a
remembrance of his mother. Sometimes
he took it out and read the words on
it, but without regarding them in the
light of a prayer.

Fortunately for him, however, he had
a pious sister who was a cloistered
nun. She was, under God, the means
of his salvation. Deeply grieved at his
prevarication, she entreated a Trappist
Father to visit him, with what intent
we may easily guess. The young man
would not allow him to say a word
about religion, yet the sight of the
monk awakened within him thoughts
of a serious nature. These, however,
he quickly banished from his mind;
something more was needed to effect
his reformation.

On January 25 he happened to be
leaving a friend's house about nine
o'clock in the evening, just as the service
of the Confraternity of the Most Pure
Heart of Mary was ended. Prayer had
been offered for him specially bj' the
members, his sister having repeatedly
and earnestly commended him to
their charitable intercession. As he
stepped into the street he suddenly
fancied he heard a voice — his sister's

voice — say quite audibly: "Augustus,
now is the moment in which you will
experience the mercy of God." At the
same time a vision rose up before his
eyes : he seemed to see the measure of
divine justice filled to the brim by his
misdeeds, only a grain of sand being
needed to cause it to overflow, and the
divine chastisements to fall on him.

He hastened home, and on his knees
determined to amend his evil life; yet
he could not bring himself to resolve
that he would thenceforth serve God
faithfully and keep His commandments.
For a week the struggle between good
and evil went on within his soul. The
next Sunday evening, as he was passing
a church, an interior impulse prompted
him to enter. He did so. Now, in that
church there was established a sodality
which was affiliated to the Archcon-
fratemity of Our Lady of Victories;
and it was the custom whenever the
members were assembled there to recite,
besides other praj'ers for the conversion
of sinners, one decade of the Rosary,
mentioning before each Ave the partic-
ular class of sinners for whom it was
offered, — "For those who are in their
last agony ; for the most friendless and
forsaken ; for the most obdurate and
farthest from God, for those whose
transgressions cause the perdition of
souls," and so forth.

This decade was being recited at the
precise moment when the young man
entered the church. He distinctly heard
the officiating priest give out the inten-
tion for the eighth and ninth Aves :
"For the sinner who is nearest to his
conversion." "I am that sinner!" the
stranger said to himself. He dropped
on his knees, and with tears in his
eyes promised before God, whose grace
he could no longer resist, truly and
thoroughly to amend his life. The con-
version effected in his soul was real
and permanent.

A few days later he went to the
Trappist convent, the residence of the

470

THE AVE MARIA

good Father who visited him at his
sister's request three months before, and
whose visit had proved so fruitless.
There he made the spiritual exercises,
and the work of grace was consum-
mated. In order to atone for his past
life and prevent the danger of relapse,
he resolved, after a short visit to Paris,
to return to the monastery and end his
days as a Trappist monk.

On the morning of the day which
witnessed his departure, the newly con-
verted man received H0I3' Communion
at the altar of the Archconfratemity
in the Church of Our Lady of Victories.
Afterward he told the sub -director
of the Confraternity the story of his
conversion, authorizing him to publish
it for the greater glory of the Blessed
Virgin. At the side of the altar, where
many ex-votos may be seen, he caused a
tablet to be set up with the inscription :

"I give thanks to God for my
conversion, effected through Mary's
intercession on January 25, 1863, when
the Confraternity of the Most Pure
Heart of Mary prayed for me. — A. S."

The Trend of Events in France.

SEVERAL paragraphs of a paper,
"Church and State in France,"
contributed to the Fortnightly Review
by Eugene Tavemier, are worth repro-
ducing as illustrating the views of an
already large and constantly increasing
body of Frenchmen :

The anti-militarism developed within the school,
round about the school, and in industrial and
agricultural centres, appears to be a national
peril, and renders more visible the damage caused
to morals and to both public and private interests.

This anxiety is bringing about a rapprochement
between men who for long believed that no tie
could ever again unite them. Liberals, citizens
hitherto indifferent to religious matters, Conserva-
tives, Catholics, have again adopted the practice
of acting in concert for the defence of their common
interest, which they have now discovered as
though it were a fact newly come into being.
Religious liberty, and even the religious idea itself,

have Ijeen replaced in the forefront of their
programme of political action.

To whom is due this result, which seemed
formerly so impossible? To the free-thinking
Radicals themselves. They flattered themselves
that religious faith was dead and buried: they
have caused its resurrection by the very obstinacy
with which they have attacked it.

Equally interesting is the following
statement, the truth of which will
scarcely be questioned by any thought-
ful student of contemporary events in
France :

But the struggle for religious liberty has in
its turn given cause for another awakening; for
a very large number of citizens, persuaded that
the soul of France is in jeopardy, are reflecting
upon the sentiments which gave life and strength
to that soul. National traditions are being
spoken of once more; respect for the past is
being asserted, without, however, creating illu-
sions as to the needs and realities of the present.
A hundred years of revolution have made the
French very uncertain in regard to the political

attitude which they ought to adopt Republic ;

Empire; another Republic; religious, military,
and social crises, — what form will this long
agitation finally assume ? No one can guess.

One fact only can be clearly distinguished, — a
fact utterly unexpected twenty -five j-ears ago:
this is the rapprochement between very diverse
classes of people with a view to reconstituting
in the country a spirit of unity and liberty
which shall be in accordance with general tradi-
tion. All the constituent elements of the nation
are mingling and fermenting.

Every historian, annalist, and essay-
ist who has written of the great French
Revolution has invariably considered it
the inevitable whirlwind, the wind of
which was sown by the royalty and
old nobility of the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries. Is it not conceiv-
able that the present rulers of France
are sowing, in the extravagance of
their anti - religious activity, a wind
destined to develop in due time into
an equally destructive whirlwind,^
one that will sweep them and their
political doctrines from off the field of

public life ?

■ ♦ ■ ■ — -

If Mary is the Mother of God, Christ
must be literally Emmanuel — God
with us. — Newman.

THE AVE MARIA.

471

Notes and Remarks.

It will be no news to the average
reader of American newspapers to learn
that "in some instances prominent and
widely advertised proprietary medicines
have been found to contain as high
as 45 per cent of alcohol, while there
are many on the market, it is said,
that contain 25 per cent of alcohol."
Very many citizens, however, will be
interested in hearing that the United
States Commissioner of Internal Revenue
has recently made a ruling which will
in all probability lessen the sale of
these medicines; or, in case the sale is
not affected, will considerably increase
the revenue derived therefrom. Collect-
ors are authorized to impose the
special tax upon manufacturers of every
compound composed of distilled spirits,
even though drugs are declared to
have been added thereto, "when their
presence is not discovered by chemi-
cal analysis, or it is found that the
quantity of drugs in the preparation
is so small as to have no appreciable
effect on the liquor."

It is notorious that, in prohibition
districts, "druggist" is very often syn-
onymous with "retail liquor dealer";
and that, even in cities and towns
wherein liquor selling is duly licensed,
many patrons of drug-stores purchase
such medicines as are described above
purely and simply for the alcohol which
they contain. On the face of it, the
determination to tax the vendors of
these counterfeit medicines is good law
and sound sense.

Judging from a letter recently received
from Mgr. Jarosseau, Vicar Apostolic
in Western Africa, our foreign mission-
aries in that quarter of the world are
witnessing a graphic representation of
one of the Old Testament Egyptian
plagues, that of the locusts. "The
grasshoppers," writes the Vicar, under

date of August 7, "do not quit us.
Yesterday and to-day the swarms have
been so dense as actually to hide the
sun. For the second time, our fields
have been utterly ravaged ; barley,
com, peas — everything devoured to the
verj' root. . . . For the third time, w^e
have set to work, and, despite the
hordes of insects, have succeeded in
sowing our crops; but if Providence
permits the repetition of the disaster
by which our two former ones have
been overtaken, our misery will be of
the blackest. For that matter, our
actual misery is great. I have given
away every cent I possessed, and am
still surrounded by the wretched poor
who beseech my assistance."

It is the multiplicity of such misfor-
tunes as the foregoing that constitutes
a heavy and almost continuous drain
on the funds of the Propagation of the
Faith; and well-to-do Catholics the
world over should see to it that those
funds are not lessened.

A recent press dispatch from San
Angelo, Texas, told of the slaughter, by
the city marshal, of a large number of
the pigeons that made their home in
the steeple of the Catholic church. They
had become so numerous as to consti-
tute "a nuisance," and it was decided
that the only thing to do was to
kill them off. The gentle creatures
were oftentimes fed from the hands of
the priests, and could not understand
why their friends should become
enemies. When thej' saw many of their
number fall to the ground, others flew
down and lit on the shoulders of the
priests. This at once put an end to
the shooting, and it was determined
that the steeple must be cleared in
another way.

The slaughter should not have begun.
Some wire netting would have effected
the migration of the birds. The incident
shows that, in certain respects, the
world is less civilized than it was in

472

THE AVE MARIA.

the Dark Ages,— so called, as Maitland
says, "because many persons are still
in the dark regarding them." The
killing of a tame bird was then con-
sidered almost a crime, and the rules
of religious Orders imposed severe pen-
ances for cruelty to any animal. Birds
especially were objects of tender care,
as being Our Lord's figure of devout
souls, who direct their flight to heaven,
and who, like the birds, love to dwell
on high, and take from earth only what
is sufficient for them. "Behold the birds
of the air." St. Francis would have shed
tears to see those pigeons slaughtered,
and the sight of their companions flock-
ing for protection to the priests would
have inspired another of his canticles
of praise.

An article written for a religious
periodical by Mr. W. J. Bryan was
refused publication because of a reference
to the business methods, more oily than
honorable, of a certain millionaire who
is known to be as pious on Sunday as
he is said to be unscrupulous on the
other days of the week. We are rather
glad that the article was rejected. In
the periodical for which it was written
it might have escaped our notice.
Appearing in Mr. Bryan's own paper,
the Commoner, its title "The Price of a
Soul," attracted immediate attention;
and we are happy to reproduce the
following passages:

The desire to secure social distinction has led
a multitude of men and women to disregard their
higher interests in order to conform to customs
sanctioned by the exclusive set. If the teachings
of Christ can be accepted as a rule of conduct —
and what Christian can deny that they are the
only rule ? — how can the Christian justify a lavish
expenditure on fashionable dress and extravagant
entertainments when the money is sorely needed
to help the poor, the sick and the distressed ?
There is no more stony ground upon which the
words of truth can fall than that furnished by
the heart of one who makes social distinction
the aim of life. All of the pure and tender
emotions are stifled by the selfishness of a life
devoted to personal display and social success

But enough has been said to show that in
every department of life one is constantly tempted
to put selfish considerations above that which
appeals to his better nature; and what reward
does he secure ? It is easier to discuss this
question with the old than with the young ; for
those who are advanced in years are prepared
to say, with Solomon, that "all is vanity and
vexation of spirit." Neither wealth nor social
distinction nor yet political power can bring
peace to the human heart or satisfy the aspi-
ration of man's soul. The conscience "void
of offence toward God and man" is the one
possession which is above value ; and, no matter
by what route one seeks to escape from his
conscience, he is doomed to disappointment at
last. The asking of a question is a familiar
form of argument, and no one ever used this
form of argument with more effect than Christ.
Of all the questions propounded by Him, no
question goes more unerringly to the heart
than this supreme one: "What shall it profit
a man if he gain the whole world and lose his
own soul?"

If this isn't good preaching — plain,

practical, earnest, — then we confess we

are no judge of it. Mr. Bryan ought to

keep such articles as this for his own

paper, and write as many of them as

possible.

— — < ■ <

As a rule, first reports of calami-
tous events are apt to be magnified
rather than minimized. There was no
exaggeration, however, in the published
accounts of the recent earthquake in
Calabria. Whole villages were destroyed
and a great number of people killed
or injured. So numerous were the
victims at Stefaconi that they were
buried in a common grave, a sufficient
supply of coffins not being immediately
obtainable. Only two churches remain
standing at Palmi; indeed, the whole
district is marked by ruins of churches,
monasteries, seminaries, schools, and
other public buildings. Hundreds of
families were rendered homeless.

TUi King visited the scene of the
disaster, and contributed generously
from his private purse to relieve the dis-
tress. The Holy Father sent a message
of sympathy to the bishops, and
announced his intention to aid to the

THE AVE MARIA.

473

extent of his power in the reconstruc-
tion of the churches, seminaries, etc.
The suffering poor were charitably
remembered by the Emperor of Ger-
many, who was among the first to
express sympathy and to send aid.
When pubhc subscriptions for the relief
of the survivors were started in Rome,
the anti-clerical press, with character-
istic perverseness, announced that the
Pope's contribution consisted of prayers
and blessings. It turned out, however,
that his alms was by far the most
generous that had been offered.

Compassion for the suffering poor
would seem to be a distinguishing trait
of the Spanish episcopate. The example
of St. Thomas of Villanova, who was
Archbishop of Valencia, has been a
thousand times emulated. The recent
famine in Andalusia was the occasion of
ardent charity on the part of the Arch-
bishop of Seville. Not content with the
organization and direction of diocesan
and parochial relief committees, his
Grace put himself at the head of a
band of collectors who went from door
to door in Seville, soliciting alms for
the famine - stricken. Thanks to this
generous action, the sad situation in
Andalusia has been greatly relieved.

Habitual readers of the Examiner,
of Bombay, have frequent occasion to
admire not only the versatility and
erudition of its reverend editor, but the
robust common -sense of his attitude
toward any and all questions that come
up for discussion in the Examiner's
columns. A case in point is Father
Hull's comment on the Penitents of New
Mexico, concerning whom we gave some
time ago interesting and authoritative
information. After quoting The Ave
Maria '.s note, our much-esteemed con-
temporary says:

The above story brings out something which
is more valuable than a refutation. It proves the
existence of fanaticism and superstition among

ignorant Catholics — a fact which no one can
deny, — and at the same time the attitude of the
Church in opposing and condemning such aberra-
tions and abuses. This is the essential point to
be proved: that, however superstitious and
misguided certain sections of the Catholic com-
munity may be in divers places, this is not in
consequence, but in spite, of the official teaching
of the Church and the efforts of the clergy for
the improvement of their flocks. The Church must
tolerate a great deal which the perversity of
half-regenerated man clings to, simply because it
is so difficult to uproot from the uneducated
mind. But the Church never initiates, sanctions
or positively encourages such vagaries, — suffering
them under tacit protest only when active protest
is impossible or unavailing.

As for the congruous attitude of Cath-
olic papers toward specific instances
of Catholic fanaticism or superstition,
the Examiner declares :

There may still exist certain people who would
wish that all such occurrences should be hushed
up and kept from the ears and eyes of outsiders,
who are ever eager to seize upon them, circulate
them, and if possible make capital out of the
fact that they are acknowledged by Catholics
themselves. They think that we should not
make presents to th^ enemy in this way. Our
view is quite different. In the first place, there
is no such thing as hushing up such matters.
The anti - Catholic press bristles with them on
every side ; and the policy of suppression is as
futile as that of the ostrich, which buries its head
in the sand and thinks it can not be seen. The
method now generally followed by the Catholic
press is just the contrary. Everywhere it gives
publicity to each instance, accompanied with a
critical examination. In nine cases out of ten
the thing proves a hoax, with at the most a
microscopic nucleus of fact in the centre and a
thick fluff of falsehoods, exaggerations, and mis-
representations woven round it like the cocoon
of a chrysalis.

This, we submit, is sane counsel. Let
the truth be frankly admitted in the
first place. Explanations, excuses, or
justification may follow, and will in-
variably have greater force precisely on
account of the admission.

The Sister Superior of St.-Jean-de-
Losne hospital was recently decorated
by the French Minister of the Interior.
The incident emphasizes one fact about
the Legion of Honor that merits men-

474

THE AVE MARIA.

tion : since the creation of the French
order of distinction, the great majority
of the women who have received its
Cross have been nuns. The first Sister
to receive the decoration was not, as
is commonly believed. Sister Martha
of the Visitandines, although in the
days of Napoleon I. that eminent nun
was notified that the Cross would be
awarded to her. It was Sister Rosalie,
superioress at the age of twenty-eight of
a Parisian convent, w^ho first actually
received the honor. She had acquired
very great influence in the St. Marcel
quarter, where she was looked upon
as a saint; and her prestige enabled
her to secure a number of pardons for
the insurgents of 1848. The whole
faubourg greeted her reception of the
Cross with enthusiasm; and, as her
biographer, Viscount de Melun, relates,
"each one of her poor people thought
himself decorated in her person." One
of the avenues of the quarter in which
she dwelt was called after Sister
Rosalie; and a signal proof of the
veneration in which her memory is held
is the fact that no municipal council,
however irreligious, has yet dared to
alter the avenue's name.

We hear that a wealthy real -estate
owner in Chicago, who failed of re-
election as trustee of a large Methodist
church in that city, has founded a
new congregation and built a church
to accommodate its membership, just
opposite the one of w^hich he was
formerly trustee. This is only another
illustration of the tendency of Protes-
tantism toward disintegration ; and it
accounts for the numerous divisions
of all the leading sects. There are as
many as seventeen kinds of Methodists,
the so-called "Primitive Methodists"
being among those with the smallest
number of congregations.

This tendency of Protestantism was
observed from its beginning. It is thus

quaintly shown in a little book published
in 1645 by one Thomas Vane, "doctor
of divinity, and lately chaplaine to his
Majesty the King of England" :

The Catholjque Roman Church hath in it the
propriety of heat, and doth congregate homo-
genea, gather together things of the same kind,
and disgregare hcterogenea, separate things that
are of different natures ; casting out of her
Communion all sorts of Heretiques. And on
the contrary the Protestant Religion hath the
property of cold, which is congregare heterogenea,
to gather together things of different natures,
enfoulding under her name a miscellane of
Religions, freezing them altogether, and withall
making them so brittle that every chance breakes
them into smaller sects and sub-divisions, which
in the end will be the destruction of the whole,
as it hath been of all foregoing heresies.

And this truth Sir Edwin Sandys, a learned
Protestant {In bis Relation of Religion of the
Western parts) confesseth, saying, 'The Papists
have the Pope, as a common father, adviser and
conductor, to reconcile their jarres, to decide their
differences, to draw their Religion by consent of
Councells unto unity, &c. whereas on the other
side, Protestants are like severed or rather
scattered troupes, each drawing adverse way,
without any meanes to pacific their quarrells,
no Patriarch one or more, to have a common
superintendency or care of their Churches, for
correspondency and unity: no ordinary way to
assemble a generall Councell on their part, the
only hope remaining ever to ass wage their
contentions.'

"A Lost Sheep Returned Home; or,
The Motives of the Conversion to the
Catholic Faith of Thomas Vane," from
which we quote, besides its "forraigne
and unknowne habit," was "apparelled
both in the French and Latine tongue,"
and printed at Paris.

The late Cardinal Pierotti, of the
Order of St. Dominic, though born in
1836, was not classed among the
ancients of the Sacred College, many of
its members being much more advanced
in years. His Eminence was a dis-
tinguished theologian, and before his
elevation to the cardinalate was a
professor in the Dominican University.
He was noted for his deep humility and
boundless charity. R. I. P.

To My Guardian Angel.

BY HOPE WILLIS.

CWEET Angel, let me ding to thee;
Keep me from sin and danger free.

0 be thou near me all the day,
Whether 1 work or rest or play !

And when the night falls, dark and still,
With gentle thoughts my bosom fill.
When 1 my evening prayers have said.
Stay close beside my little bed ;
Enfold me in thy spotless wings,
Driving away all evil things.
Banish all strange and fearful dreams
Until again the morning beams,—
Until, night's nameless terrors o'er,

1 wake within thy arms once more.

1

The Little Hungarians.

BY MRS. MARY E. MANNIX.

XXIII.— An Eventful Day.

T was nearly dark when the
children awoke after their
long nap, roused by the voice
of Steffan, who was asking
for thein. They dressed hurriedly and
went out. They were met on the porch
by their hostess, who told them their
father had gone down to the Hot
Springs with her husband and brother-
in-law, and would not return until
late ; one of the bullfighters was at the
Springs, and refused to come up unless
some change was made in the agreement
relative to payment for his services.

"Come now and have a little supper,
and then we will go out and take a
walk," she continued, setting chairs
close to a neatly spread table. "I like
so much to have company. I am nearly
always alone. After supper we will go

and see the place where the fight will
be to-morrow."

It seemed to Louis that the moment
for learning something about Florian
had now arrived. Steffan was absent,
their hostess was kind and communica-
tive, and they would be able to hear
from her all that was to be known. He
had not yet decided whether or not he
would tell her everything, but felt very
much inclined to do so.

"Who takes care of the prisoners
when your husband goes away?" he,
ventured, in a tremulous voice, very
evident to Rose, but which the Mexican
woman did not observe.

"The door is always locked and
bolted," she rejoined. "No one ever
escapes. Very seldom do we have any
one in the cuartel, excepting when a
man gets drunk and will not be still.
Then we put him in over night, and let
him go in the morning. Yes, sometimes
there are men who steal horses or like
that; but very seldom, very seldom."

" Did you ever have any murderers ? "
asked Rose, in a solemn tone.

"No," answered the senora, after a
pause for reflection. " I do not remember
any, and we have been here five years—
at the jail."

" How many are in jail now ? " asked
Louis.

"Not one," was the response.

"When did the last one get out?"

"Yesterday. He had been a little
drunk, and making a noise; but the
judge would not keep him for that."

" And before that, were there many ? "

" Oh, no ! We are quite peaceable here
at Ti Juana."

"And the man who was in for
months, — where is he?"

"No man has been in for months."

" No young man with dark curly hair

476

THE AVE MARIA.

and dark eyes, tall and handsome?"

"I can't think of any one."

"Not a Mexican, but looking like one,
speaking very good English?"

"Named Florian," added Rose.

"Named Florian — Florian ?" repeated
the senora. "No."

"Or Vladych?" said Rose.

"NorVladych," answered the Mexican
woman. "Why do you ask?"

Before the boy could reply a man
passed the window, — a burly Negro,
with rings in his ears. He knocked,
and entered without invitation.

"Where is Steffan?" he demanded
peremptorily. "He gave me four bad
dollars, and I want to settle with him."

"He is not here," replied the jailer's
wife. "He has gone with my husband,
and will not be home till late."

"All right! I am not going away
till after the bullfight," said the Negro
in a stem voice.

" Maybe he did not know the money
was bad," said Louis.

" Maybe not, but he has to make
them good. I'm glad to see you are in
such a comfortable place, little ones."

"Yes; we like it," answered Louis.
"But, Juan, I have just been talking
to this lady, and she does not know
anything about Florian."

" Florian !" laughed the Negro. "So
Steffan hasn't told you yet ? Poor little
ones ! I made that up about your
brother, to get you to come away
from the Bandinis without any trouble.
Your brother is not here."

"Oh, I am glad, I am glad!" cried
Rose, clapping her little hands together.

But Louis walked silently over to
the window. When he turned around,
Juan Carisso had gone. But in the few
seconds that inter\^ened the boy had
made a firm resolve.

"Senora," he said, resuming his seat,
"I like you: you are kind and good.
I am going to tell you, as not long ago
I told another kind woman, our sad
story. I hope you will believe me, and

try to help us. We are not the children
of Steffan, — thank God, we are not the
children of Steffan! He enticed us away,
not only once but twice. A third time
he can not do it. Unless he makes the
people here believe that we are liars,
we are going to get away from Steffan."

Standing beside her as she washed
and Rose wiped the supper dishes,
Louis told the senora the miserable
tale of their orphanhood, the threat-
ened separation, their meeting with the
wUy abductor, and their subsequent
wanderings.

Full of compassion, the gentle little
woman consoled and soothed them,
promising to enlist the good -will of
her husband and friends in their favor,
and predicting the complete confusion
of Steffan.

"But we will do nothing until the
£esta is over," she said; "for there
will be many curious people here
to-morrow, — people like that man
Steffan, who may be friends of his, and
who would help him to get you away
if he thought you would leave him.
Yes, chiquitos, we will keep quiet. I
will not even tell my husband till the
fiesta is over ; and then — if that man
Steffan wishes to leave, it must be
without you. Everything will come all
right."

Cheered and encouraged, the children
accompanied their entertainer on a
short walk, followed at some distance
by a crowd of small children who were
interested in their singular costumes.
The Senora Moreno showed them the
auditorium, built of rough boards, tier
over tier, from which the spectators
were to witness the fight next day.
Everything was crude and primitive,
but there was accommodation for
several thousand persons. Everywhere
booths were being erected for the sale
of ice-cream, candy, peanuts, and so
forth. The floors of the saloons were
being deluged with water. All Ti Juana
was arraying itself in festal garb.

THE AVE MARIA.

477

"I do not know where you will sing
and play your music," remarked the
senora. "This place here will be too
large. But maybe in front of the hotel."

"There is a church!" exclaimed Rose.
"Can we go to Mass to-morrow?"

"Oh, no! We have not Mass here
but only three or four times a year;
and not to-morrow, for the priest does
not come again till October."

Their hostess, seeing that they were
tired, proposed that they return and
go to bed. They were glad to do so;
though Louis lay awake a long time,
reviewing the past, and trying to
arrange the future. He had determined
to go back to their old home as soon as
possible. At last he had begun to feel
that the pursuit of Florian was vain,
and would result only in making them
wanderers and vagabonds.

Stefifan came for them about eight
next morning, telling them they were
to play and sing on the veranda of
the hotel. Many ranchers had already
arrived, — young men on horseback,
families in farm -wagons, and lighter
vehicles filled with merry boys and girls.
The trains began to discharge their
freight early; and from nine till one
the children played and sang, with but
few intermissions. Money was dropped
freely into the boy's sombrero; but,
though there was a gentle smile on his
lips, his cheeks burned, and he inwardly
vowed that it would be for the last
time under the leadership of SteflFan.

After a slight lunch, the children
started for the scene of action. The
senora had reserved seats in one of
the best positions for seeing. Immense
crowds were already gathered when
they arrived. After some time three
matadors entered the arena; they were
clad in spangled velvet, and looked
very jaunty. After them came another,
dressed in white, with a white cap,
and his face powdered to ghastliness.
Taking his seat on a white stool in the
centre of the arena, he announced, in

Spanish and afterward in very halting
English, that he was about to mesmerize
the first bull. But the bull, a bay
animal, refused to be mesmerized ; he
seemed neither to fear nor to attach
any importance to the white figure
before him, but started toward it with
intentions so evidently warlike that
the "mesmerizer" disappeared quickly
through one of the entrances, and was
seen no more.

A grey bull followed, but showed no
disposition to fight; on the contrary,
he seemed very much frightened, and
was led away. Then came a white bull,
and after that a spotted animal, which
the matadors succeeded in torturing a
good deal, but without much display of
recognition from the audience. Finally
the bay — or one looking very much
like it — was once more ushered into the
ring. After several ineffectual attempts
to wound it by the great (?) Spanish
champion, Manuel Guiterra, the entire
audience hastily rose, and with one
disgusted shout bade him desist. He
wanted only the word. Making a most
profound bow to the spectators who
had paid their dollars to see a farce,
Guiterra left the arena, and the bull-
fight was over. Everyone was loud in
denunciation of the management.

Moreno, the jailer, whom the children
had not yet seen, joined his wife at
the gates, and the party went home.
Moreno was a decent fellow, and did
not go out again that night. A crowd
of roughs had remained overdrinking
in the various saloons, where money
flowed as freely as beer.

Toward midnight the jailer was
awakened by loud knocking at the
door.

"What is it?" he inquired, thrusting
his head out of the window.

"It is I — Gabriel Perez," was the
response, — Gabriel Perez was the only
policeman of the little hamlet.

"What is wrong?"

"Come quickly! A man is killed."

478

THE AVE MARIA.

"What man?"

"The Hungarian."

"Where?"

"In Doro's saloon."

"Who killed him? (Yes, yes, I am
dressing.)"

"A. Negro. They call him Juan
Carisso."

Louis had heard every word, and the
blood seemed to freeze in his veins.
All his wrongs were forgotten; only
horror took possession of him. He
rose, dressed, and went to the room
of his hostess, whom he heard moving
'rapidly about. She knew no more
than he did about what had occurred.
Together they went into the other room
of the jail, lit two lamps, and set out
a cot in the middle of the floor.

Presently they heard the sound of
tramping feet, and four silent men
entered and deposited a burthen,
covered with a sheet, on the waiting
cot. As they placed it there the sheet
fell away from the white, still face. It
was Stefifan, and he was dead.

Louis shrank away without asking
a question. Once more he lay down
upon his bed, the murmur of many
voices penetrating through the thick
partition. Rose w^as sleeping so peace-
fully that he could not hear her breathe.
But the boy slept no more that night.

( To be continued. )

The W^ord Jubilee.

"Jubilee" comes from the Hebrew
yobel — a horn. Its application to the
peculiar institution known amongst the
ancient Jews as the Yobel, or Jubilee,
comes from the fact that the beginning
of the Year of Jubilee w^as proclaimed
on the Day of Atonement — the 10th
of the 7th month — by the sound of a
peculiar horn called the yobel. It is a
current error that the Jubilee occurred
every forty-ninth year. The forty -ninth
year expired before the Yobel began.

The Piety of a Great Patriot.

Andreas Hofer and his brave followers
vk'ere as skilled in the use of the Rosary
as in that of the carbine. It was their
custom when on a particularly diflicult
march through the mountains, or when
caught in one of those frightful storms
which deluge the country in a few
moments, to recite the Rosary together
as they went bravely forward, some-
times in the middle of the night. But
foremost among all in these pious
devotions was the leader, who never
neglected to recite the Rosary, not once
only but several times every day.

When, in the capacity of commandant
and governor of the Tyrol, he took
possession of the imperial palace of
Innsbruck, he caused a large crucifix
and a picture of the Blessed Virgin to
be hung on the walls of the dining-
room. Morning and evening he paid a
visit to the church noted for the famous
picture of Notre Dame de Bon Secours ;
and every evening, after supper, he
recited the Rosary with his entire suite.
Thus this sincere and consistent Chris-
tian never omitted in the palace any of
the pious exercises he was accustomed
to perform in his humble hostelry.
In misfortune he was equally faithful,
as will be seen.

On the 20th of February, 1810, we
behold him at Mantua, the place
of immolation. All through his last
sorrowful march he carried in his hand
his large Rosary, made of great beads
of cocoa, with a silver cross. Twelve
soldiers, fully armed, ranged themselves
in front of him. Hofer faced them with
all the calm of a grand, heroic soul.
As a last remembrance, he handed his
Rosary to the priest who accompanied
him, — that Rosary from which he had
been inseparable for many years. Then
in a firm voice he commanded the
soldiers to fire. In a moment the hero
of the Tyrol was no more.

THE AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

479

— A new volume in "The Saints" series is
announced— "Saint Mary the Virgin," by Ren^
Marie ile Broise, translated by Harold Gidney.

—A London publisher will soon bring out "The
Miracles of Our Lady Saint Mary," by Evelyn
Underbill, to which reference was made in these
columns last week.

—Still another addition to Franciscan literature
is included among new publications of Messrs.
Dent & Co. — "Franciscan Legends in Italian
Art," by E. G. Salter, with illustrations.

— Messrs. Duckworth & Co. announce a new
book by Hilaire Belloc, author of "The Path
to Rome," entitled "Esto Perpetua," with illus-
trations and colored frontispiece by the author.

— The first volume of the new Catholic
Encyclopedia will be ready in about a year
from now, and it is expected that the whole
work will Ije completed within five years. It
is to consist of fifteen volumes, quarto, each
containing about 850 pages, with numerous
illustrations and maps. Specimen pages of this
important work are now in press and will be
ready for distribution next month.

— Directors of choirs will welcome anew work
by Mr. R. R. Terry, soon to be issued by the
Marlborough Press under the title "Catholic
Church Music." Following a reprint of the Pope's
Motu Propria and a review of past legislation
on the subject, there are chapters on Plainsong,
Polyphony, Mddern Music, Liturgical Offices,
the Order of Musical Daily Offices, Music at
Occasional Offices, the Pronunciation of Church
Latin, Present Condition of Church Music,
Forming a Choir, Training a Choir, Music for
Choirs, the Organist, the Choir Master, Con-
gregational Singing, etc.

— An historical work of much value and of
curious interest, certain to have numerous
readers on both sides of the Atlantic, has just
appeared from the press of Messrs. Dent & Co.
We refer to "Queen Mary of Modena: Her Life
and Letters," by Martin Haile. Most of the
material in the book, such as the Queen's own
letters, and the dispatches and letters of her
contemporaries, have never before appeared in
English. The beauty of Queen Mary's character
and her saintliness are strikingly brought out.
The work contains thirteen illustrations, two of
which have special interest — viz., the portrait of
Queen Mary's mother, the Duchess Laura of
Modena, before her widowhood, taken by the
kind permission of the nuns of the Visitation
Convent at Modena, fro-n a miniature in their

possession; and the portrait of Duke Francesco
II., the Queen's brother, remarkable for the strong
family likeness it shows to his nephew, James
Stuart — one more proof, if proof were still needed,
of the baselessness of the aspersions against the
latter's birth. The original engraving is in the
Museo Civico at Modena, and is reproduced by
the kind permission of the director.

— Father Lejeune, C. S. Sp., who died recently
of a malady contracted on the Niger, was a volu-
minous correspondent and the author of many
important books. Notable among these were a
French-Fan Dictionary, the first work ever pub-
lished on the language of that powerful African
tribe, and his Fan Catechism. The distinguished
scholar and missionary was cut ofi' in his prime ;
he had not yet attained his forty-sixth year.
R. I. P.

— It is not often that naivete attains loftier
heights of ingenuousness than in a circular
announcing a new volume of poems which we
received last week from an author in one of our
Western cities. It reads as follows :

I send this circular out as an advance agent of my book .

1 find it imperative for me to do something to increase my
income. There is nothing I can do except write a little ; and
I place this book before a generous public, hoping they will
come forward and buy. It is well worth the money. I am
now working on another volume which will be of superior
merit.

It is to be hoped that the public will be
properly appreciative in this case.

— "Infallibility," a well-printed pamphlet of
eighty-six pages, published by Longmans, Green
& Co., is a paper read before the (Angli-
can) Society of St. Thomas of Canterbury, by
the Rev. Vincent McNabb, O. P. The scholarly
Dominican discusses the question under these
heads: Antecedent Probabilities, Nature, Object,
Subject, and Objections. The grouping of argu-
ments, and the lucidity of style manifested in
their treatment, are as noteworthy as they are
gratifying. We should not omit stating that
the introduction, contributed by the Rev. Spencer
Jones, M. A., president of the society named
above, is as readable and interesting as the
pamphlet itself

— Mr. Froude tells us that Carlyle toward the
end of his days came to regard the Mass as "the
most genuine relic of religious belief now left us."
While reading "The Mystic Treasures of the Holy
Ma^s," by the Rev. Charles Coppens, S. J., one is
apt to be reminded of St. Augustine's oft-quoted
words, "O Beauty ever ancient, ever new!"
The Adorable Sacrifice, indeed, has been for cen-
turies the constant theme of spiritual writers,

480

THE AVE MARIA.

and still the treasury of its loveliness seems
never to decrease. The venerable author of the
present work has evidently been guided by the
golden rule, "Look into thy heart and write."
The priest will find in Father Coppens' work a
burning coal with which to animate his fervor,
and the faithful will come into possession of a
practical knowledge of the grand external cere-
monies of the Mass and of its internal mystic
treasures. Published by B. Herder.

— The musical scheme of the recent festival at
Worcester, England, included three works by
Sir Edward Elgar; the first, "The Dream of
Gerontius," being given on the morning of the
opening. It was preceded by the ceremony of
conferring the freedom of the city on the dis-
tinguished composer. In the course of a very
interesting speech acknowledging the honor, he
gave some reminiscences of his boyish days ; but
afterward, in a serious vein, said how much
he owed to early study of English church music,
a sound foundation on which few now build.
The early impressions of young composers who
live in large cities are of a thoroughly modern
and frequently of a dangerous character. Sir
Edward also stated that he had tried to influence
some of the younger men, assuring them that
they " do not lose any sign of intellectuality if
they take up religious subjects."

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
appear at the bead, older ones being dropped out
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not he indexed.

Orders may he sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign hooks not on sale in the United
States wilt be imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"InfalUbility." Rev. Vincent McNabb, O. P. 36

cts., net.
"The Mystic Treasures of the Holy Sacrifice."

Rev. Charles Coppens, S. J. 50 cts., net.
"The Story of the Congo Free State: Social,

Political, and Economic Aspects of the Belgian

System of Government in Central Africa."

Henry Wellington Wack, F. R. G. S. $3.50,

net.
"George Eastmount: Wanderer." John Law.

$1.10, net.
"The Senior Lieutenant's Wager, and Other

Stories." $1.25.

'The Angel of Syon." Dom Adam Hamilton,
0. S. B. $1.10, net.

' The Little Flowers of St. Francis." Illustrations
by Paul Woodruffe. $1.60, net.

'That Scamp, or the Days of Decatur in Tripoli."
John J. O'Shea. 60 cts.

'Bishop Gore and the Catholic Claims." Dom
John Chapman, O. S. B. 25 cts.

'Grammar of Plain-Song." Benedictines of Stan-
brook." 75 cts., net.

'Rex Mens." $1.25.

'Sir Thomas More. (The Blessed Thomas
More.)" Henri Breraond. $1, net.

Obituary.

Bememhei them that are in bands. — Heb., xiii, 3.

Rev. John Downey, of the archdiocese of Boston;
Rev. Edward Kenney, diocese of Indianapolis ;
Very Rev. Thomas Smith, C. M. ; Rev. Gabriel
Fromm, C. P.; and Rev. Frederick Holland, S. J.

Sister Mary Thomas, of the Order of the
Visitation ; Sister M. of St. Honora, Sisters of
the Holy Cross; and Sister Antoine, Sisters of
the Precious Blood.

Mr. Blaine Salisbury, of Salt Lake City, Utah ;
Mrs. Helen Pernin, Detroit, Mich. ; Miss Agnes
Graham, Chicago, III. ; Mr. John McQuade,
Trenton, N. J. ; Mr. J. A. Hutter and Mr. Francis
Schwab, Cleveland, Ohio ; Mrs. Mary Walsh,
Fall River, Mass. ; Miss Catherine McKone,
Lafayette, Ind. ; Mr. Andrew Warnement,
Tiffin, Ohio; Miss Maud Plante, Pittsburg,
Pa. ; Miss Rose Flynn and Mr. John Walsh,
Minneapolis, Minn. ; Mr. Frank Scheie, Fort
Wayne, Ind. ; Mrs. Victor Lavalley, Taftville,
Conn. ; Miss Anastasia Healy and Mrs. Ellen
O'Neill, Marquette, Mich. ; Mr. Jacob Miller,
Brookville, Ohio ; Miss Irene Mulcrone, St. Ignace,
Mich. ; Mrs. Margaret Condren, Middletown,
Conn. ; and Mrs. Mary Pepper, Savannah, Ga.

Requiescant in pace !

Our Contribution Box.

" Thy Father, who seeth in secret, will repay thee."

For the seminary at Harar, E. Africa:

M. J. W., $5.
Three poor missionaries :

M. J. W., $10.
ThcJeper priest at Mandalay, Burma :

M. A. McN., $1 ; M. J. W., $5.
To supply good reading to hospitals, prisons, etc.:

B. S., $2; Mrs. M. E. B., $3; M. J. W., $2.
Sister M. Claver, Kisoubo hospital, Uganda:

M. R. O., $10; Mrs. F. S., $10; D. Daly, $1.

HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUK€, I., 48.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, OCTOBER 14-, 1905.

NO. 16.

[ Published every Saturday. Copyright: Rev. D. E. Hudson, C.S.C.]

Evening.

BY EDWARD WILBUR MASON.

QLOW come the clanking herds toward pasture
bars;

Across the bridge loud creaks the lumbering wain ;

The thrush sings as at sunrise, and again
Bloom in the skies of eve the lilied stars.

Dim poppies clasp to hearts of drowsy sleep
The honeybees that waver, tired of flight;
And butterflies drop anchor for the night

Where golden roses ope cool harbors deep.

From wayside tree there comes a rustle sweet:
(O Angelus of silence and of calm !)
And in the boughs there wakes a sound of
psalm —

The Angel's Jlvt that the airs repeat

Now fades the afterglow in twilight wan;

The wind drops to its nest with failing lark;

.*.nd only dews toil silvery through the dark,
Building the roof of roses for the dawn.

The Queen of the Schelde.

BY THE COUNTESS DE COURSON.

HE combination of ancient mem-
ories and historical reminiscences
with the up-to-date activities of
modern industry, has a decided
attraction. A city that has nothing
to boast of but its past glories may,
at first sight, be singularly poetical
and picturesque: in the long run our
twentieth - century minds, trained to
other ideals, will miss the activity, even
the hurry and flurry, that have become

the usual conditions of modern life. On
the other hand, a city that is wholly
and solely modem and mercantile is
totally lacking in that subtle, seductive
charm attached to the past, — a charm
we appreciate all the more from the
contrast it presents to our accustomed
surroundings.

Antwerp, the "Queen of the Schelde,"
is, in the first place, a thriving,
flourishing seaport, whose commercial
importance is ever on the increase;
but at the same time it possesses a
glorious history and can boast of
artistic attractions of no common order.
Antwerp was founded in the seventh
century, but it was destroyed two
hundred years later by the Normans;
and it was only toward the end of
the fifteenth century that its unrivalled
geographical position on the banks of
the broad Schelde made it an important
commercial centre, the successful rival
of Bruges.

In the early sixteenth century the
city numbered 125,000 souls. Thou-
sands of ships lay at anchor in the
river; and over a thousand trading
houses were founded within the city
walls by foreign merchants, many of
whom acquired princely fortunes.
Spices from the East, brocades and silks
from Italy, com from the Baltic, wines
from France, were brought to Antwerp ;
and in exchange the inhabitants sent
the carpets, tapestries, and gold and
silver work manufactured in the coun-
try, not only to the chief cities in
Europe, but as far as Persia and India.

482

THE AVE MARIA.-

With the conquest of the Low
Countries by the Spaniards, and the
internal disturbances that followed, the
"Queen of the Schelde" fell from her
high estate ; many of her chief citizens
sought peace and safety in foreign
lands, — some of her silk- weavers, for
instance, settling in England. In 1576
Antwerp was taken and sacked by the
Spaniards. In 1583 it was besieged by
Alexander Farnese, and capitulated at
the end of eighteen months. In 1589,
out of its 125,000 inhabitants, only
55,000 remained.

Worse was to come. In 1648 the
Treaty of Westphalia, by depriving the
citizens of the right of navigation on
the Schelde, dealt a fatal blow to
their commercial interests. This right,
which to them meant so much, was
not restored till 1863. But from that
date a new era of prosperity began for
the city; and at the present moment,
among less picturesque surroundings
than in former days, the "Queen of
the Schelde" has recovered much of her
past importance.

The Antwerp of to-day probably
presents a less splendid appearance
than the sixteenth -century seaport;
but it possesses singularly interesting
features, combining as it does an
unrivalled geographical position on the
broad waters of the Schelde, a port
teeming with life and activity, and
artistic treasures that are alone worth
a visit. Let us note, as a characteristic
proof of German expansion, that of
late years much of the trade of Antwerp
has passed into German hands.

The king of artistic Antwerp is
Rubens, whose magnificent talent and
vigorous personality meet us at every
turn. In the pictures that he painted
during the first years that followed
his return from Italy, we trace the
powerful influence of Michael Angelo,
Carracci, and Titian. But Peter Paul
had a vigorous and distinct personality;
his brilliant coloring, intense vitality.

vivid imagination, are all his own.

In 1609 Rubens married Isabel Brandt,
who died in 1626. Ten years later he
married Helene Froment, who was
much younger than himself. Besides
introducing the features of his two
wives into several of his large pictures,
he painted their portraits ; these are
now to be seen in that small and inter-
esting picture-gallery, the Mauritzhuis,
at the Hague.

Antwerp is full of Rubens and his
work. At No. 52, Place de Meir, is his
father's house, originally built in 1567,
and considerably restored in 1854.
Close by stood another house erected
by the great painter, and of which a
portico in a garden alone remains. In
the neighboring church of St. Jacques,
rich in marbles and paintings, is the
Rubens Chapel, where, in the shadow
of an "Assumption" painted by him-
self, Peter Paul was laid to rest.

But we feel most in touch with the
master when face to face with his noble
picture, the "Descent from the Cross,"
in Antwerp cathedral. The cathedral
in itself is worth a long visit. It is
the largest church in Belgium ; its
aspect is at once simple and imposing,
its proportions noble and harmonious.

Two companion pictures, both the
work of Rubens, but of unequal merit,
are, according to the general custom
in Belgian churches, covered with a
large curtain, which is withdrawn at
the hours when, on the pa3^ment of
a trifling fee, visitors are admitted
to view them. The "Raising of the
Cross," to the right of the high altar,
does not by any means equal its
neighbor, the magnificent and pathetic
"Descent from the Cross," Rubens'
masterpiece. The best characteristics
of the painter — his sense of coloring,
his vigor of drawing, and boldness of
conception — reveal themselves in this
splendid creation.

At the Antwerp Mu^_ "ti, a fine
modem building in a distant quarter,

THE AVE MARIA.

483

we are again brought face to face
with Peter I'aul. He is excellent as a
portrait painter in the triptych repre-
senting Nicholas Rockox and his wife;
the expressive Flemish faces, if not
classically beautiful, have all the charm
of truth and vitality. It was this
same Nicholas, a generous and devout
citizen of Antwerp, who ordered from
his friend Rubens the tragical picture
that hangs not far from his own
portrait — "Our Lord between Two
Thieves." It was painted for the
Franciscan convent.

Nine rooms on the ground -floor of
the Museum are devoted to engravings
and photographs of Rubens' work.
There are here over eleven hundred of
these prints or photographs, consisting
of sacred subjects, historical or mytho-
logical incidents, portraits, hunting
scenes, and even landscapes. Nothing
seems to have come amiss to the great
magician. Occasionally, however, his
vigorous anatomy is not only realistic
but almost coarse in its effects, and
forms a very curious contrast to the
pictures of the primitive Flemish artists,
of which the Antwerp Museum pos-
sesses many excellent specimens.

With a familiar feeling, as if meeting
with old friends, we wander among
Memling's sweet -faced angels. Van
Eyck's plain but devout Madonnas, —
noting that, if their drawing is often
defective, these early masters are
remarkable for the finest conscientious-
ness and reverence that breathe in their
works. The "Seven Sacraments" of
Roger Van der Weyden is a wonderful
example of these characteristics, — a
transparently clear composition, full of
quaint meaning and expression.

Rich as it is in works of art, the
Antwerp Museum is, after all, only a
museum, and lacks the fascination of a
dwelling-house that has practically
remained untouched since the sixteenth
century, — a house in which still linger
the halo of bygone art and industry,

and the picturesqueness of Old -World
surroundings unspoiled by tasteless
transformations. In this respect the
" Plantin- Moretus" Museum is unique
of its kind.

In 1549, when Antwerp was the most
flourishing of European cities, there
came to settle within its walls a French
bookbinder, casket-maker, and printer,
named Christopher Plantin. He was a
native of Touraine, the "Garden of
France"; and could not fail, at any
rate at the outset, to contrast the soft
climate and blue skies of his native
province and the gay temper of its
inhabitants with his greyer and more
stolid surroundings on the banks of
the Schelde.

The clever and artistic Frenchman
soon became a celebrity. The merchant
princes of the city, the chief scholars
and artists of the Netherlands, Gabriel
de Cayas, Secretary of State to Philip
II. ; the famous Cardinal Granvelle, and
Margaret of Parma, "governess of the
Low Countries," were his patrons. In
1550 he became a citizen of Antwerp,
and some years later was chosen by
Philip II. to print the royal Bible in
five languages, — the most important
work ever printed in the Netherlands.

Like his fellow-citizens and contem-
poraries, Plantin suffered considerably
from the troubled times in which he
lived. After the pillage of the city by
its Spanish conquerors in 1576, he
had to reduce his business; but his
patience, perseverance, and passionate
love for his work carried him trium-
phantly through adverse circumstances.
His printing mark — a compass — and
his characteristic motto, Lahore et
constantia, were honorably known
throughout Europe. All the books pub-
lished by him were executed with the
minutest care, and were illustrated in a
manner that proves this " Tourangeau "
printer to have had an artist's soul.

Plantin died in 1589, leaving five
daughters. One, married to Francis

484

THE AVE MARIA

Raphelengien, kept the printing house
founded by her father at I^eyden ;
another, Martine, married Jan Moeren-
torf— or, as he called himself, Moretus, —
who became Plantin's successor at
Antwerp.

The house, with its pictures, engrav-
ings, books, and valuable china, is more
fascinating than any mere museum,
however interesting. It has the human
charm of a place where men and
women have lived and labored, rejoiced
and suffered, wept and laughed. Chil-
dren's voices once roused the echoes
of the long, low rooms; and to the
old walls cling the memories of three
hundred years of family life, together
with noble traditions of valuable work.

The walls of one large room on the
ground -floor are hung with ancient
Flemish tapestry ; in another are
curious cabinets in tortoise shell and
ebony, — also Flemish work; a silver
clock, the gift of the sovereigns Albert
and Isabella to a Moretus; and a
number of portraits, many of which are
the work of Rubens. James Moerentorf,
John Moretus' father, and Adrienne
Gras, his mother ; Arias Montanus, the
learned Orientalist, a friend of the
house; Abraham Ortelius, a famous
geographer, also an intimate of the
family; Jeanne Riviere, Plantin's Nor-
man wife, wearing the headgear of her
French province; Christopher Plantin
himself, a strong, honest, brave counte-
nance; John Moretus, his son-in-law
and successor ; Justus Lipsius, his friend
and guest, — all these and many others
w^ere painted by the renowned Peter
Paul.

Scarcely less interesting than the
portraits of those whose living per-
sonality once filled the now empty
rooms is the paper, exhibited under
a glass case, in which " Pietro Pauolo
Rubens" acknowledges having received
from Balthasar Moretus, on the 27th
of April, 1612, the sum of six hun-
dred florins, in " payment of his

father's epitaph, painted b}' m^'-self"
Long hours might be spent among
the manuscripts, books, engravings,
illuminated missals, and numerous
I'lantinian editions that fill the rooms.
One scrap of paper reminds us that
the most prosperous career has its
shadows, and that royal patronage is
not always a cause of wealth. It is
written in French and is pathetically
called : ' ' Simple and true accounts of
some grievances that I, Christopher
Plantin, have suifered for about fifteen
years, for having obeyed the commands
and services of his Majesty without
having received either payment, or
reward." We know that, although the
King patronized the Plantin printing
house, he owed its founder enormous
sums, the non-payment of which consid-
erably hampered worthy Christopher
in his business transactions.

On the ground-floor are the shops, the
counting-house, the correctors' room,
the composing room, the printing room
with its seven presses, two of which
are three centuries old, — all the oflfices,
in fact, where Plantin and his suc-
cessors carried on their business during
long years. The old-fashioned desks,
the quaint furniture, have remained
untouched; and we easily picture to
ourselves Christopher and his learned
friends and helpers moving to and
fro among the familiar surroundings.
Perhaps the most fascinating spot in
the quaint old building is the inner
courtyard, where vine and Virginia
creeper cluster freely along the windows,
forming a picturesque background for
the busts of the former masters of the
dwelling — Christopher Plantin, John
Moretus and his descendants, John
James, and the three Balthasars.
"When on a bright July afternoon, only
a few months ago, we strolled through
this unique Museum, it was almost
empt}-, and in the green courtyard
especially the atmosphere was curiously
still, — stiller certainly than when the

THE AVE MARIA.

485

•7

Plantin printing house was the centre
of the learned and artistic world of
Antwerp; when the busy craftsmen
worked the presses that even now
stand ready for use; and the masters
of the house discussed the subtleties of
their art with their scholarly visitors
and patrons. Gayer sounds roused the
echoes of the old courtyard in the
distant days when Plantin's five young
daughters, their French vivacity
tempered by their Flemish training,
flitted to and fro, bringing into the
learned atmosphere of the place the
freshness and brightness of youth.

Before taking leave of the "Queen
of the Schelde" we must mention a
feature in her general aspect that will
surely appeal to readers of a magazine
that is, in a special manner, placed
under the patronage of Mary. At every
corner of the city streets, almost in
every room of the Plantin house, are
images of the Mother of God. They
are more or less artistic, it may be;
but they testify, one and all, to the
love of the people for their Heavenly
Patroness, and therefore are full of
meaning. At night tiny lamps are lit
before these humble shrines, telling us
of a love that never fails or tires.

Of late years, as our readers are
aware, the Belgian Catholics have come
bravely to the front in the defence of
their religious interests, and in the last
elections they carried the day. Those
who believe in the secret power of
prayer, even in its simplest and lowliest
form, if spontaneous and sincere, will
easily connect the political victories
of the Belgian Catholics with the deep
and faithful love professed by the
Belgian people for the Mother of God,
the Help of Christians.

A Preposterous Idea.

BY BEN HURST.

The simple (jucstion is, whatever a
man's rank in life may be, does he in
that rank perform the work that God
has given him to do? — Newmini.

I.

S she stood before the mirror,
lifting her arms to adjusf the
veil over the broad - brimmed
hat, the long pendant sleeves of her light
voluminous wrap falling to meet the
ample sweep of her trained gown, her
whole attitude recalled to the watcher
from behind some antique sculpture
representing a Greek goddess. Also
something else— but this thought was
banished.

"My darling," came at last from
tremulous lips, "you, who are not vain,
have spent fully ten minutes arranging
your veil ! "

The girl turned round with a frank
smile.

"Yes, mother, I acknowledge. But
you know my movements are slow. It
is my nature."

"I understand; but, Charlotte, there
is a limit to everything. My dear, when
will you make up your mind?"

Charlotte was silent. She had long
since made up her mind; but the
rector's widow had refused to consider
it as final.

"I agree with you," Mrs. Harding
went on, "that it is not fair to the
Brainsons to postpone your decision
once again. But the fact is, Charlotte,
I can not easily reconcile myself to
your views. You know Frederick well;
he has never had a thought but for
you, — never desired another wife. And,
after all, he has no vice."

("Admirable boy!" murmured the
girl softly to herself.)

" If your poor father were alive, this
would have been .settled long ^igo. It
is so suitable in all respects, — and —
Miss Brainson expects it. Do, dear,
try to say 'Yes' to-day!"

The girl drew on her gloves, buttoned

THE AVE MARIA.

xcisure, then sat down beside
yther.
or your sake," she said, "I have

^ things run on, — to avoid your
distress, before which I shrink even
now. By decision you always mean —
acceptance. And, mother, I can not
accept Frederick for my husband. I
don't love him, so why should I sacrifice
myself to him ? "

"As if you were not sacrificing your-
self every day to strangers! Is he,
then, less to you than the slum waifs ?
Charlotte, are you sure there is nobody
else you care for?"

The girl laughed scornfully.

"Indeed, mother, I wonder you can
ask, — you, who know my every
thought. No ! If I married anybody it
would be, of course, Frederick. But I
do not want to marry."

"But I shall one day leave you,
dearest, in the course of nature, and you
will be alone in the world. How^ can
I bear the thought?"

Charlotte's eyes filled with tears. She
bent forward, took her mother's thin
face between her hands and kissed it
fondly.

"Am I not well provided for?" she
asked.

"Ah, money can not buy love
and care and a sure home!" was the
sorrowful answer.

"I have told you the remedy for all
that," said the girl, gently. " If you
could only see things as I do!"

Mrs. Harding rose abruptly.

"The idea is too preposterous!" she
exclaimed. "My child, how can you
entertain it?"

The girl drew her to a corner of
the room where a tiny lamp burned
before a statue of the Madonna. (The
deceased rector had been very High
Church.)

"Because I am j'our child and his," she
answered, "who gave me that statue
and bade me revere it. O mother dear,
I could be so happy— if you would ! "

Mrs. Harding took her daughter in
her arms.

"My love, what else do I desire
but your happiness?" she exclaimed.
"What else do I live for?"

Charlotte returned her embrace.

"I know it, best of mothers!" she
said. "And for your sake I will try to
satisfy your wishes, by listening to
everything Frederick has got to say.
Honestly and sincerely I will do my
best. I have been praying to see my
way aright. If I can, mother, I will
say 'Yes' to Frederick."

Mrs. Harding looked at the lovely
face, the downcast eyes, and her heart
smote her.

" No, no, my child ! Do not force
your inclinations," she said hastily.
"It is your heart, not your will, I
would move."

"Well, Frederick has hitherto failed
to do that," said Charlotte, gayly.
"Who knows? A sudden spark may
enkindle me this evening. But, you
know, I am not liable to headlong
changes."

"Indeed, no," assented her mother,
with a sigh. "You w^ere always so
deliberate and sane-minded till now."

Ding-ding-ding went a distant bell.
Charlotte fixed her mother with ear-
nest gaze. Before the mute appeal it
was impossible to remain silent. Mrs.
Harding made a heroic effort.

"Very well," she said. "Something
shall be done to-day to decide your
fiiture. If you refiise Frederick, I shall
begin to consider the home of your
choice. I shall try to see with your
eyes."

Again mother and daughter were
folded in a close embrace.

"Come," said Mrs. Harding at last.
"The carriage has come round long
since, and the Brainsons have tea at
five. Miss Brainson likes punctuality."

"When she can get it," laughed
Charlotte; "for Frederick follows his
own sweet will."

THE AVE MARIA.

487

"You are too hard on him," remon-
strated the elder lady, as they took
their places in the landau that bowled
swiftly on to the smooth road between
verdant fields. "Compare him with
whom you will, he is a good boy."

"I don't deny it," said Charlotte.
"He neither gambles nor drinks; but,
mother, he is so satisfied with his
own virtue ! That is just what I can't
stand."

II.

An hour later two elderly ladies were
seated on the terrace at Brainson Park
watching the youthful couple that
strolled under the beeches, sometimes
hidden, sometimes within view. Friends
from girlhood, their affections and their
wishes were the same. Now they turned
to look into each other's eyes, and
instinctively their hands met.

"If our hopes are frustrated," said
the widow, "you and I must notecase
to cherish each other.- Remember, I
have warned you of Charlotte's strange
tendencies."

The other smiled indulgently.

"I can not admit she is serious. The
idea is too preposterous," she said,
unconsciously using Mrs. Harding's
own words of a short time ago.
"Charlotte must be touched by Fred's
devotion. All day he has been pre-
paring for this visit. He thinks he has
a better chance here on his own ground
than at your house, where she always
manages to avoid him. What can have
come over Charlotte?"

The widow sighed. She could not
explain it herself, — this gradual exten-
sion of views, this new and lofty
standard of life that possessed her
daughter to the detriment of natural
and desirable plans for her establish-
ment. It had come, she told herself,
as the regrettable but logical sequence
of extreme "Ritualistic" tenets acting
on an ardent and concentrated temper-
ament like Charlotte's.

Down among the trees, the conver-

sation had at first turned on every
subject but that uppermost in the minds
of both. Frederick commented on the
alterations he had made since his
return from college.

"Look!" he said, leading her to a
freshly arranged vista. "From this
point one can at present view the
eastern side of the town. Don't you
think it an improvement?"

"Decidedly," replied Charlotte.

"My aunt was quite delighted when
she saw the effect."

"No doubt she would be," answered
Charlotte. "That is so like her."

" I am very much opposed to changes
myself," he went on. "You can not
think how I love this dear old place.
I never touch anything except for some
real advantage. Now, the little arbor
over there is not symmetrical, but it
is so endeared to me by childhood's
souvenirs I simply could not bear to
have it removed. Do you remember
how we played here together?" he
continued softly. "You were so fond
of this place, then."

"Indeed, I do," she answered, laugh-
ing. "You made me run and fetch for
you like a retriever. O Fred, the hours
you made me swing you before you
consented to swing me ! But we always
shared the apples fairly."

"I was never fond of apples," he
confessed. "Plums and peaches are
my fruits. Yes, I am afraid I was a
great bully."

"No," she said: "the word but
imperfectly describes you. You never
hectored, but always managed to have
exactly what you wanted, somehow."

"Well, I can't manage it now," he
said, with a meaning look. "You are
so full of fads, Charlotte, nowadays!"

"I like that!" laughed Charlotte.
"As soon as somebodj' does not chime
with all your views, she is full of fads !
That's just you, Fred ! "

"I have been rather spoiled all my
Hfe, I fear," he explained. "My po r

488

THE AVE MARIA

mother, you remember — ah, she lived
only for me!"

"She was an angel," murmured
Charlotte. "But Miss Brainson is
another. I often wonder if the presence
of such creatures is conducive to our
good. Somehov^r, one accepts all sacri-
fices from them."

"What you say is quite true,"
acknowledged the young man, with
some confusion. "When all that is
asked from one is to be happy in order
to please them, one naturally falls in
w^ith this view. But do you think I
would neglect anybody I loved, — that
I could be harsh or unkind? Only try
me, Charlotte!"

Ding-ding-ding went the distant bell.

They walked in silence for some
moments. She glanced up once at the
finely chiselled face surmounting the tall,
manly figure, and strove to associate
it w^ith great thoughts and charitable
deeds. In vain. The fire that had begun
to consume her soul would never reach
him, shut up in a horizon of his own ;
least of all through her, in whom
it would be quenched by his daily
proximity. Was it fair that her mind
should be stunted to his level? the
aim of her existence, his comfort and
pleasure ? his earthly ambitions, her
first goal ? Should all her capacities
and inclinations for wider, nobler work
be diverted to minister to this one
man? She felt it wrong.

"Listen to me, Frederick," she said
wth decision. "We are not suited to
each other. Our pursuits, our wishes
are different."

She paused before the look of pain
that crossed his face.

"Come, let us reason it out," she
went on. "A great wave of thought
has swept over me these last years
while you were away. My mind has
gone through many phases, and the
evolution is not yet complete. But life
is no longer for me the simple thing
I used to believe. It imposes heavy

duties. It is too little to live for
ourselves. I want to live for others."

"While I only want to live for you,"
said the young man, earnestly. " Listen
to me now, Charlotte. There is scope
for your charity here, too. I will give
liberally for the furtherance of all
the good works you have in hand. \
appreciate your eff"orts among the poor
outcasts in the city. You shall dispense
freely mine as well as your own."

She shook her head.

"I have reflected on all that," she
confessed. "But it is not money, it is
moral help that is wanted most. Oh,
the misery that ignorance entails! A
child was almost burned to death
the day before yesterday in Sleet
Alley through the mother's stupidity.
Frederick, our lives are so empty, and
I am not able to work alone. I can
accomplish nothing."

"Let us try together," he answered.
" You will lift me up and showme how."

"I am not fitted for the r61e you so
modestly assign to me," she said. "I
require prudent direction myself, and
would not dream of undertaking to
guide anybody else."

"What do you mean, then?" he
demanded impatiently. "To devote
yourself altogether to those wretched
waifs ? To pass your life amid the
scum of society ? "

"You see," she replied, "we could not
harmonize."

"Have a little pity on me as well
as on the ragamuffins. Charlotte, you
have left your proper sphere. Fancy
what I suffer when I hear that the
handsome Miss Harding is the idol of
the slums!"

"And you ask me to share your
life!" she retorted. "We should be
miserable together. You would hinder
my work."

"Let us both yield something," he
pleaded, "and see if we can not meet
on common ground. Could you require
to go to your charges every day ? "

THE AVE MARIA.

489

"I should wish it, certainly," said
Charlotte; "but I know that my
obligations as your wife would be
paramount. Therefore I say no, dear
Frederick : our lives can not run
together. Only help me to break this
to our loved ones, and for their sakes
let us remain good friends. The greatest
disappointment will be theirs; for,
between ourselves, Fred, you do not
really love me. If you did, you would
not speak as you did just now."

She smiled at him, and the young
man hung his head, ashamed.

"You are so critical, Charlotte!" he
protested. " I certainly do not pretend
that I want my wife to look after a
flock of dirty children instead of staying
with me."

"Come, let us tell them that," she
said gayly. "It is you, after all, who
refuse me and my vagaries."

"It is not," he answered doggedly.
"Come to me as you are!"

"I would not suit," she persisted. "I
can not abandon my beautiful work.
Forgive me, Frederick!"

"You consider me an egotistical
brute," he said huskily. "Am I so
much worse than other men?"

"A great deal better than most,"
she answered with conviction. "Under-
stand, Frederick, that I mean to eschew
marriage altogether. Had I married
anybody, it would have been you."

He shrugged his shoulders at this
consolation, and they walked slowly
toward the terrace.

Ding-ding-ding was again wafted over
the plains.

Miss Brainson came to meet them.

"I see b}' Frederick's face what we
have to expect," she said. " So you abide
by your strange fancies, Charlotte?"

Mrs. Harding went up to Frederick.

" Never mind, my boy ! " she observed.
"You will find a good wife yet, for you
deserve it."

"I don't know," he said despondently.
"I should have preferred Charlotte, but

I dare say I don't deserve her. I must
try to get over it, that's all."

His frankness took the mother aback.
How could anybody that loved her
winsome, beautiful daughter talk of
"getting over it"?

Good-bye was said awkwardly; but
the two elder ladies embraced with more
than ordinary effusion, and the carriage
rolled away.

III.

"Mother," began Charlotte, as they
drove through the wbods that skirted
the town, " I did my best. Do not
blame me."

"No, dear," said her mother. "And,
Charlotte, perhaps you were right.
All at once he struck me as rather
indiffierent."

Charlotte smiled.

"I assure you, dearest, such as I
am he does not want me," she said.
"Frederick has not yet met the being
whom he loves better than himself I
should have been his perfect slave. Can
you not see, mother, that he is the
concentration of self-love ? Oh, there is
so much to be done in the world and
so few people to do it ! He is busy :
he hunts, reads, rows, and plays golf;
all these are expected of him ; they
are no doubt harmless pursuits; but,
mother, how empty his life is! I pity
him, the owner of Brainson Park.
He never seeks to do a good turn to
a fellow -being."

Her mother looked at her with eyes
of love and admiration.

"You need never sink to his level,"
she said. "But why leave me? Do not
marry, then, but continue your work
freely."

"Impossible," said the girl. "I was
too presumptuous. Mother dear, by
myself I only make blunder on blunder.
I am silly, incapable, ignorant. There
is an end to my doubts, my trials and
waverings. / can do no work alone.
The road God has shown me lies clear
before me, when you will allow it."

490

THE AVE MARIA

" Let us drive there now. I consent,"
said the mother, in a broken voice.

Charlotte pressed her hand gratefully.
She said a word to the coachman and
the horses were turned round.

"Now, mother," she observed joy-
ously, "you shall see for yourself my
future home, my new surroundings. If
I have any capacity for good, it will
have more chances of success here than
if I remained mistress of Brainson
Park. You see, the powers of trans-
formation with which you credit me
will be exercised on younger speci-
mens of humanity than Fred. Fred is
beyond me."

Her gay tone, the happiness that
shone in her face were infectious. Mrs.
Harding smiled, and inwardly prayed
that she might be led to see with her
daughter's eyes.

The carriage stopped before the door
of a tall white building, round which
hung an atmosphere of stillness that
extended its peaceful glow even into
the hearts of the two ladies as they
waited on the steps. A coifed head
looked out astonished through the
grating.

"It is after hours," said a low voice;
and then recognizing Charlotte: "If it
is about Tommy Ahem, Miss Harding,
he is all right."

"No, Sister Agnes : I have come about
a personal matter," answered Charlotte.
"Do ask Reverend Mother to see us
this once. It is about something very
important to myself."

After a few moments they w^ere ad-
mitted and shown into a tiny parlor,
scantily furnished. Mrs. Harding looked
around and sighed. Charlotte took
her hand.

"Peace, order, health, and safety are
here," she said. "What else can you
wish for me, mother mine? But to me
this house promises my soul's salva-
tion. As Frederick's wife, I should have
become puffed up with the notion of
my own superiority. Here, in contact

with others, I shall feel my unwof-
thiness. I shall be subjected to severe
and judicious training. If only I am
not met with, 'Too late, too late!
Ye can not enter now!'"

The door opened softly to admit a
veiled figure. Charlotte advanced, her
heart beating violently.

"Reverend Mother," she said humbly,
"I am tired and ashamed of working
at your side in bypaths. Will you
accept me among your ranks as one
of your community?"

The nun sat down, and looked from
mother to daughter, bewildered.

"Need I say," she began, "how we
would welcome a worker such as you,
Miss Harding, have proved yourself to
be? But — you do not belong to our
faith."

"I am prepared to adopt it," said
Charlotte firmly.

"Tell us," asked Mrs. Harding, "what
will be the probable length of her
catechising and probation?"

The nun bowed her head and was
silent for some moments.

"Father Fenton will see you to-
morrow," she said. And then they saw
that her eyes were wet with tears of
emotion.

Mrs. Harding's heart w^ent out to
her. "Better for my darling than
Frederick, mayhap," she told herself.

"God has bestowed great graces on
your daughter, Mrs. Harding," said the
nun, as they rose to withdraw. "This
is the first time, to my knowledge,
that He has inspired a vocation before

conversion.

"I KNOW two sure methods," the
Blessed Cure d'Ars used to say, " of
getting poor: one is to work on
Sundays, and the other to defraud one's
neighbor. To work on Sunday is to
steal from God ; and, even in this
world, the wages earned on the Lord's
Day wear a hole through the purse in
which they are placed."

THE AVE MARIA.

4dl

The Lily of Israel.

BY BRIAN u'HIGGI.NS.

'TIS the Feast of the Presentation,

And back over pathways dim,
We are led through the mist of ages

Away beyond Memory's rim;
And we see in a sacred temple

A child with a holy face.
Whose smile, like a beam from heaven.

Illumines the gloomy place.

A flow'ret of three years' blooming,

Untouched by a stain of sin,—
The holy priests of the temple

Are awed as she enters in.
For she is the Lily of Israel,

Who will bring from her spotless womb
A Saviour to shield the world-race

From the night of eternal doom.

Once more in the sacred temple

The Lily of Israel kneels.
And no one knows but the Master

What sorrow or joy she feels.
And Jesus, her Son, our Saviour,

Is close to the Virgin there;
And Simeon, lowly kneeling,

Gives glory to God in prayer.

A mist on the scene before us, —

We pass o'er a stretch of years,
And we list to the Man-God's moaning,

And the sound of the soldiers' jeers;
And we see down the rude Cross streaming

The blood from His Heart that flows,
And the Lily of Israel drooping

'Neath the weight of a thousand woes.

And again, through the mist of ages.

We return from then to now.
And we think of our Queen in heaven

With a crown on her virgin brow ;
And we ask her to lead us homeward.

O'er the ways that are long and drear.
To her throne by the side of Jesus, —

O Lily of Israel, hear !

A Hundred Years Ago.

There is no poem in the world like
a man's life, — the life of any man,
however little it may be marked by
what we call adventure. — Faber.

A Gla.nce at the Former Position of English
AND Irish Catholics.

BV THE KT. RKV. F. AIPAN OASjjrET, O. S. B., D. D.

( CoNTINl'En. 1

To obtain relief under Sir George
Savile's Act, the Catholic was
required to take an oath abjuring
the Pretender and rejecting belief in
any temporal jurisdiction or deposing
power being possessed by the Pope.
He was required to condemn the
doctrine — supposed, falsely of course,
to be taught in some of the Roman
schools — that faith need not be kept
with heretics, and that all such heretics
could at any time be lawfully put to
death. It is hard to imagine that
an oath of this kind could ever have
presented any difficulty to the mind of
an English Catholic, except in so far as
it was a reflection upon his intelligent
apprehension of his religion. Yet it
was precisely there that the difficulty
of arriving at any modus vivendi
had lain for generations. The oath of
supremacy framed by Elizabeth was
justly rejected by all ; but when it was
explained by the authoritative gloss
which rejected all the guasi- sacerdotal
power of the crown, many Catholics
would have taken it if they had been
permitted.

James I. never attempted to impose
an oath of supremacy, but only one of
allegiance, containing a condemnation,
as impious and heretical, of the tenet
of the deposing power of the Popes.
But this power was asserted by many
of the canonists and assumed by the
politicians as an axiom. Through them
the oath rejecting it was condemned
by the authorities at Rome, who issued
an injunction that all priests who
had taken it should retract on pain
of suspension. This attitude destroyed

492

THE AYE MARIA.

every hope of the Catholic Church being
able to assume any other position in
England than that of a persecuted
community under the ban of the law.
The policy by no means commended
itself to all the clergy, or to any great
part of the laity ; but the upholders
of the deposing power were the most
powerful, and in practice, though no
article of faith, it became in England
an article of communion. Thus time
went on ; the Catholic body continually
decreasing under the ravages of a per-
secution bravely endured, at the call of
the ecclesiastical authorities, in the cause
rather of a theory (as to the Pope's
dominion over kings and peoples) than
for the dogmas of the faith.

The revolution of 1688 shelved the
question for a time, by merging the
Catholics in a political party which on
other grounds refused to take the oath
of allegiance to the reigning dynasty.
In 1788 the prospect brightened. The
question of the deposing power, raised
anew, as we have seen, by the condi-
tions of the proposed relief, was happily
solved by the English and Irish episco-
pate. They first took the oath and then
referred the case to the Pope, who can
confirm many an act when done for
which it would be difficult to accord
previous permission.

Thus the question of the deposing
power and of the oath of allegiance,
which had troubled and divided Cath-
olics, was set at rest forever. On which
side lay the victory ? The party which
had been under continual suspicion as
lukewarm and tainted with Protest-
antism, which had been represented as
in perpetual opposition to superiors, as
always criticising, always grumbling,
always discontented, sometimes rebel-
lious, sometimes censured, sometimes
suspended, proved to be right in prin-
ciple, after all ; while the ardent spirits
who had continually enjoyed the ffivor
and encouragement of the ecclesiastical
authorities, who had plumed themselves

as being the only real, the only loyal
and only true churchmen ; as obviously
the only persons who thoroughly under-
stood their religion and could detect the
vital principle at stake in the suggested
composition of difficulties ; as the only
persons whose tone, tendencies and
instincts were thoroughly Catholic, —
proved to have been all the time, though
right in intention, wrong in principle ;
proved to have been battling for a
chimera, and destroying the English
Church in order to maintain a theory
which was not only impolitic and
impracticable, but might also be abjured,
as the event showed, without affecting
the faith or detracting one jot from the
fullest loyalty and obedience to the
Apostolic See.

It is time that the truth should be
recognized. Now that we can look
back from a distance upon all the strifes
and quarrels of those days, we can
afford to confess mistakes. We could
almost smile at the strange contra-
diction of the final settlement, did we
not remember what it had cost the
English Catholics, and what tears of
blood they were compelled, generation
after generation, to shed for just one
mistaken notion.

The Act of 1778 provoked anti-
Catholic agitation, led to grave diffi-
culties and troubles in England and
Scotland, and culminated in the Gordon
riots. It is in the attitude of so many
Catholics at this time of trial that we
have revealed to us in the most striking
manner the pitiable state to which the
long -endured persecution had reduced
them. The laity were, with some
exceptions, afraid of courting observa-
tion, and reckoned their obscurity to
be their security. They dared not
show their faces for fear of the law^
being called in to lash them back to
their holes. They were, according to
one who had every means of knowing
the facts and who lived at the time,
"very prudent, very cautious, very

THE AYE MARIA.

493

provident and very timid." Writing as
he did in 1780, whilst the echoes of
the riots caused by the passing of the
Catholic Relief Bill were still audible in
England, he says: "When the tumults
of last summer were raging in the
metropolis, the voice of timid Catholics
was heard tremblingly giving counsel.
'For God's sake,' said they, 'let us
instantly petition Parliament to repeal
this obnoxious bill! It is better to
confess we are guilty of all the crimes
laid to our charge than to be burnt in
our homes.' They even dared to carry
about a form of petition to that effect,
praying for the signature of names.
'We told you,' continued they, 'what
would be the event of your addresses
to the throne, your oaths of ^.llegiance,
and your repeal of laws.'"

The Catholic clergy appear to have
been hardly less timid. They were
anxious to be allowed to remain as
they were, oppressed by the yoke
of penal enactments, on condition of
being left alone. They were "educated
abroad," says Joseph Berington; ami
were "bred up in the persuasion that
on coming to England they were to
meet with racks and persecution. They
landed as in an enemy's country,
cautious, diffident and suspectful." If
they ever had a proselytizing spirit, "it
has long since evaporated or become
very unsuccessful." It was the same
in Ireland. "There," says the author
of the Life of Bishop Doyle, " the higher
order of Catholics sensitively shrank
from participating iu any appeal fur
redress, lest the very clanking of their
chains should arouse those who had
forged them to renewed vigilance and
activity. Accustomed to capricious
pensccution, they trembled lest the
recent relaxation of the penal code
should be suddenly repetded, plunging
them still deeijcr into the dark .sea of
opiJrcssion. The Catholic clergy not only
held aloof, but deprecated any attempt
to disturb the general apathy." They

were submissive, humble and inert;
conscious that they were outlaws,
they behaved as if they were convicts
whose escape was only connived at.

Such was the state of mind in which
the riots of 1780 left the Catholics of
the three kingdoms. Some of them died
of the shock; many left their religion,
among others nine or ten peers, several
baronets, and several priests. Most
of those who came forward in public
"strove to secure, by affected liberality,
the smiles and patronage of Protestants
and especially of men in power."

In Ireland, the Catholics, though
forming of course the vast majority of
the population, continued still under
the heel of the Protestant minority.
Though the revolution of 1782 had
placed Ireland, ostensibly at least, in the
rank of free and self-governed countries,
"it left Catholics," writes Mr. Lecky,
" with no more political rights than
the serf of Russia or of Poland. In
their case, and their case alone, land
was deprived of the franchi.se, and the
majority was wholly excluded by the
small minority from every executive,
legislative or judicial function of State.
They as Catholics were debarred from
all right of voting at parliamentary or
municipal elections; and, though called
upon to pay — oftentimes double — taxes,
they possessed no means of controlling
national expenditure, and were excluded
from all share in crown patronage."
"The law," says the same historian
of this time, "marked them out as a
distinct nation, separated from Prot-
estants, and in permanent subjection
to them."

In 1782, when the Bank of Ireland
was established, the law of incorpora-
tion jjrovided that no Catholic should
ever be enrolled as a director, just as it
prohil)itcd him from holding any profes-
sorship, or taking up any position in
the national army or navy. But already
b3' 1790 the position of Catholics was
verj' different from what it had been

494

THE AYE MARIA.

even ten A-cars before. Though their keen
sense of grievances unredressed had
not diminished, "they vi^ere no longer
a crushed, torpid, impoverished body
with scared}' any interest in political
affairs." Relaxations of the penal code
had at least enabled them to live in
peace; and industrial prosperity now
retained in their native country "enter-
prising and ambitious men who in a
former generation would have sought
a corner in France or Austria or
Spain."

"I know well," said O'Connell of the
Catholic gentry, — "I know well how
difficult their position' has hitherto
been ; how constantly against them the
efforts of the persecutor have been
directed ; how for three centuries,
indeed, they have borne the whole
weight of oppression which crushed
down their Catholic fellow-countrymen
even to the dust. The blood of their
noblest members rendered its own red
testimony upon the scaffold, in devoted
vindication of that faith which the
first missionaries to these shores had

preached to their ancestors Others

survived, but it was only to endure a
lingering mart^-rdom, never to cease but
with the natural duration of life itself.
More happy far were those whose
martj'rdom was consummated upon
the scaffold ; for then at least their
sufferings vvere ended, and they entered
at once into their reward in bliss.
But their less fortunate survivors saw
themselves doomed, without reprieve,
to lives of suffering, contumely, and
i^'nominy of every kind at the hands
of the basest and most ignoble of
their Protestant countrymen. And they
stood it nobly."

It is difficult to arrive at an}' sat-
isfactory estimate of the number of
Catholics in England and Wales in the
latter part of tlie eighteenth century.
The account of Joseph Berington, how-
ever, is in all probability sufficiently
accurate for practical purposes; for.

besides his own means of knowledge, he
relied upon the official returns made
at this time to the House of Lords.
In 1780, according to these statistics,
the English Catholics numbered only
69,376; and Berington himself thought
this too high an estimate, and that
they were probably hardly more than
60,000. Of these, the Bishop of
Chester, who, be it remarked, strongly
advocated Catholic Emancipation in
1778, claimed to have in his diocese
alone ( which of course included Lanca-
shire) 27,228,— that is, about two-fifths
of the entire Catholic population. It
was at the same time estimated that
between 1760 and 1780, whilst in the
diocese of Chester, where the general
population had greatly increased, the
Catholics 'had likewise increased by
2089, in the rest of England there had
been a slight decrease in their numbers.
In many dioceses there are said not to
have been fifty Catholics, in some not
ten left in 1780 when the population
of England and Wales was estimated
at about 6,000,000. In other words,
the Catholics formed little more than
one per cent of the English people.

The particulars which Berington gives
are distressing reading. In the west.
South Wales, and some of the Midland
counties, he says, "there is scarcely a
Catholic to be found." The residences
of the priest give indications of the
whereabouts of Catholics, so there is
every means of ascertaining the facts.
After London, the greatest number
were in Lancashire, Staffordshire, and
in the northern counties. Some large
manufacturing towns, such as Norwich,
Manchester, Liverpool, Wolverhampton
and Newcastle, had chapels which were
reported to be rather crowded. In some
few towns, particularly in Coventry,
the number of Catholics had increased,
but not in proportion to the general
population. Excepting in the large
towns and out of Lancashire, the chief
situation of Catholics "was in the neigh-

THE AYE MARIA.

495

borhood of the old families of that
persuasion. They were the servants
and the children of servants, who had
married from these families, and who
chose to remain round the old mansion
for the convenience of prayers, and
because they hoped to secure favor and
assistance from their former masters. .

As a body, in the opinion of this
same writer who had taken considerable
pains to arrive at the truth. Catho-
lics had rapidly decreased during the
eighteenth century ; and the shrinkage
was still going on. Many congrega-
tions had disappeared altogether; and
in one district, he says, " with which
I am acquainted, eight out of thirteen
missionary centres are come to nothing,
nor have new ones risen to make
up in any proportion their loss. I
recollect," he adds, "the names of at
least ten noble families that within
these sixty years have either conformed
or are extinct, besides many commoners
of distinction and fortune." At the
time when he wrote (1780) there were
"but seven peers" who remained Cath-
olic; and before the second edition of
his pamphlet in 1781, Lord Teynham
having died, his son had taken the
oath and entered Parliament ; and the
eldest son of the Duke of Norfolk — the
Earl of Surre3- — had conformed. Besides
these peers, the Catholics could count
twenty -two baronets and about a
hundred and fifty gentlemen of prop-
erty. Some few were men of wealth,
but the rest were so impoverished
that the}- possessed an average of only
£1000 a year.

As regards the number of clergy,
Berington estimates them at about
three hundred and sixty, "which I
think," he says, "is accurate." In the
Midland district in 1781 there were
fourteen mission stations vacant, and
some families had to go five and even
ten miles to chapel. The whole district
was declining, and contained only about
8460 Cathcjlics, hardly more than two-

thirds of their number thirty or forty
years before. In 1816 Bishop Milner
puts the number of missions in this
district at one hundred and twenty,
and the entire Catholic population at
15,000. Ten years later it is put at
100,000 in round figures. The western
district, comprising eight English coun-
ties together with North and South
Wales, had only forty-four priests to
serve it, and the Catholics were said
to be very few.

In 1773 Bishop Walmesley, the
Vicar Apostolic, gives exactly the same
number of priests; and the total number
of souls under his care he puts at
3195. Forty-two years later, in 1815,
the number is given as 5500, served
by forty-three priests. Even the London
district, extending over nine counties
in the south of England, is reported,
in 1780, to have but fifty -eight
priests to serve for all purposes. There
were then vacant five places for which
no priest could be found, and Catholics
were said to be dying out in all parts
except the metropolis. In 1814 Dr.
Poynter sent a minute return to Prop-
aganda about this district. London
itself was then served by thirty -one
priests, ministering in twelve chapels
to an estimated Catholic population
of 49,800. In the country parts of
the district the Catholics were put
at 18,976. In 1826 a map in the
archives of Propaganda gives 200,000
Catholics in the entire district; and in
1837 Bishop Griffiths states that he
estimates the Catholics of London at
146,000, the general population of the
city being then about 1,500,000.

As regards schools for l)oys, the
mitigation in the penalties for keeping
such establishments did not, for some
few years, lead to any visible increase
in their numbers. Berington knew of
only three of any note in 1781: "one
in Hertfordshire (that is, Standon, now
Old Hall), one near Bimiingbaua in
Warwickshire, and one near Wolver-

496

THE AVE MARIA.

hampton in Staffordshire." In London
he records the existence of some small
day-schools for boys; adding: "In
other parts there may be perhaps little
establishments where an old woman
gives lectures on the Hornbook and
the art of spelling." For girls, he knew
only of the two long-established schools
at Hammersmith and at York.

( Conclusion next week. )

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SADLIER.

XXXVII.— At the Mili.-House.

AS the young men stood there, the
clouds which had obscured the
sky began to scatter, and numberless
golden stars shone out with a frosty
radiance. Bretherton, having heard the
distinct utterance of his name through
the stillness of the night, looked hastily
about him, and soon beheld, peering
forth from the shelter of the skeleton
alder bushes, a Avild, eager face, with
strained eyes, and haggard and dusky
cheeks, framed in black hair. As he
gazed, astonished, the lips whispered :

"Ee silent I Come here at this hour
to-morrow night, alone."

He understood quick as a flash that,
of whatever nature the communica-
tion might be, it was intended for him
alone. He glanced at Lord Aylward,
but apparently he had neither seen nor
heard aii\'thing. His cigar liad gone
out, and he vias sti-uggling to relight
it, — a process v^hich the strong v.ind
rendered diriicult. Looking back again
to where the face had been, Bretherton
saw nothing save the dry branches
stirred by the wintry blast. For the
time being at least, he resolved to
preserve silence as to the apparition ;
and, merely waiting till his companion
had succeeded in jirocuring a light, set
out at a brisk pace for the ilanor.

Lord Avlward did not notice his

friend's abstraction; or, if he did,
considered it quite natural under the
circumstances. He contented himself,
therefore, with a casual remark from
time to time ; while Bretherton, puzzled
over the new mystery which now con-
fronted him, strove to obtain a clue
to the identity of the face. It seemed
to him that it was in some odd way
familiar,— or, at all events, that he had
seen it before. Suddenly the solution
to that part of the problem dawned
upon him. It was the face of the
woman whom he had saved from the
maddened horses, and whose child he
had likewise rescued from the bear.

His mind being thus far set at rest,
he roused himself from his absorption,
and began to talk. Somehow or other,
the conversation turned upon the
universitj' days over the water, and
they beguiled the remainder of the
homeward way by comparing notes of
this or that chap who had gone under,
this other who had risen to distinction,
or .still others who, even in that brief
interval uf time, had ciossed tlie great
gulf to the shores of eternity-. Many
a merrj' prank was recalled, m^ny 4U
academic triumph or defeat, — Lord
Ajdward dwelling with particular gusto
upon the contests and the victories on
athletic or sporting fields.

Bretherton, who had taken the pre-
caution of noting the hour, resolved
to be at the appointed place upon the
following night, and quite unaccom-
panied. Fortune favored him in this
latter respect; for he had declined,
and Lord Aylv.-ard had accepted, an
invitation to dinner at Thomeycroft. It
w^as, accordingly, an easy matter for
him to set out from the Manor alone.

It was a stormy night, and Nort
Jenkins, who met him on the grounds,
intercepted him.

"Be you goin' uptown, Master Jim?"

"Yes," responded Jim, laconically, —
pausing, however, to exchange a kindly
word with the young man, who had

THE AVE MARIA.

497

grown up almost side by side with
him, and had been his companion in the
old days on many a fishing excursion
or ramble about the country.

"There's a storm comin'," Nort
observed.

"Very nearly come, I should say,"
Bretherton answered, turning up the
collar of his great coat and pulling
down his soft hat upon his head.

" Better let me drive you over, Master
Jim," suggested Nort.

"No, thank you, Nort! I won't take
out a horse to-night."

" It's mighty dark," the honest fellow
remonstrated; "and folks says there
do be things seen about the mill."

"Owls and bats?"

Nort shook his head. He was not
.eloquent, but he blurted out, after a
pause :

"I guess the old woman down to the
mill-house is a witch."

"Is she?" said Bretherton, trj-ing
hard to light a pipe in the stiff breeze.

" Yes," replied Nort. " She can enchant
folks. Slie's got the evil eye."

Young Mr. Bretherton reflected that
there was one sort of witch he knew
who could enchant folks; and one
pair of eyes, the most beautiful he had
ever seen, held him the veriest slave
of her enchantments, so that he could
think of little else, and could not even
do as Lord Aylward did — proceed to
Thorneycroft and keep up appearances
there. Perhaps the very fact that he
had some hope, given him by Leonora
liersell", kept him to a certain extent
in suspense.

V.'liile he still struggled with the
refractory pipe, the voice of Nort again
broke upon his musings:

" And Mr. Knox, he'.s dangerous. I
guess everybody's afraid of him. Seems
like it."

Jim laughed. Somehow, the idea of
being afraid of Eben Knox struck him
as being supremely ridiculous. Perhaps
he would have been rather glad to have

a tussle with the manager ; at least he
felt so just then.

The credulous Nort went on, however,
in a tone of ever-deepening awe :

"And they do say as how there
was a man killed and throwed into
the brook, just beside the bushes."

Theyoung master vaguely remembered
having heard some such story before.
Since the murdered man had been of
the Bretherton kin, however, the subject
had been usually tabooed in presence
of children. He could recall the sudden
silence of his elders oftentimes when
he had entered the room.

"I'll have to keep my weather eye
upon the bushes, then," he laughed.

"But witches is all around you,"
objected Nort.

"Not the kind of witches I'm afraid
of," said Bretherton.

"As far as I've heerd tell, there ain't
but one kind of witches round here."

".\re there none of the kind that
steal the heart out of a man's body
and leave a stone in.stead?"

"Sakes alive, uo!" cried Jeuktu.s, his
eyes fairlj' starting out of his head.

"Well, that's the only kind I'm afraid
of, Nort."

"I ain't never heerd of none like
that," declared Nort; "and I tell you
what. Master Jim, I'll be most skeered
to go down to Jackson's for the milk
before light in the momin'."

"Drive straight along, looking neither
to the right nor the left," advised Jim,
with mock gravity, " and you'll be safe
enough, Nort. Good-night 1 Perhaps if
you ask the cook she will wait for the
milk till the peep of day."

So saying, the young gentleman of
the Manor set forth, vigorously puffing
away at his pipe, his fine jjroportions
scarcely concealed by the loose coat,
the collar of which went up over his
ears, almost meeting the soft hat pulled
well over his eyes. He walked as rapidly
as possible. The black clouds scudding
over the sky seemed in harmony with

498

THE AVE MARIA.

his thoughts, and the buffeting of the
sleet in his face suggested the "shngs
and arrows of outrageous fortune."

He calculated that he would have a
little time to spare, and he intended to
spend that leisure in a forlorn march
up and down before the familiar gate
of Rose Cottage. Leonora might come
to the w^indow and he might catch a
glimpse of her. He remembered, during
the course of that solitary walk, the
solemnity of Miss Tabitha's manner
when she had assured him that a
marriage between Leonora and him
was impossible, and that she desired
above all to see her niece married to
Eben Knox. This conversation, once
he had passed out of Miss Tabitha's
presence, did not impress him very
profoundly. It was, he thought, some
vagary incidental to the spinster's
timorous disposition and the retired life
she had led, — a vagary which could not
have any binding force upon her niece's
strong and well balanced character.
It recurred to him now, how^ever, and
seemed the explanation and justification
of Leonora's conduct. He had miscal-
culated, as he now saw, both the force
of Miss Tabitha's opposition, from
whatever source it arose, and the sin-
gular tenacity which enabled her to
adhere to her purpose once formed. It
was evident that the mystery was in
some way connected with the mill-
manager; but how, or wherefore, it
was, of course, impossible to determine.

When at last he reached the Cottage
he paced up and down, gazing at
that light in the sitting-room window,
shining out, as on the previous even-
ing, like a fair beacon. All at once,
as if moved by a sudden inspiration,
he thrust his extinguished pipe into
his pocket and began to whistle
"Amaryllis." In the pauses of the
wind, it sounded clear and distinct
through the stillness.

Leonora at first believed that she
must be dreaming. The strain came

fitfully to her ears, as each gust ol
wind swelled and subsided. Mechani-
cally she arose, and, drawing aside the
curtain, looked out. In the lamplight
which shone full upon her, Bretherton
could clearly see her face, upon which
he fixed his eyes eagerly. In the exag-
geration of his lover-like sentiments, he
would have described that momentary
apparition as a glimpse of Paradise,
which made him impervious to the ,
howling of the storm and the icy
blasts which grew fiercer each moment.

It was but for a few brief instants
that Leonora remained at the window.
She fancied she could discern a figure
in the darkness, —that same figure
which in happier times had so often
entered by that gate. The melody,
passionate and melancholy, set her
heart beating and her cheek glowing. *
It conjured up that evening of supreme
happiness when she had known with
certainty that young Mr. Bretherton
preferred her to any one else in the
wide world, and was only too eager
to display his devotion. She knew,
moreover, that he was there and had
deliberately sent her this message,
which should recall every word he had
said upon that memorable evening.

Those pleadings which he had urged
upon that occasion recurred to her,
indeed, with tenfold force after the
period of absence. She could see him
distinctly as he had appeared before
her in the costume of a b3^gone century,
putting into the r6Ie of that counterfeit
presentment of a lover all the power
and reality of a living passion. It
touched her profoundly, too, that, after
her summary dismissal of his suit, he
should thus be outside in the storm
and darkness, sending her this reminder
which thrilled her with a strange
happiness.

Slowly and lingeringly she let the
curtain drop. The young man remained
a few moments after that ; then, strik-
ing a match, he looked at his watch

THE AVE MARIA.

499

and saw that he had barely time to
keep that mysterious appointment, one
which was well calculated to make any
one less fearless shiver with apprehen-
sion. He proceeded toward the mill,
but no longer with the confident stride
which had brought him to Rose
Cottage. He was going away from her,
into gloom and darkness, and his feet
seemed leaden-weighted.

Just as he reached the trysting-place,
the sudden, sharp cry of a night-bird
sounded directly above his head. It
was weird and ominous, and startlingly
fitted to the surroundings. He looked
up quickly, and in that instant a figure
sprang up from the depth of the bushes
and confronted him with a hurried
exclamation :

"Come on! I've been waiting."

"Come where?" he inquired.

"Come after me, if you want to find
out secrets that concern you."

"Lead on, then!" said Bretherton.

He followed her with a sudden exhil-
aration of spirit. The adventure inter-
ested him. It was a relief, moreover,
from the painful current of his thoughts.

The woman sped onward so hastily
through the darkness that once or twice
the young man stumbled in trying to
keep pace with her. The moaning wind,
as it swept by, stirred the brook into
innumerable ripples which plashed
drearily against the shore; and the
bare branches of the trees clanked like
armor.

Suddenly a I'ght streamed out on
the darkness Irom the mill-house door,
wh'ch was flung wide open. Bretherton
paused for a single instant. Possibly
the uncanny rumors li; had heard as
to Mother Moid ton and tlie sinister
character of the manager (lashed upon
his mind. Could this be a trap into
which he was being led ? The hesitation
was but for an instant. His fearless
nature reasserting itself, he pressed on,
regardless of consequences. He paused
again, l.owever, on the threshokl, from

an instinctive repugnance to enter Eben
Knox's house.

The dingy room was lighted by a
large lamp, and a log burning upon
the hearth. Nevertheless, the squalor
and meanness of the interior smote
upon the young man like some physical
sensation. Obeying, however, a hasty
gesture from his guide he passed in,
and the door was closed upon him.

Over the fire crouched the repulsive
figure of the beldame. Her face, revealed
by the flame, seemed more malign than
ever in its expression. There was no
trace whatever of the master of the
house; and, as if in answer to the
inquiring glance which Bretherton cast
about him, the younger woman said,
speaking in a whisper, as if she doubted
the accuracy of her own statement :

"He's away, — he's not here. Gone
off to Boston."

"He has gone to purchase the wed-
ding finery," croaked the hag from her
station at the hearth. "He says he's
going to be married. Ho! ho! The
hawk married to the dove!"

Having thus spoken, she relapsed
into her apparently somnolent state,
nodding drowsily over the flames;
though Jim Bretherton suspected that
she was, nevertheless, watching him
covertly out of the corners of her
bleared eyes.

Presently the younger woman spoke
again, in the same terrified whisper:

"I would have been scared to ask
you here, only he's awa}-."

Even while she spoke she looked
fearfully at the door and window,
and, clasping her hand to her breast,
exclaimed :

"Oh, if he were to come! We must
be quick, — we must be quick!"

Young Mr. Bretherton felt a growing
rjluctance to be under this man's roof
for some purpose which was evidentlj-
unknown to the master of the house.
It did not quite fit in with his notions
to transact any business there, and

500

THE AVE MARIA.

with these people, who were practically
Knox's domestics. Yet it would be
difficult to make them understand ; and
if there was really anything important
to be learned, something which might
perhaps materially affect his own rela-
tions with Leonora, he could scarcely
stand upon a punctilio.

"Whatever has been your reason for
bringing me here," he said, "I should
be glad to know it and to get away
as soon as possible."

The woman who had acted as his
guide flew to the window and drew the
dingy curtain closely over it, so as
completely to shut out the view of the
interior from any one who might chance
to be outside. With a trembling hand
she likewise locked and bolted the door.
Before Jim Bretherton had time to
wonder what these preparations might
portend, she thrust her hand into the
bosom of her dress and drew forth a
bundle of papers.

"Take them!" she cried. "They are
yours. They'll tell you aliout • those
things he is always raving about. It's
frightful to hear him in the dead of the
night, and sometimes he reads out of
these papers."

Bretherton involuntarily extended his
hand, — withdrawing it again instantly,
however, as he inquired :

"Why should I take any papers
belonging to Mr. Knox?"

"They don't belong to Mr. Knox,"
the woman answered: "they're yours.
If A'ou don't take them, he'll do you
some terrible harm. I hea.rd him saj'
so in the dead of the night. There's
some secret in these, and you ought
to know it. The papers belong to your
family."

Bretherton hesitated no longer. He
stretched out his hand and possessed
himself of the mysterious package.
From the very names which he saw
upon the uppermost document he be-
lieved that the woman was right.

"Hide them!" she exclaimed. "For

mercy's sake get them out of sight,
for fear he might come!"

She stopped and listened, with a
blanched face, to a sound without,
which she fancied might be the manager
unexpectedly returning. It would be
quite characteristic of him thus fo
take his household unawares. But the
sound was merely the rushing, moaning
wind, and the crackling of the branches
in the grip of the frost.
.Jim Bretherton obeyed the woman's
agonized injunction, and concealed the
package in the innermost recesses of
his great coat. He felt a sudden, eager
curiosity, — a hope that some light might
be thrown upon that supposed barrier
between him and Leonora of which
Miss Tabitha had spoken, and upon
which her niece had probably acted.

"Don't let him get them! Don't let
him take them away from you!"

Bretherton laughed.

" I don't think he will get them there,"
he said grimly, as he buttoned his great
coat over the mysterious l)undle.

The woman, looking at him, felt
inspired with a sudden confidence. The
strength, the courage, the fearlessness
of the man before her caused her to
breathe freely at last.

"I am very much obliged to you,"
observed Jim, somewhat at a losr what
to say. "You have taken a great deal
of trouble on my account. Is there
anything 1 can give you in return?"

"Nothing," the woman answered, —
"nothing." And, stooping, she .seized
Hud kissed the young man'.s hand with
fervent gratitude.

Bretherton blushed like a girl, \*liile
the other continued:

"You saved my life and my child's
life from the horses, and again you
saved my child from a fierce beast.
You and the sweet lady were kind to
the little one. Nobody else has been
kind to us. For that 1 love you and
I'd go to the ends of the earth to
serve you."

THE AVE MARlA.

501

The young man made light of the
matter; and as he glanced at Mother
Moulton, still dozing by the fire, he
inquired :

" Does she know the contents of these
papers?"

"Oh, yes!" was the answer. "She
knows many things. She knows almost
everything."

Bretherton regarded the old woman
with interest. If this were really so,
and if she held the key to the strange
mystery that had lately seemed to
extend from the mill -house to Rose
Cottage, she might do much to aid him
in arriving at a solution. While he was
still looking in her direction, she stirred
and apparently, at least, awoke.

( To be continued. )

A Blot on Our American Civilization.

TO the current North American
Review, Cardinal Gibbons has
contributed a notable paper on "Lynch
Law: Its Causes and Remedy." With
his usual sanity of judgment and
freedom from exaggerated statement,
his Eminence says : "I admit that there
are exceptional times and circumstances
when summary executions may be
tolerated and condoned." And he in-
stances the punishments inflicted by
the Vigilance Committee in the early
days of California as a case in point;
but such methods, he points out, can
not be tolerated in a State where the
courts of justice are in free operation.
The Cardinal notes also that Lynch
Law has not even the excuse or pallia-
tion of deterring other evil -disposed
persons. "Experience shows that it
rather increases instead of diminishing
the calendar of crime."

Of the causes of these hasty and violent
executions without the forms of law,
and the remedies for the evil, the
eminent prelate discourses in much the
same fashion as we have repeatedly

done in these columns. Delay in bringing
notorious criminals to the bar of jus-
tice, needless procrastination in their
trials, and wide int;ervals between their
conviction and the execution of their
sentence, — these are the chief causes,
and a reversal of such procedure is
the remedy that should be applied.
The concluding paragraphs of Cardinal
Gibbons' article deserve reproduction
in foil:

In the two lower counties of Maryland, the
white and the black populations are nearly
equally divided, and the great majority of both
races profess the Catholic religion. I have had
frequent occasions to visit these counties in the
exercise of the sacred ministry.

Before divine service began, I have been delighted
to observe the whites and the blacks assembled
together in the church grounds, and engaged in
friendly and familiar intercourse. Then they
repaired to the church, worshiping under the
same roof, kneeling before the same altar, receiv-
ing the Sacrament at the same railing, and
listening to the words of the same Gospel.

This equal participation in spiritual gifts and
privileges has fostered the feeling of good -will
and benevolence, which no human legislation
could accomplish. I never witnessed anywhere
else the white race so kind and considerate to
the colored, nor the colored race so respectful
and deferential to the white; for there was no
attempt in these weekly gatherings to level the
existing social distinctions. As far as my memory
serves me, the records of these two counties
have never been stained by a single instance of
an outrage and a lynching.

No doubt there are counties in
other Southern States besides Maryland
which have never been disgraced by the
crime of lynching. This blot on our
civilization is not restricted to any
particular section of the country, as
many foreigners have been led to
suppose. A responsible writer asserts
that since 1885 there have been lynch-
ings in every State of the Union, — with
five exceptions. The Constitution pro-
vides that no man may be condemned
to death till declared guilty after a
judicial trial. Lynch Law is only one
of many violations of that admirable
code with which the world has charged
us in recent years.

502

THE AYE MARIA.

The Magic of the Beads.

Notes and Remarks.

OF timely interest during the Month
of the Holy Rosary are selections
from the well-nigh countless narratives
of spiritual and temporal favors secured
through the most popular of all devo-
tions in honor of the Blessed Virgin —
the Beads. While it is, of course, pos-
sible that enamored clients of Our
Lady may occasionally attribute to
the efficacy of her intercession apparent
prodigies that are really nothing more
than the legitimate outcome of natural
laws, there are nevertheless multitu-
dinous instances of well - accredited
marvels undoubtedly wrought through
the mediation of the Rosary. One such
instance is the following:

In the penal galleys of Toulon, France,
a convict who had stabbed one of
the guards was condemned to death,
and the sentence was to be carried
out within two days. The chaplain
approached the condemned man several
times, proffering him the consolations
of religion ; but the convict received him
w^ith the grossest insults, and poured
out the most horrible blasphemies
against all religion. To silence him,
indeed, it became necessary to chain and
gag him. There was no time to lose. The
scaffold was already erected. Profiting
by the helplessness to which the convict
was now reduced, the chaplain threw
his beads around the prisoner's neck,
fervently recommending him at the same
time to the care of the Blessed Virgin.

As if by magic, a complete change
took place in the wretched man's
behavior. No sooner had the beads
touched him than he grew pacified,
burst into tears, and asked to be
allowed to make his confession. His
desire being complied with, he publicly
begged pardon of all whom he had
scandalized. His fellow -convicts were
astounded and edified at the calmness
with which he met his end.

The revelations in regard to the
Mutual Life Insurance company and
the Equitable Life Assurance society
have been a great shock to righteous
foreigners. To judge from the preach-
ments in certain trans-Atlantic journals,
greed for gain has blunted our moral
sense. The penal code, they declare,
has become our standard of conduct.
Things do look just a little that way.
Graft is our national disease; but we
do not consider it an incurable one,
and in time we hope to conquer it. Our
censors would be edified if they could
know how willing we always are to
take our medicine. This disposition of
the American people is surely indica-
tive of moral well-being. The ills we
suffer — a little longer than is necessary
sometimes — are at least not chronic,
like those of some other nations ; and
we never rebel against our physicians
or surgeons, as the case may be. As
another good American — the editor of
Out West — lately observed: "It is a
feature of our day — and one of the
most encouraging — that our national
disease has come to the hospital, where
Drs. Roosevelt, Folk, Jerome, and their
kind are operating, not with poultices
nor with Absent Treatment, but with
the thin edge of steel. A malignant
growth needs to be removed. Thank
God, there are men among us who are
not afraid to remove it, and who do
not faint at the sight of a drop of
political blood I "

In his interesting notes on Lourdes,
appearing in the London Tablet, Dr.
Felix De Backer cites six cures which
are admittedly inexplicable on scientific
theories. All of them were effected on
residents of Fretin, a little village in
the north of France, where, according
to the testimony of medical men, there
has been a "sort of epidemic of the

THE AVE MARIA.

503

miraculous." Each person cured had
been "given up"; the cases were well
known, and the cures were instan-
taneous. They are thus stated by Dr.
De Backer:

1. Alphonsine CoIIette (aged twenty-five),
attended for eleven years by Drs. Lemaire, Mis-
son, Tnrgard, VVagnier, and Deroubaix, suddenly
recovered from a number of araygdaloidal
abscesses and a fjenerally lamentable state of
health. 2. Paul D&:arnin (aged fourteen), cured
in his own home after swallowing a spoonful
of Lourdes water. He was dying of appendicitis.
3. Ang^le LeliJvre, cured instantaneously between
Tarbes and Lourdes. Everyone saw her at
death's door in the railway carriage. 4. Henry
Delpienne, who was called the "little martyr,"
so great had been his sufferings ever since he
■was seven years old. Having been attacked by
diffu.se osteomyelitis, he came to Lourdes, but
was restored to health only on his way back.
He came home with his crutch over his shoulder.
5. Marie Druelle, (aged forty-six), was also cured
on the way back from Lourdes. The tumor in
her stomach disappeared, the swelling of her legs
vanished, and her health became perfect. 6. Louis
Dutilleul, (aged twenty-six), also of Fr^tin. Dr.
Phocas, of Lille, had opened his foot from
above (tarsus and metatarsus) throughout its
whole length. From that time abscess followed
abscess. They spread from heel to ankle, and
from ankle to leg. A shoemaker by trade, he had
to stop work ; osseous tuberculosis increased
day by day. He got discouraged, and at last
thought about Lourdes. Thither he went, and
all of a sudden his leg became sound and the
suppuration ceased. He is able to walk, and his
leg retains its natural length.

Modern psychology seems inclined to
read a new meaning into King Arthur's
dictum,

More things are wrought by prayer
Than this world dreams of

Dr. Hyslop, superintendent of Bethlehem
Royal Hospital, in London, a scientist
whose competency in his special field
is unquestioned, has been telling the
British Medical Association certain
truths, the promulgation of which does
not usually emanate from scientific
gentlemen. For instance: "As an alien-
ist and one whose whole life has been
concerned with the sufferings of the
mind, I would state that of all hygienic

measures to counteract disturbed sleep,
depressed spirits, and all the miserable
sequels of a distressed mind, I would
undoubtedly give the first place to

the simple habit of prayer Such a

habit does more to calm the spirit and
strengthen the soul to overcome mere
incidental emotionalism than any other
therapeutic agent known to me."

In connection with the therapeutic
value thus attributed to prayer, the
Literary Digest recalls the declaration
made several years ago by Prof James,
of Harvard College, in a magazine
article, that the man who prays for
help to do his daily work will so
compose his own mind thereby and
free his thought from care and worry
that he will actually do his work
better, irrespective of any supernatural
aid that may be sent in answer to
his petition."

The testimony of Dr. Hyslop and
Prof. James is, of course, merely the
recognition by modem science of a truth
known through experience by religious
people through all the centuries of the
Christian era. The oldtime verse,

Now I lay me down to sleep;

I pray the Lord my soul to keep, . . .

voiced the popular faith in the English
specialist's theory hundreds of years
before he formulated it. It is, neverthe-
less, interesting to note this agreement
between advanced psychology and
ancient faith. As the Outlook observes,
"Among the many notable utterances
in which Science is now evincing herself
to be the handmaid of Religion, these,
the most recent, are as memorable as
any." •

Though answered a thousand times,
the question is still asked, " What is
the use of collecting cancelled stamps, —
how can they be of any benefit?"
We know of one important missionary
enterprise, the Work of Mary Immacu-
late, which has been greatly promoted
by this mea'ns, simple as it is. Cancelled

504

THE AVE MARIA.

stamps of every kind and country are so
largely used in making wall-paper and
for decorative purposes, not to speak
of the great demand for collections,
as to have a considerable commercial
value. The common varieties are often
cut into tiny pieces, and, after careful
sorting, made into pictures, or used to
decorate plaques, etc., — the fragments
being held in place by a coating of
shellac. In almost every collection of old
stamps there are sure to be specimens
which command a high price. Collectors
are constantly paying large suras for
postage stamps which -intrinsically have
no value whatever.

As our readers are aware, an immense
number of cancelled starrips, collected
all over the United States, are sent
from Notre Dame every year to the
general director of the Work of Mary
Immaculate in Paris. Among these
stamps are many specimens which are
eagerly sought for, and which always
fetch good prices. The purpose of the
Society is to provide female catechists
to assist missionaries in countries
whose customs militate against the
conversion of women. We are assured
that numerous asylums, hospitals,
homes for abandoned children, etc.,
have been established by means of
cancelled stamps, worthless as most
people consider them.

outside of all denominations. Its purpose is
to protest against "blasphemy and profanity."
Eighteen thousand members of the Sftciety
paraded in Brooklyn last Sunday.

There is no reason why the purposes
of the Holy Name Society should not
be as dear to non- Catholics as to
Catholics. As Mr. Roosevelt said on
the occasion referred to above: "Men
should remember that they can not
retain their self-respect if they are loose
and foul of tongue, and that a man
who is to lead a clean and honorable
life must inevitably suffer if his speech
likewise is not clean and honorable."
Profanity, be it remarked, is an utterly
unprofitable habit. Violations of some
of God's commandments bring with
them at least a temporary' gratification ;
but what conceivable pleasure can be
extracted from the flippant pronounc-
ing of the Holy Name, or from the
habitual interlarding of one's discourse
with oaths and imprecations? Yet
how many are addicted to this repre-
hensible habit, and how few bestir
themselves earnestly in the genuine
endeavor to observe more faithfully the
Second Commandment!

Ever since President Roosevelt, two
years ago, addressed the Holy Name
Society of Brooklyn in a sterling lay
sermon on the weakness and indecency
of profanity, we have noticed that the
secular press of the country has been
taking a more and more sympathetic
attitude toward this particular asso-
ciation of Catholic manhood. The
Buffalo Express is quoted by the Cath-
olic Union and Times, of the same city,
as recently saying:

The Holy Name Society is a Catholic
organization which deserves the support of
clean -minded men in every deneraination and

All other objections against the
reality of the apparitions at Lourdes
having been refuted, the incredulous
now assert that the Blessed Virgin
would not — could not — have used the
words, "I am the Immaculate Concep-
tion." She would have named herself
"The Immaculate One," "Mary Con-
ceived without Sin," or something
similar; but "I am the Immaculate
Conception" is — well, absurd. These
wise ones forget, as Dr. Boissarie has
well obser\'ed, that God said to Moses:
"I am who am." They lose sight of
the fact that Mary alone could thus
identify herself with the new prerogative
which had just been accorded her by
the Church. To give more forcibleness
to aat definition, she took for her name
the very dogma which Pius IX. had so

THE AYE MARIA.

505

lately proclaimed, — the glorious privi-
lege for which the whole Catholic world
was venerating her. Such boldness of
language was far above the ken of
Bemadette ; she could only repeat that
name, trying to fix it in her memory,
but without understanding its meaning.
That definition surpassed the grasp of

her mind.

* ■ «

The Catholic Transcript, which inva-
riably sets a bountiful supply of solid
intellectual and spiritual food before its
readers, lately quoted the following
sentiment from Bishop Hedley. The
words seem familiar, and perhaps we
have already quoted them ourselves;
however, like all faithful sayings, they
will bear repetition :

To entrust his child to a non-believer or to a
half-believer is utterly abhorrent to a Catholic.
You may lay down whatever laws yon please,
the teacher is sure to sway and bias the mind of
the child in all moral matters. To banish religion
from the school is to teach a child in the most
impressive way that there is no religious
authority in the world.

It is not often that we feel inclined
to quote from Anglican prelates; but
Bishop Hedley's saying reminds us of
some beautiful words spoken by the
late Dr. Creighton, which we are glad of
an occasion to reproduce. Concluding
an address to Sunday-school teachers,
he said :

You must teach the young the real difference
between those who are Christians and those who
are not. You must show them that it is possible
for there to be a difference in the relations in
which professing Christians, stand to Christ. You
must try to make them feel that Christ is
knocking at the door of each of their little hearts,
and you must realize with reverent awe that it
is your work to help the little trembling fingers
to undo the bolt and lift th<; latch to admit that
gracious and majestic Visitant.

The book from which we ejuote —
"Thoughts on Education"— is full of
striking passages. Here is one, selected
at random :

Teaching is really a process of introduction ;
each individual child has to be introduced to
knowledge. Now, if a h >stcss introduces two

complete strangers to each other by merely
saying, " Miss Smith, let me introduce Mr. Blank,"
the result will probably be complete silence. But
a good hostess will tell. each guest something of
the other, and bring them so en rapport that she
leaves them with a possibility of their entering
into a conversation which_ will be cf advantage
to both. That is just what the good teacher
does: he brings knowledge and his pupil into
a vital relationship; and the object of teaching
is to establish that relationship on an intelligible
basis. This can be done in the case of the pupil
only by appealing to two qualities which are at
the bottom of all knowledge, — curiosity and
observation. They are born with us; every child
naturally develops them, and it is the duty of
the teacher to direct them to proper ends.

As many of our readers have probably
heard, one Baptist minister objected to
the resolutions in honor of the late
Mayor Collins, of Boston, passed at
the conference of the Baptist clergy in
that city, on the ground that " Mayor
Collins was a Roman Catholic, and
his son had attended a Jesuit college
and was a devoted Catholic." Com-
menting on this little incident. Harper's
Wee/c/r remarks : "The ministers very
much regretted the dissent of the one
objector; yet it was useful in its way,
as showing the progress of the rest."
So it was. Would it be altogether
ungracious to add that the progress
of Harper's Weekly in the same direc-
tion is illustrated by its comment, so
neat and pat?

The nature of the influence exerted on
French Catholics by the Univers and its
late editor may be surmised from the
following advice which appeared in its
columns a few months ago, apropos of
the abolition of the Concordat: "To
obey the Pope, that is the resolution
we should take. But we must promise
to obey him with all the promptitude
and fidelity of a ship's crew, who in the
height of the storm, confiding in the
prudence and firmness of their captain,
think only of hearing his orders and
executing them forthwith."

Good Queen Philippa.

BY E. BECK.

N the chapel of Edward the
Confessor in Westminster Abbey,
Philippa of Hainault, Queen of
Edward III., sleeps by her hus-
band's side. The story of how she
saved the burghers of Calais from
Edward's anger and the executioner's
axe has made her name familiar
throughout the English-speaking world.
Other incidents in the life of this famous
queen - consort bear retelling.

In the year 1346 Edward III. and his
son were engaged in war with France,
and the King of Scotland took advan-
tage of their absence to invade England.
Probably he calculated on meeting
with little resistance at a time when
the flower of the English army was
encamped on French soil. But Philippa,
who was acting as regent, hastened
northward, gathering as she went peas-
ant and artisan. To her standard
priests and bishops also came ; and on
the night of the 17th of October her
small and ill-disciplined army mustered
near Durham.

On that night the prior of the Abbey,
which was the last resting-place of
Saint Cuthbert's sacred relics, had an
extraordinary vision. The Saint of the
Lowlands, as Cuthbert is popularly
termed, appeared to him and bade him
take the linen cloth with which he
had, when alive, covered the chalice—
the cloth was preserved in Durham
cathedral — and fasten it on a spear.
It was to be carried to a hill outside
the city, and the prior was enjoined to
spend the day in prayer. He did as
he was commanded. Saint Cuthbert's

banner waved all day in the breeze ; and
the prior and his monks were joined
in their prayers by Philippa when
she had marshalled and addressed her
army. Long ere sunset the Scotch army
was totally routed, and its King a
prisoner. The prior of Durham caused
"a goodly and sumptuous banner" to
be made. To this was affixed the sacred
linen; and "never," say historians,
"was it shown on any battlefield but,
by the grace of God and Saint Cuth-
bert's intercession, it brought victory."
Queen Philippa herself bore the news
of her victory to her husband. The
French garrison in Calais held out
stubbornly ; and it was not till the very
dogs and horses were devoured that
the governor of the city, John de Vienne,
mounted the battlements and agreed
to surrender the city. "Edward," says
the French chronicler, Froissart, " hated
much the people of Calais," and his first
resolve was to put the garrison to the
sword ; but pardon was granted to
soldiers and people on condition that
six of the principal inhabitants of the
town should give themselves uncon-
ditionally into Edward's hands.

The wealthiest burgess of the town,
Eustace de Saint Pierre, named himself
first of the six. Five others soon joined
him. The governor of the town deliv-
ered them into the hands of Sir Walter
Manny, who conducted them to the
pavilion of the English King. They
bore the keys of the town, and had, in
obedience to Edward's orders.

On every neck a halter,

A chain on every hand.

The monarch eyed them wrathfully,
and .gave orders that their heads should
be struck off. Sir Walter Manny and
other knights present interceded in vain
for the King's pardon for his willing

THE AVE MARIA.

507

captives; "but Edward," says the old
chronicler, "gave a wink, and ordered
the headsman to be sent for."

Philippa cast herself on her knees
before her husband. "Ah, gentle sire,
I beg you for the love of the Son of
the Blessed Mary to have pity on
these six men!" she pleaded.

The King looked at her thoughtfully.
"Lady," he said, "I wish you had
been anywhere else than here; but
nevertheless I give them to you. Do
with them what you will."

Philippa took the six citizens to her
tent, we are told; new clothed them,
served them with a plentiful dinner,
gave each a purse of money, and sent
them back free and happy to Calais.

For over twenty years longer Philippa
continued to do good works, but in
1369 she was seized with a mortal
illness. Froissart tells how, as the end
approached she spoke to the King,
and her youngest son Thomas, who
was also present; and then, says the
chronicler, she extended her right hand
from under the bedclothes and put it
into that of the King.

" We have enjoyed our union in happi-
ness and prosperity, and I beg you will
grant me three requests : first, that you
will acquit me of any engagements I
have entered into with merchants for
their wares, either at home or across
the seas; second, that you will fulfil
any legacies I have made to churches
and convents, and to those who have
been in my service; third, that when
death calls you hence you will choose
no other sepulchre than mine, and lie by
my side in the cloisters of Westminster."

The King, with sobs and tears, replied :

"Lady, I grant them all."

Queen's College, Oxford, was founded

by Philippa's exertions and those of her

chaplain.

■ ♦ •

Dost thou love life? Then do not
squander time, for that is the stuff life
is made of.— Franklin.

The Little Hungarians.

BY MRS. MARY E. MANNIX.

XXIV. — Homeward Bound.

They buried Steffan just outside the
consecrated portion of the bleak little
cemetery, so uncared for that the wild
oats completely hid the scattered graves
and the crosses which marked them.
The sun scorched them, the winter rains
levelled them, the cruel winds swept
above them. Once a year only, at the
feast of All Souls, an attempt was made
to clear away the rank vegetation, and
people came from far and near to pray
at the graves of their dead.

And so it happened that on the eve
of the feast, when the Indians from
neighboring ranches gathered in mourn-
ful procession, bearing lighted candles,
which, while chanting the De Proiundis,
they placed on the graves of their
dead, and the conclave, joined by the
Mexicans, thronged the little cemetery,
Louis and Rose, each with a candle,
knelt outside the dilapidated fence in
the Potter's Field, beside the latest
grave that had been dug there, and
offered a fervent prayer for the man
who had so deceived and wronged them.

The seiiora thought it a kind of
presumption on the mercy of God, and
shook her head doubtfully when asked
for candles to deposit at the head of
Steffan's last resting-place. But Louis
represented to her that his father had
told him how many a soxil has found
salvation by a fervent "God have mercy
upon me!" between the knife-thrust or
pistol-shot and eternity ; and the senora
felt she could not dare be less mercifiil
than Almighty God. She joined them
timidly, added a prayer to theirs; but
drew them furtively away through the
field, lest they might be seen by the
neighbors.

The brother and sister had now been
six months at Ti Juana. There had

508

THE AVE MARIA

been several bullfights, which they had
prefaced by their pleasing and unique
entertainments. They had played at
the Saturday night dances in the
dining-room of the hotel ; and as soon
as the tourists had begun to pay their
usual winter visits to the frontier
hamlet, the little musicians had been
employed, at a small salary, to give
concerts on the veranda during the
dinner hour. Touched by their refined
and pathetic appearance, their delicate
faces and remarkable talent, people
were very generous with them.

They still lived with the Senora
Moreno and her husband, who boarded,
housed and clothed them for a very
small sum. Although the good woman
would have been glad to keep them
with her, she felt that they were aliens,
and would always be aliens, among her
people; and with her usual kindness
resolved to do all she could to help
them return to their home as soon as
they should have earned enough money
to pay their way back.

They soon came to be veiy much be-
loved by everybody. All the town seemed
anxious to assist them, and little by
little their store of silver was growing.

"Senora, we have thirty-five dollars,"
said Louis one day. "Will it cost much
more?"

"I do not know," she replied.

"More than half as much again,"
interposed her husband. "And you
should have a little to spare, — oh, yes,
you must have at least a hundred
American dollars!"

"It will take six months longer, per-
haps," said Louis. "But I ought not to
complain, for we are so well off here."

" In your place, I would write to that
good priest who lives in your town,"
said Moreno. "He might have some
money from your house. He could send
it to you."

"No," answered Louis, sadly. "We
were too ungrateful to him. We are
ashamed to write, — at least I am."

"But when you So back you will
have to see him. Is it not so?"

"Oh, then, yes! But I would not
know what to w^rite to him. I could
not do it. He will believe me and forgive
me when I am there again. But there
is one letter I want to write. It is to
the Seiiora Bandini, who was so good
to us. They — she and her son — may
think we ran away. I must write to
her very soon."

"I heard to-day that they have
found a man near Mazatlan whom they
think is Juan Carisso," said Moreno.

"Will they bring him here?" asked
Rose.

"Yes, on his way down. They will
first have a trial here, and then send
him to the city of Mexico for another.
It will go hard with him there."

"Will they hang him?"

"No. We do not hang in Mexico:
we shoot. But I think they can prove
that Steffan called him names and
cheated him ; and both were drunk.
Probably they w^ill make him serve in
the army for ten years."

The winter was nearly over, — if
that season may be called winter
which coaxes the wild flowers from
their hiding-places. The rains had been
abundant, revealing delicate treasures of
bloom that had slumbered all through
the seven dry years preceding. Pink,
violet, yellow, cream, pure white, blue,
purple and red, — they spread their
variegated tapestry over hill and plain.
In the canons the wild peony bloomed,
and Rose came in every day laden with
wonderful flowers shading from scarlet
to chocolate a.nd even black. And then,
when the rains had almost ceased, on
every side might be seen the California
poppy, the flower which Louis thought
most beautiful of all.

One ^ay Rose came in with her arms
full of poppies.

"Aren't they lovely?" she asked.

"They are," rejoined her brother.

THE AVE MARIA.

509

"They are too lovely to pluck. I feel
as the jierson did who wrote these
verses about them, which I have just
found in a scrap of newspaper. Shall
I read them to you?"

"Yes," answered Rose, beginning to
arrange the flowers in a large blue
basin, which contrasted finely with
their golden color.

"Do you know the Spanish name for
them, Rose?" inquired Louis.

"No," she replied.

"It is copa de ora, — 'cup of gold.'
Isn't that pretty?"

"Very pretty. What are the verses?"

"Here they are!" — and Louis read:

"What time the upland, all aglow
With every meadow flower we know,
Invites us to the jewelled hoard
Long in its arid bosom stored ;

"What time the vine's frail tendrils cling
To the bright mantle of the Spring,
And emerald ferns in canons deep
Unwrap their dewy folds from sleep.

"'Tis then she comes — the fairest flower
Of all that billowy, fragrant bower, —
Uplifting from the bursting mold
Her dainty cup of fluted gold.

"Copa de ora? Let who may
Rifle her gold. I can not, — nay.
She seems to me a sacred thing, —
The perfect child and crown of Spring."

"That is pretty," said Rose when her
brother had finished. "But if you
gather them, you can have them in the
house to look at as well as outside. I
don't care very much for poetry, any-
how. I am going to ask the senora to
let me put the poppies I have left in
her glass preserve dish."

About the first of May the little hoard
was pronounced complete, and one day
Moreno and Louis went uptown to see
about the tickets. The result was quite
encouraging: there would be enough
and to spare. Then Louis wrote to the
Bandinis, telling them that on a certain
day Rose and he would be on the train
going Eastward, — with a "stop over,"
if they would be welcome.

On the night before their* departure,
the people of Ti Juana and the adjacent
ranches gave them a party — and a
purse. The senora and her husband
accompanied them to San Diego, and
remained with them till their departure.
Since the death of their father, the
children had not felt so lonely or
sorrowful as when they took leave of
the good couple who had been uniformly
kind to them from the first moment
they had entered their doors.

As they neared Tesora, they began
to doubt whether the Bandinis would
be on the lookout for them. Rose
especially was fearful that their friends
had forgotten them, or perhaps cher-
ished some resentment at the manner
in which they had left the ranch.

"They must know that we did not
go willingly," said Louis. "On that
account, and because I want to explain
things, I hope they will be there.
Besides, I apologized in my letter."

"There they are!" exclaimed Rose at
last, as the train came to a stop.
"There is Mr. Alfredo and Natalia."

Yes, there they were, with the very
horse and light wagon which had
borne the children away. Rose almost
jumped into Alfredo's outstretched
arms; and at the same time Louis
found his hand and arm being vigor-
ously pumped up and down by Natalia,
who, attired in a light blue skirt,
red waist, and purple sunbonnet, was
entirely unconscious that she presented
a vivid object lesson in color to those
of the passengers who had come out
to the vestibule.

"Oh, so glad am I to see you again,
chiquita !" said the Indian woman,
kissing Rose as she left Alfredo's arms.
"Never, except for the little grand-
children of the senora, have I loved
any child so much in three days. And
you too, my good boy, though you
are too big to kiss," she continued,
addressing Louis.

"And we are very glad to be back,"

510

THE AVE' MARIA.

rejoined the bo}-. "It is like coming
home again ; though the people with
whom we have been were very good to
us, and v\e did not like to leave them."

"The senora will be pleased," said
Naialia to Rose, when thej' were seated
in the wagon. "She put cream -cheese
to drip already yesterday, that it
might be nice to-day ; and some tarts ;
and there is a fricasseed chicken in
Spanish style that I prepared this
morning: it has only to be warmed up
again. And there are little cakes that
will melt in your mouth. But, chiquita,
tell me what you have been doing."

Thu.s, with willing information on
the part of Rose, and volubly expressed
comment on that of Natalia, the time
passed until the ranch came in sight.

Nothing could have been more
gracious than the senora's welcome.
The story of the children's abduction
and subsequent adventures had to be
repeated for her benefit. Then they sat
down to supper, with an appetite, Louis
said, that made it appear as though
they had been poorly fed in the inter-
val; but he hastened to assure his
kind hosts that such was not the case.
Afterward they sat on the veranda and
discoursed sweet music until bedtime.

Alfredo was of the opinion that .the
children were wise in returning to their
own home, as they had some property
there; and he thought also that there
w^ould be more probability of finding
Florian in that way, if he was to be
found at all.

The senora did not agree with her
son. She thought the little ones would
be as well off, if not better, to remain
with her. She would send them to
school, and teach them at home to be
useful, so that when they were grown
up they might be able to support
themselves.

Rose would have been willing to stay,
but not so Louis. As for Natalia, she
thought it nothing less than flying in

I Conclusion

the face of Providence to refuse the
offer of such a home.

" Not a pin would I give for a brother
who never lets his people know where
he is! " she said. " What will he do for
you if you should find him?"

But Louis would not hear a word
against Florian ; and Natalia, gentle
soul that she was, soon ceased to
argue the subjedt.

The night before they left, the senora
called the brother and sister to her
room and opened a box in which were
many jewels — rings, bracelets, necklaces,
and pins of various kinds, set in an
old-fashioned style, but very beautiful.
After they had admired them for some
time, she selected a ring and a pin for
each of them.

"Louis," she said, "wear this ring
always. It will bring you good
luck. You see it is a lyre and wreath
entwined. You will some day be a
great artist. Remember also to be a
good man, and say a prayer sometimes
for the old woman who gives you
these souvenirs. The pin belonged to
my poor brother."

Then, turning to Rose, she said :

"Here is a tiny ring, my dear. It was
mine when I was a little girl. It will
fit you for five years yet; then you
can take out the two rubies and the
emerald — which are real,— and have
them set in another ring. This pin
represents a torch; the flame is indi-
cated by the diamond. Whenever you
look at it, remember that the torch of
religion and of virtue is best to light
the path of duty. Never forsake your
religion, as so many have done here in
California since the Americans came, —
and ma3'be in other parts also, for all
I know. It will console you in every
sorrow and strengthen you in every
trial. So have I found it."

Thechildren listened reverently to her
words. They will never forget that
evening.

next week. J

THE AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

511

— "Addresses of Frederic Ren6 Coudert" is
among the new books announced by Messrs.
Putnam's Sons.

— We are very glad to notice that Dr. Barry's
valuable paper on "Freemasons in France,"
contributed to the National Review, has been
reprinted as a penny pamphlet by the English
Catholic Truth Society. It is sure to have many
new readers. • "

— Messrs. R. and T. Washboume have just pub-
lished an excellent new edition of the Epistles
and Gospels for the Sundays and Holydays of
Obligation, and other important feasts, arranged
and edited by the Very Rev. Richard A. O'Gorman,
O. S. A. The text of the Douay version has been
literally followed; the verses are numbered, and
references to all quotations are given in footnotes.
Large tyiie,good paper, clear print, and convenient
size are further recommendations.

— "Libertad Religiosa y Libertad de EnseBanza"
is a collection of articles by Francisco J. Zavala •
which first appeared in El Regional of Guadala-
jara, and are now published in pamphlet form.
They treat of freedom of religion and of educa-
tion in Mexico, and expose clearly and learnedly
the Catholic position on these important ques-
tions. The author is certainly well read on his
subject, and gives his authorities in the original
Latin, English, French, Italian, and German.

— In reprinting from the Examiner, of Bombay,
Father Ernest R. Hull's papers on "Devotion to
the Sacred Heart," the Catholic Truth Society
of Scotland has given evidence of discriminating
judgment. This twopenny pamphlet, of +8 pages,
contains the most thoroughly satisfactory expla-
nation of the devotion itself, and of the "Prom-
ises" in connection therewith, that we have ever
seen compressed into so small a bulk ; and, indeed,
as an adequate treatment of the whole subject,
it is superior to more than one goodly -sized
volume. We cordially recommend this booklet.

— The late Eugene Veuillot, for many years
editor of the Vnivers, besides being one of the
best known and most able of French journalists,
was an indefatigable champion of Catholic rights
through all the vicissitudes of the past two
decades. He shared the talents of his famous
brother Louis, and was a kindred spirit. When
•till a 3'oung man he published a " Histoire des
Guerres de la Vendue et dc la Bretagne, 1790-
1832," which still ranks among standard his-
torical works. M. Veuillot was engaged at the
time of his death on the fourth volume of his
brother's biography, the third volume of which
appeared some nine or ten months ago. His

services in the cause of religion won for him
the admiration of Pius IX. and Leo XIII., and
incidentally a Papal decoration. Despite his
laborious life, he had attained the venerable age
of eighty - seven. He is succeeded as editor-in-
chief of the Univers by his son, M. Pierre Veuillot.
May he rest in peace I

— The Society of the Angel Guardian, Boston,
Massachusetts, has published a " Month of the
Holy Rosary," made up of meditations for the
daj's of October, when Mary is especially honored
as Queen of the Holy Rosary. The short intro-
duction to the meditations is historical and
devotional in nature, and should be an incentive
to frequent and fervent recitation of the chaplet.

— Catholic readers will find many things that
edify and many more that instruct unto justice
in the "Life, Virtues and Miracles of St. Gerard
Majella, Redemptorist Lay-Brother," by the Very
Rev. J. Magnier, C. SS. R., just published by B.
Herder. The new saint is pre-eminently the
patron of a good confession. He had the special
gift of reading consciences burdened with sacri-
legious sins. There is nothing in the " Fioretti "
of St. Francis better illustrative of the simplicity
required for entrance into the kingdom of heaven
than some of the incidents related in this volume.

— We are pleased with Mr. Thomas Bonaventure
Lawler's " Primary History of the United States."
He confines himself to the exposition of the lead-
ing facts of our history. His style is smooth and
clear ; his language, simple and adapted to the
needs of children in the sixth and seventh grades.
At the end of every chapter there is a brief but
clear summary in declarative form of the fore-
going events, followed by a thoroughly com-
mendable r(sitm£ of the principal "dates to be
remembered." The work is supplied with good
maps and graphic illustrations, a summary of
the entire book in question form, and an ade-
quate index. Published by Ginn & Co.

— It is interesting sometimes to compare the
notices of new books appearing in American
and English journals. "Modern Masters of Pul-
pit Discourse," by W. C. Wilkinson, has been
"praised to the skies" in this country; but the
London Atbenwum is not at all pleased with the
performance. It quotes a passage eulogizing the
late Dr. Hall, and comments as follows:

\Vc suppose there are people who like thi« sort of thing,
and even regard it as good writing, or else it would not be
possible for a periodical to pay a man to write it. But we
must confess that the tendency to produce it augurs ill in a
would-be critic of style. It is not, we think, wonderful that
the writer of the paragraph above quoted should find John
Henry Newman's manner a little lacking in "felicity" — his

512

THE AVE MARIA.

most eminent characteristic. It is ii well known fact that
that master of English wrote a Latin sentence every day
a3 an exercise. We suppose that is why Pro!' Wilkinson
tells us that Newman could in his opinion have written
Oreek better if he had written Latin more. The prospect
of a Newman purged of his Griecisms by Prof, Wilkinson
is, indeed, alluring. Doubtless the author of the John Hall
symphony would correct that "tendency to formlessness
in style" which he discerns in the writer of "The Idea of
a University." We have given a sufficient specimen of Mr.
Wilkinson's quality to enable the reader to judge for him-
self whether he wishes to read the book. Those who
regard the criticism of Newman as discriminating, or who
derive satisfaction from the paragraph at the head of this
notice, will win, we dare say, abundant pleasure from this
volume. The writer shows considerable acuteness in
summing up the qualities of a preacher, and the estimates
alike of Phillips Brooks and Henry Ward Beecher are really
illuminating But he writes with the exaggerated im-
pressionism of modern journalism : his egotism is every-
where apparent, and his fondness for chopping up sentences
to criticise them word by word is not reassuring as to his
possession of any criteria o'good judgment. But the book
will be useful, for it affords evidence of what a certain
kind of "religious" journalism tends to foster. It is fairly
characteristic of the world of which it is the symbol: it will
do little harm to those who like it, and none to those who
do not, and will serve as a landmark to many of the
distance that divides us from the Middle Ages. Only the
Reformation, which was started by a journalist of genius,
could have made a book like this possible. The author
evidently enjoyed writing it. But, personally, we prefer
the *' formless infelicity " of Newman.

Careful readers of the Atbeneeum are sure to
be rewarded for their attentiveness. The fore-
going paragraph is a fair specimen of that
journal's satire, often sly and always clever.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catliolic readers. The latest books will
appear at the head, older ones being dropped out
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will be imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
jwho keeps a fall supply of works issued abroad
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"The Epistles and Gospels." Very Rev. Richard

O'Gortnan, O. S. A 50 cts., net.
"Life, Virtues and Miracles of St. Gerard Majella."

Very Rev. J. Magnier, C SS. R. 15 cts.
"Infallibility.' Rev. Vincent McNabb, O. P. 36

cts., net.
"The Mystic Treasures of the Holy Sacrifice."

Rev. Charles Coppens, S. J. 50 cts., net.
"George Eastmount: Wanderer." John Law.

$1.10, net.
"The Senior Lieutenant's Wager, and Other

Stories." $1.25.

"The Story of the Congo Free State: Social,
Political, and Economic Aspects of the Belgian
System of Government in Central Africa."
Henry Wellington Wack, F. R. G. S. $3.50,
net.

"Rex Mens." $1.25.

"The Angel of Syon." Dom Adam Hamilton,
O. S. B. $1.10, net.

" The Little Flowers of St. Francis." Illustrations
by Paul Woodruffe. $1.60, net.

"That Scamp, or the Days of Decatur in Tripoli."
John J. O'Shea. 60 cts.

" Bishop Gore and the Catholic Claims." Dom
John Chapman, O. S. B. 25 cts.

"Grammar of Plain-Song." Benedictines of Stan-
brook." 75 cts., net.

"Sir Thomas More. (The Blessed Thomas
More.)" Henri Bremond. $1, net.

"The Yoke of Christ." Rev. Robert Eaton.
$1, net.

"Some Little London Children." Mother M.
Salome. 75 cts., net.

" Ireland's Story." Charles Johnston and Carita
Spencer. $1.55.

"The Life of St. Patrick, Apostle oi Ireland."
Canon Fleming. 75 cts., net.

Obituary.

Bememtiet them that are ia bands. — Heb., xiii, 3.

Rev. James Keating, of the diocese of Cheyenne ;
and Rev. James FitzSimon, diocese of Providence.

Mother M. Bernard, and Mother M. Joseph,
of the Order of St. Ursula; Madame Gignoux,
Ladies of the Sacred Heart; and Sister M. Edith,
Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament.

Mr. George Rcttinger, of Pittsburg, Pa.; Mr.
E. J. Bristol, Mrs. G. Walsh, and Mr. Daniel
O' Connell, Minneapolis, Minn. ; Mrs. Edward
Karl, New York; Miss Mary Welder, Victoria,
Texas; Mr. James Heffernan, Cambridge, Mass.;
Mr. Jacob Burkhart, Allegheny, Pa. ; Mr. J. H.
Tomany, Wilmington,' Del. ; Miss Catherine
Graham, Carbondale, Pa. ; Major James May,
Shamokin, Pa. ; Mr. Joseph McCarney, Buffalo,
N.y.; Mrs. Maria Aiken, Somerville, Mass.; Mrs,
Teresa Cotnoir and Mrs. J. O'Neil, New Bedford,
Mass.; Mrs. Elizabeth DriscoU, Reading, Pa.; Mr.
John Marlow, Brighton, Mass.; Mr. F. Schadowski,
Cleveland, Ohio; Dr. Edward Galligan, Taunton,
Mass. ; Mrs. B. F. McCaflVey, New Castle, Pa. ;
Mr. Simon Long, Toledo, Ohio; Mr. James Lord,
Watcrbury, Conn. ; Mrs. Maty McKeever and
Miss Margaret McDermott, Philadelphia, Pa.;
Mrs. Richard Wickham, Meriden, Conn.; and Mr.
Erwin Steinback, Brooklyn, N. Y.

Requiescant in pace !

HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUKE, I., 4S.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, OCTOBER 21, 1905.

NO. 17.

[Pnblished every Saturday. Copyright : Rev. D. E. Hudson, C.S.C.J

Hymn to Saint Margaret.

( Patroness of Scotland. )

UATH thy warm heart grown cold in the palace

above,
Hath thy kind ear grown dull to the pleadings of love,
That thy fair Scottish land lies enveloped in night,
And thy children still weep for the blest morning
light?
The cries of thy people are rising to thee:
Awaken the heavens our country to free!

Can thine eyes bear to see thine own offspring in
chains?

Can thy soul bear to witness our sorrows and pains?

O Margaret, queen, be not deaf to our plaint.

But haste to our aid, our own loved Scottish Saint, —
The cries of thy people are rising to thee:
Awaken the heavens our country to free !

Arise in thy strength, as did Judith of old.

And slay the fierce wolf * that hath ravaged the fold.

Long, long have we groaned in our bondage of woe ;

We look to our Saint royal pity to show, —
The cries of thy children are rising to thee:
Awaken the heavens our country to free!

Tell Jesus, our Saviour, how faithful and true
Were the hearts that ne'er faltered from Him or

from you;
And plead, for their sake, that the rest may be spared,
Whom falsehood and error from Truth have en-
snared,—
The cries of thy people are rising to thee:
Awaken the heavens our country to free !

O kneel at the feet of the Empress of Heaven,
That Queen to whom power o'er the demon was

given I
Her hosts she will lend to the Saint whom we owned
As our queen upon earth, over Scotland enthroned, —
The cries of thy people are rising to thee:
Awaken the heavens our country to free!

The Archangel* will lead with his great battle-cry,
Mi-ca-el?t Mi-ca-el? and hell's legions will fly.
Down, down to the depths will the rebels be hurled.
When the Prince of the Lord comes with banner
unfurled,^
The cries of thy people are rising to thee:
Awaken the heavens our country to free!

Canst thou list to the voice of the blood that was

shed?
Canst thou hearken to infants e'er wailing for bread,!
And not wake the heavens thy people to free?
Our souls, dearest Saint, are still straining to thee, —
O arise by God's might, as did Judith of old.
And destroy tlie fierce wolf that hath scattered
the fold ! ^ . »

An Irish "Pattern."

• Heresy.

BY CORNELIUS DORGAN.

FF the beaten track in Ireland,
one alights here and there on
ruins whose story, as preserved
by tradition, or the records of Irish
ecclesiastical history, is eloquent of the
heroic virtues of the ancient Catholic
race. As in the case of Ardmore, a
beautiful. Old -World village on the
West Waterford coast, the foundation
of not a few^ of these groups of vener-
aJDle ruins dates even from the dawn
of Christianity in the land ; for the
recluses' huts or the hermits' grottoes
formed the nucleus of what became, in
an astonishingly short time, sanctuaries
of religion and learning.

With the light of Christianity, the
fame of these consecrated spots, and the

• St. Michael, t VVho is like to God? t Spiritual food.

514

THE AVE MARIA

sanctity of their founders, penetrated far
and wide. The tide of peaceful conquest
grew with ever-increasing strength. The
Druid forsook the rites of the sacrificial
altar, the prince the barbaric splendors
of the court, the warrior the rude
revels of the camp; while the bard no
longer attuned his voice and harp to
the strains of pagan minstrelsy, and
no more was the guileless peasant
brutalized by the practices of a heathen
worship.

Nor, be it said, were these the scenes
and achievements of a mere transitory
splendor and fame, — the glamor of a
comparatively brief period of religious
and intellectual upheaval. From out
these nurseries of piety and learning
there went forth, uninterruptedly
through all the centuries, saints and
scholars as missionaries to the countries
of the Continent, to instruct, convert.
Christianize. Not till the invader came
to dismantle and overthrow, did any
of these things change.

Yet, though the lust of conquest and
the greed of gain by the alien power
robbed the monasteries and churches
of their wonted splendor, though the
vandal pick and ram consummated the
fell work of destruction and spoliation,
the ancient glories of the hallowed
places are not forgotten: the fame of
their sainted founders is still remem-
bered. Just as in the soul of the nation
the spirit of faith and learning is deep-
centred, so also is the memory of its
heroes, priests, and patriots. And the
hallowed niemoty of those chosen
numbers of holy men and women,
saints and martyrs, whose festivals are
celebrated each recurring year amid the
most antique and picturesque surround-
ings, endures in the hearts and minds
of an essentially Catholic people at
the present day with as perennial a
freshness, it may be, as when long ages
ago those Heaven-inspired souls walked
and labored in the flesh.

Like their ancestors from time imme-

morial, the people throng on the festival
day to the scene of their patron's life
and labors. From near and far they
come; for, though evcrj' parish has its
own particular patron saint, there
are only comparatively few whose
patrons' festivals are commemorated by
the annual celebration of a "pattern."
By steamboat, sail and rail; by car,
ahorse, afoot, by highway and across
country, they throng to pray at the
shrines and grottoes of the saints
whom they petition for spiritual and
corporal benefits. All sorts and condi-
tions of the community hie them there :
civic and agrarian, nomad mendicants,
venders of religious emblems and
souvenirs, sellers of fruits and sweets,
and traffickers in other light confec-
tions. All are dressed in their best and
brightest, and are as gay and happy
in holiday spirits as ihe occasion
invites.

It is a decidedly interesting assem-
blage which comprises a Munster
"pattern," entirely representative and
typical a§ it is of the warm tempera-
ment and character of the South.
Broadly speaking, there is a languorous
softness in the eye, a geniality in the
countenance, a mellowness in the voice,
that is demonstrative of a poetic and
imaginative people. Preponderatingly
Catholic, they are conspicuously toler-
ant of all creeds and opinions; while
their friendship has in it the virtue of
steadfast loyalty, and their hospitality
that of genuine sincerity.

Immediately on arriving, the pilgrims
make the rounds of the ruins, experi-
encing an undiminished attraction and
veneration for those mute but eloquent
relics, reminiscent of a thrilling, storied
past, and of the marvellous life-work
and personality of the saint whose
feast the}- celebrate.

Reverently they pause at the oratory.
Like" all other ancient churches of
Ireland, this is of smali dimensions.
But it is not, of course, the size of the

THE AVE MARIA.

515

building that appeals to the imagi-
nation so much as the associations
inseparably connected with it. It was
their patron saint who built it ; within
its consecrated walls he prayed, kept his
midnight vigils, said his daily orisons,
and was finally laid to rest. There it
lies, a wreck,— a poor, mean thing ; but
what a potent reminder, what a golden
link with a glorious past!

And the cathedral! What thoughts
do not its hoary, .time - honored ruins
inspire, its wreathed memories conjure
up! Here in the sanctuary was daily
offered the Holy Sacrifice, while the
oaken roof resounded to the chant of
the assembled surpliced choristers, and
the nave and chancel were thronged
with worshipers; until, after long cen-
turies of unexampled loyalty to faith,
the country was delivered up to the
evil genius of foreign domination. Here,
within the precincts of those hallowed
walls, in the golden age of piety
and learning within Erin's shores, the
pageantry of courtly state and the
lowliness of peasant custom mingled in
humble submission and adoration of
the Divine Mysteries. Then lord and
vassal, prince and peasant, bent the
knee and bowed the head in reverent
worship, and listened with hearkening
ear and rapt devotion to the counsel
taught with persuasive and elociuent
tongue in the pure, luxurious, mellow
sweetness of the vernacular.

Then there is the well, — the sainted
founder's holy font, whose waters
repose in its hollow bed to-day as
pure and limpid as when the Heaven-
ordained recluse partook of its inex-
haustible store long centuries ago.
The well is the centre of devotion on
the festival. Here the pilgrims kneel,
the many petitioning their patron to
obtain for them spiritual graces ; others
asking a lesser favor — the cure of their
physical infirmities or ailments. Each
one drinks of the sparkling waters,
distributed by certain old women, who

hand the refreshing draught around
in earthenware goblets at a trifling
charge, more or less optional. Scores
of shreds of linen cloths hang festooned
on the bushes encircling the place. These
little tokens of a simple, earnest faith
are meant to attest the relief or cure
effected in each individual case by the
application of the waters.

As with the holy well, so is it with
all else which the savor and halo of a
miraculous attribute surround ; as in
the case of Ardmore again, and the
Stone of its venerable founder. Tradition
has it that when St. Declan, who was
of princely lineage, and a contemporary
of St. Patrick himself in the episcopate
of Ardmore, needed a bell for one of
his churches, and lacked the necessary
means to cast or procure it, one was
miraculously borne in upon this Stone
from over the waves, and deposited on
the beach. To testify to the truth or
accuracy of the legend, the natives will
point with the utmost confidence to
the circular ring which the lip of the
bell impressed upon the Stone, as,
propelled and guided by an invisible
power, it floated over the waters to
the saint. Moreover, as it will be further
explained by the simple-minded fisher-
folk of the neighborhood, it is utterly
futile for one to hope to obtain any
benefits, either spiritual or temporal,
through the agency of the Stone, if
anything illicitly acquired be on the
person of the suppliant.

Thus exercised, the pilgrims perform
the religious function of the occasion,
and then disport themselves in less
spiritual environments in characteristic
fashion. A spice of Carnival, so to
speak, identifies itself with the lighter
amusements of an Irish "pattern." Not
that an Irish "pattern," any more than
an Irish wake or an Irish wedding, is
what it is generally represented to be.
The writer has scores of times seen —

The wedding and the wake,
The pattern and the fair;

51G

THE AVE MARIA

but never the "broken heads" and the
" roystering " that are supposed to he
met with there. It is possible, of course,
that an untoward incident may on
occasion happen; but at liest it will
be found to be nothing more than an
isolated occurrence, and to be forgotten
almost as soon as it is over.

So our friends of the " pattern "—the
sprightly bouchals and the winsome
colleens — foot it lightly on the neighbor-
ing village green, with smiling approval
from their gray -haired elders, and to
the general enjoyment of the entire con-
course. Vigorous and virile amusement,
and laughing faces, united to genial
chat, abound. It is "Pattern Day,"
and no cloud must obscure the horizon
of their happiness. It is the annual
reunion where kinsfolk and friends are
sure to meet after, perhaps, a long
twelvemonth of unavoidable separa-
tion, or at briefer occasional intervals
since last "Pattern Day," as the case
may be.

In any event, this is the high festival,
where ancient friendships are reunited
and perpetuated ; where the promises
by crony acquaintances of a "good,
long gossip" are fulfilled; and where,
by the more youthful of the crowd, the
restraint and monotony' of workaday
existence are relaxed. Habitually looked
forward to with keenest anticipations
of genuine delight, the festival is a
red-letter day; and as such is con-
sidered and enjoyed to the full by an
nstinctively pleasure - loving, genial-
natured, free-and-easy-going people.

Pausing amid such scenes, one can not
fail to be impressed with the delightful
air of seeming irresponsibility and
spirit of camaraderie manifested on all
sides. Having as basis a pronounced
rdigious element, the charm of pastoral
simplicity, united to a genial, jovial,
happy good-fellowship, makes up an
Irish "pattern."

Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,
Those calm desires that ask'd but little room,

Those heakhtul sports that jjrac'd the peaceful

scene,
Liv'd in each look and brighten'd all the green.

Goldsmith must have known his
country well, its people's traits and
customs. Indeed, if he had not, it might
well be said, literature would "have been
the poorer for the loss of his sweet
poesy. Had not the kindly bard actively
participated in the sports and pas-
times, and been intimately acquainted
with the homely tastes, manners, and
customs of his countrymen, it is morally
certain "Sweet Auburn," perennial and
immortal, would never have been given
to the world. If the poet had not
himself indulged in, or been witness
of, the lighter side of a "pattern," he
could scarcely have sung:

How often have I blessed the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all the village train, from labor free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree ;
While many a pastime circl'd in the shade,
The young contending as the old survey'd ;
.\nd many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground,
And sleights of art and feats of strength went
round 1

And still as each repeated pleasure tir'd,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd ;
The dancing pair that simply sought renown
By holding out to tire each other down.

These and various other similar
charms are what constitute and render
an Irish "pattern" one of the most
delightful of reunions. And the virile, •
vigorous wholesomeness of it all ! Here
the Celtic nature, uncorrupted by
exterior influences, exhibits itself in its
truest form, in all its native charm.
There is nothing mean or paltry or
vicious in the sports and pastimes of the
race, nor effete in the religious observ-
ances, as practised and carried out
amid native surroundings ; rather does
a robust strength characterize them all.
And a "pattern" being pre-eminently a
national festival in which the religious
element largely enters, tliese native
traits conspicuously manifest them-
selves thereat.

THE AVE MARIA.

517

Mrs. Martin's Mistake.

BY MARY CROSS.

"W/I RS. MARTIN withdrew her

^ I attention from the constructing

'f^ I of a gorgeous lamp shade, to
say, with the air of one who
challenges adverse criticism :

"I think I will call on the Gametts."
And, as the expected happened — Alice's
stare of astonished disapproval, — she
added an explanatory note: "They
might give me something for the
bazaar, you know."

"If you do call, mamma, make it
perfectly clear that you do so only
on business," commanded Alice. "For
mercy's sake don't begin any sort of
social intercourse with them ! "

"Why not, good cousin?" asked
Frank, who at mention of the name
Gamett had ceased to read the news-
paper and begun to be interested.

"Nobody calls on them; they know
nobody^ nobody knows anything about
them, except that they appear to
belong to the have -seen -better -days
class, and have probably come to a
strange place to live cheaply."

"All excellent reasons why Aunt
Martha should show them some little
kindness," he opined.

"Oh, if the girl wasn't pretty, you
wouldn't care two pins one way or
the other!"

" What a monstrous accusation ! But
what is the connection between my
caring or not caring and Aunt's
intended call ? "

"You can be very dense when you
like," said Alice, tartly; "but if Mr.
Gamett turns out to be a ticket-of-leave
man, don't blame me."

"Certainly not. It would be most
unreasonable to blame you for the past
misdeeds of a man 3'ou never knew,"
said Frank ; at which Alice tossed her
head, finding no other retort ready.

Mrs. Martin was a manufacturer's
wealthy widow, who liked to lead "her
set," not only in dress and entertain-
ments but in philanthropy, and she
was generally to be found at the head
of any social or charitable movements
in Moffat. At present her energies were
absorbed in the promotion of a bazaar;
and she was so anxious to secure the
triumph of her own stall thereat that
she was disposed to extend patronage
even to "the strangers in our midst,"
the Garnetts, who, without credentials
or introduction, had ventured to take
up their abode in a select part of
the place.

Who they were, what they were —
that fragile-looking gentleman and his
blue-eyed daughter — the most inquisi-
tive of gossips had failed to ascertain.
The simplicity of their mode of life and
adjuncts did not commend itself to the
"stylish"; nevertheless, all was fish
that came to the bazaar net, and Mrs.
Martin determined to try to obtain at
least "a sprat" from Mr. Garnett for the
good of the cause. So she stepped from
her pedestal of severe exclusiveness, and
deigned a visit to the outsiders.

They seemed on the whole fairly
well-bred persons, she confided to Alice
afterward ; the girl was shy and quiet,
but the man was rather agreeable. The
liberality of his donation had surprised
as well as favorably impressed the
good lady.

"I should have conscientious objec-
tions about using the money," said
Alice, severely. " For anything we know,
it may have been dishonestly acquired."

"Let us hang out a sign, 'Mangling
done here,'" Frank suggested. "Every-
one will understand that we apply the
])rocess to character, not clothing."

"You are always excessively touchy
about those Garnetts," said his aunt.
"What do you know about them?"

"Nothing," he replied, after a pause.

What, indeed, did he know, except
that the girl's eyes were deep and blue,

518

THE AVE MARIA.

that her smile was "all that's best of
sweet and bright," that her person-
ality haunted him, waking or sleeping,
though he had never exchanged a word
with her?

Some weeks later, an acquaintance
of Mrs. Martin's found it her duty as
a Christian to inform the lady that her
nephew was getting entangled with
that Miss Garnett; he had been seen
walking with her, he had been observed
going to or from her father's house, —
a piece of news which set Mrs. Martin
quivering with indignation. That that
girl — a nobody, a nonentity of doubtful
antecedents, — should seek to entrap
Frank was not to be tolerated for an
instant. To remonstrate with him might
do more harm than good. From the
first he had been disposed to take Miss
Gamett's part ; and if told that he must
not associate with her, or run the risk
of an entanglement, he might, with
masculine perversity, regard her as all
the more desirable because of that very
prohibition.

So Mrs. Martin resolved upon the
somewhat extreme step of remonstrat-
ing with the girl herself. Probably
when she knew that Frank was, to all
intents and purposes, dependent upon
his aunt, from whom he should not
receive a shilling unless he married as
she desired and approved, Miss Garnett
would retire from the campaign, and
spread her snares elsewhere. Thus Mrs.
Martin reasoned.

On the day of her second visit to the
Garnetts, Mr. Garnett was confined to
his room with a cold. The sweetness
and kindness of Miss Garnett's recep-
tion of her made the worldly-minded
matron a trifle ashamed of her errand,
and she went about it more delicately
and less bluntly than she had intended.

"Perhaps, my dear," she said, "you
will permit me to give you a word of
warning. You are a young girl, and
my nephew is a ver3'- handsome and
attractive young man. But he is not in

a position to marry. For your own
sake, you must not encourage him to
come here."

Aideen rose, a trifle pale. '

"Your nephew has not asked me to
marry him," she said quietly. "As we
are leaving Moffat almost immediately,
I will take this opportunity of wishing
you good-bye."

" W-won't you be here for the
b-bazaar?" the elder lady stammered.

She had much difficulty in getting oft
the scene with grace, feeling that she
had received a rebuke, all the more
effective because administered without
heat or temper, or anything but gentle
dignity on Miss Garnett's part.

On her homeward w^ay, however, she
decided that it had been less of a rebuke
than an evasion. The girl had not
promised to discourage Frank, nor,
indeed, had she committed herself to
any definite statement at all beyond
that she was leaving Moffat. If that
were true, Frank was still accessible by
means of the post -office. Mrs. Martin
decided that, after all, there was noth-
ing for it but to speak to Frank himself;
and as soon as might be she opened
fire on the unsuspecting man.

"Why didn't you tell me you visited
those Garnetts?" she asked; and he
pleaded guilty with :

"Well, you don't like them, and Alice
would 'rather hear a dry wheel grate
on the axle' than their name; so, in
the interests of domestic peace, I said
nothing."

"But how did you come to know
them at all?"

"I met Mr. Garnett on the hill one
morning. Walking toward home with
him, he turned faint, and I escorted him
to his own door, and — "

"Yes, yes! And you were invited in;
and next day, as in courtesy bound,
you vailed to inquire about him, and he
wasn't able to appear, but his daughter
received a-ou. O m}' dear boy, I know
how such people manoeuvre! You are

THE AYE MARIA.

519

getting yourself talked about, allow
me to tell j'ou."

"I am a comfort to the local gossips,
no doubt. They might easily have a
more unpleasant and unsightly subject
of discussion, mightn't they?"

"Be serious, Frank. You can't marry
that girl."

" Can't I ? Why not ? " he asked
calmly.

"Because I wll not allow you, — that
is, if you marry without my consent,
you shan't have a penny of my money."

"So much the better for Alice," he
said good-humoredly ; "and maybe so
much the better for me. A man may
do a worse thing than work to win
a wife. Come, Aunt Martha! If you
only knew Aideen Garnett, you would
like her, and wish me good luck in my
wooing. For certainly I'll win her if
I can."

"I hope you will make your position
perfectly clear to her, then," answered
Aunt Martha, angrily. " Think the
matter over well before you commit
yourself When you have done so, I
think you will abandon the idea of
marrj'ing a penniless nobody rather
than give up j'our home, your expecta-
tions, and the affection of j-our relatives.
You know very well on which side your
bread is buttered."

She would have felt less secure in
her belief had she been able to see him
only a few mornings later in the little
garden where Aideen Garnett was
gathering roses.

Aideen colored when the young man
approached, . partly because of an
embarrassing recollection of his aunt's
mission to her, partly because — well,
she could not have explained her
tendency to blush whenever Frank was
near her.

"Father will be glad to see you," she
said. "He is in the sitting-room,
reading."

"I don't want to see him just yet:
I want to see you, if you will spare

me a few moments," the young man
replied. " Have you time, patience,
interest sufficient to listen to a state-
ment of my position and affairs ? All I
have in the way of money is a hundred
a year that m3' father left me. I have
been brought up to regard myself as
coheir with my cousin Alice to my Uncle
Herbert's money; but his widow has
absolute control over it, and can leave
it to whom she pleases. She will not
allow me any of it if I oppose her
wishes. Some time ago I saw that
our wills w^ould come into collision,
and that within myself deliverance lay.
With a view to gaining my independ-
ence, I applied for the post of secretary
to our M. P., Sir Arthur Allison. I have
not yet received a reply; influence is
wanted to secure a post like that, and
for lack of it I may be rejected. But
there are other openings, and I shall get
in somewhere."

"We know Sir Arthur," she said
reflectively; but Frank went on:

"I am trying to show you that I
have nothing in the world to offer you
but my love. If you w^ill give me a
word of hope, I'll work for you with
all my strength and energy, and make
a home for you. For indeed, Aideen,
I love you dearly."

A smile, tender almost to tears,
trembled on her lips.

"I shall never leave my father," she
said. "He is ailing and delicate, and
needs me."

"What then? I can make a home
for both of you. I can help you to
take care of him. It wll be a great
happiness to tr\' ; what it will be to
succeed I haven't words to express."

"You are very courageous," she said,
still smiling.

"Courageous, with you to win!
Aideen darling, will you wait for me?"

"I will," she whispered; and Frank
felt that the gates of Eden had opened.

"When may I see Mr. Garnett?" he
asked at length.

520

THE AVE MARIA.

"Write to him. We are going away
to-morrow, and there is not much time
for an inter\'iew. But don't write until
I give you permission. Let me tell him
in my own way and my own time."

"I fear he w^on't think me good
enough, Aideen."

"He has other views for me," she
admitted candidly. "But he likes you;
and when it comes to a question of my
happiness, you can easily guess what
he will do. And now I want you to
promise me something, and it is that
I shall always be to you just Aideen
Garnett, the girl you love; that you
will not let anything come between us."

"Why, my dear one, it is as easy
as breathing to promise that!" he
exclaimed ; and they parted betrothed
lovers.

"The danger is over, mamma: the
Garnetts have gone," Alice announced
a few days later. " I passed the house
yesterday, and it was closed. Frank
seems to have been left behind in more
senses than one."

"I was sure the girl would have
nothing to say to him when she knew
his position was not what it seemed.
We must not be too hard on the poor
boy. He is no match for a pair of
adventurers. All's well that ends w^ell,
and we can now give our whole atten-
tion to the bazaar."

Sir Arthur Allison had consented to
open the bazaar on the first day, and
in due course arrived to fulfil his duty ;
delivering himself of his speech with one
leg twisting round the other, after his
uneasy habit. Surviving the effort, he
set forth on a tour of purchase, and
w^as speedily captured by Mrs. Martin,
who presented her daughter and her
nephew to him. He buttonholed the
latter, as if struck by a sudden happy
thought, and dropped his voice to the
key confidential.

"I say, I'm awfully sorry, don't you
know, for having neglected to answer
j'our letter!" he murmured. "Do 3'ou

mind if I go into the matter here
for a minute? Thanks! I should say
that — aw — I wasn't cjuite sure of your
efficiency, don't you know, and so
delayed replying to your application.
But Lord Carlavrock assured me that
you were just the man I wanted. He's
an old friend, and I am delighted to
take you on his recommendation."

"I am afraid there is a mistake,"
said Frank, blankly. "I haven't the
pleasure of knowing his lordship."

"Oh, I think you have, don't you
know! He seemed, at any rate, to
think you had been kind to him during
his stay here. Perhaps Lady Aideen is
at the bottom of it ; for she is always
doing something for somebody in her
quiet way. Of course he was here
incognito. His health had broken down,
and the doctors ordered him absolute
quiet and seclusion. There are snobs
everywhere, even in Moffat; and prob-
ably he would have been pestered with
attentions if he had been known as
the Earl of Carlavrock, so he used his
family name. Possibly you remember
him as Mr. Garnett."

"Yes, I remember," answered Frank,
rather faintly.

It was a little while before he recov-
ered suflliciently to remember his promise
to Aideen, and understood why she
had asked it : no difference of rank or
position was to come between.

That the girl they had slighted and
deemed unworthy their notice was the
only child of a w^ealthy nobleman was
truly a bitter pill fqr Mrs. Martin and
Alice. At a later date they w^ere able to
"take the taste away" by allusions to
" Lady Aideen, my niece," "Lady Aideen,
my cousin," because, to the surprise of
the fashionable world, her ladyship
married the private secretary of an
M.£., with her father's full approval.

One must live one's own life, not
that of another. — //. Lucas.

THE AVE MARIA.

521

A Hundred Years Ago.

A Glakce at the Former Position of Engush
AND Irish Catholics.

BY the rt. rev. f. aidan gasquet, o.s. b., i>. d.
( Conclusion. )

THE first advertisement of anything
like a Catholic school appears in the
"Laity's Catholic Directory for 1789."
It runs as follows: "At Bridzor, near
Wardour Castle, Wilts. — Mr. Jones,
writing master and accomptant, begs
leave to inform parents and guardians
of children that he has taken a genteel
and commodious house for the reception
of boarders, whom he instructs in
reading, writing and accompts, alT the
cost yearly of eleven guineas, payable
quarterly in advance. Mrs. Jones looks
after the comforts of the pupils, and
undertakes to instruct a limited number
of girls in the mysteries of house-
keeping." The following year, besides
Mr. Jones' notice we have this one :
"Mr. Besley has removed his useful
academy for young gentlemen from
Chelsea to the spacious and well-
situated mansion, Shrewsbury House,
Isleworth, Middlesex, about eight miles
from London." From this time the list
of advertisements for schools constantly
grows larger and more detailed, until it
is augmented into almost its present
proportions by the advent of the col-
leges from abroad driven over to their
native land by the great Revolution.

Such, briefly, was the position of
Catholics after the Gordon riots. The
bolder spirits amongst them were not
daunted by the outburst of fanaticism
which the small instalment of relief
had called forth from the latent Prot-
estantism of the land. They continued
their agitation, and in February, 1788, a
committee of English Catholics directly
appealed to Pitt to help them. Pitt
replied by asking them to collect

evidence of the opinions of the Cath-
olic clergy and of recognized Catholic
universities in regard to the Pope's
deposing power. This they did, and
obtained from the Sorbonne, Douai,
Louvain, Salamanca and elsewhere
declarations against the teaching of
that opinion. Acting upon this, the
great body of Catholics, including the
Vicars Apostolic and almost all the
clergy, signed the protestation.

This led in 1791 to a further measure
of relief's being proposed to Parliament.
By this bill, the legal profession, from
barrister downward, was thrown open
to Catholics. Catholic chapels and
Catholic schools were tolerated and
legalized. Catholics were freed from the
irksome, expensive and inquisitorial
process of enrolling the deeds of their
estates in the Court of Chancery. Cath-
olics could no longer be summoned at
will by magistrates to take the oath
of supremacy or make the declaration
against Transubstantiation, and they
could not be forcibly removed from
London and Westminster. This was
something; but, after all, it was only
another instalment of bare justice ; for
Catholic churches and schools were still
to be registered, as well as all Catholic
priests and teachers. No Catholic as-
sembly could be held with closed doors ;
no Catholic chapel could have a steeple
or a bell; no Catholic school could be
endowed, and no monastic Order could
lie established in England.

When the bill of 1791 passed into
law, the Vicars Apostolic caused to be
read in all Catholic chapels charges in
which they state that, on their petition,
the oath required had been changed
by Parliament to what had already
been taken by Irish Catholics in 1774.
This being so, the Vicars Apostolic
declare that all may take it with
a safe conscience. The pastorals or
charges are set forth at length in the
Catholic Directory of 1792; and the
form of oath given explicitly rejects

522

THE AYE MARIA.

the deposing power, and the supposed
teaching that no faith is to be kept
with heretics.

The further progress of Emancipation
was now only a question of time.
At work on the minds of EngHsh
statesmen were many influences, which
assisted the eflforts of the band of
English Catholics who were determined
to carry the full measure of justice in
spite of every obstacle put in their way.
The French Revolution came as an
object lesson to English statesmen, and
made them realize that the Catholic
Church in reality made for law and
order, and that it was opposed to the
spirit of revolution which seemed to
have gained so serious a foothold in
Europe generally. During the pontifi-
cates of Benedict XIV. and his three
immediate successors the influence of the
Catholic priesthood had been uniformly
employed to support authority ; whilst,
as Mr. Locky points out, nearly all the
political insurrections had been among
those professing Protestant principles.
Edmund Burke used the power of his
eloquence in favor of the Catholic cause,
and, pointing to the attitude of the
French revolutionary party toward the
Church, said: "If the Catholic religion
is destroyed by the infidels, it is a most
contemptible and absurd idea that this
or any other Protestant church can
survive the event."

The hospitality extended by England
to the French exiles, and in particular
to the Catholic priests who were driven
out of their country by the Revolution,
did much to familiarize the people gen-
erally with Catholics and the Catholic
clergy, and to teach them that many
of the stories they had been taught,
either through prejudice or ignorance, to
believe about us and our religion, were
obviously untrue in fact. In September
and October, 1792, more than 6000
French bishops and priests had been
received in England; and the number
was shortly after increased to over

8000. Colkctions for their assistance
and support were made in almost every
parish church in Protestant England,
and at one time some 660 were lodged
in the old Royal Palace at Winchester.
Then came the pressure put upon Pitt
by his Irish supporters, which led to his
proposal in 1801 of a full measure of
Catholic Emancipation. This failed for
a time, through the King's refusal to
countenance such a proposal ; and led,
as I have said, to Pitt's resignation of
oflice just a hundred years ago.

It is not my purpose, of course, to
continue the story of the struggle for
liberty beyond the beginning of the
nineteenth century. The history of the
controversy that was waged in the first
quarter of that century, which ended
in the Emancipation Act of 1829, is
sufiiciently well known to all.

What the Church in England has
become during the hundred years which
have elapsed since the fall of Pitt, we
can judge for ourselves. The troubles
and struggles, the misunderstandings
and harsh words of those who, like
Joseph Berington and Charles Butler
and Bishop Milner, were fighting in
different ways for the same cause, seem
far enough away from us now, but were
stern realities when the century began.
When we recall the state to which
the long years of existence under the
penal laws had reduced the Catholic
body in England at the dawn of the
nineteenth century, which I have tried
briefly to recall to j'our minds, we may
well wonder at what has been accom-
plished. Who shall say how it has all
come about ? Where out of our poverty
has come, for instance, the sum of
money which has sufficed for all the
innumerable needs which had to be met,
and which has enabled us to take up
the position in the country in which
we find ourselves to-daj'? Churches
and "colleges and schools, monastic
houses and convents, have had to be
built, and the support of all these has

THE AVE MARIA.

o23

had to be secured. How, the Providence
of God can alone explain. There have
been many mistakes and many losses,
inevitable during such a century of
reconstruction as we have passed
through. It is not for us to say whether
we have gained en the whole or
whether we have lost on the whole,
provided that we as Catholics have
done and are doing our duty to God
and His Church. Work is the only test ;
and, looking back, there is sufficient
evidence of this in England to make us
thankful to God for His mercies.

At the beginning, no doubt, the stress
and struggle were great, and Catholics
found that legal emancipation did not
necessarily mean social equality. The
first was in the power of the law to
give, the second had to be won in
process of time. Has it been yet fully
conceded by our non- Catholic fellow-
countrymen ? I fancy many would say
that it never has been, and that some
of our fellow-countrymen still regard
Catholics as a caste, — a caste to be
avoided. Still, by the full measure of
Emancipation, Catholics ceased to be a
party in the State apart. At the first
annual meeting of the Catholic Institute
held on June 6, 1839, ten years after
the Emancipation Bill had passed into
law, Mr. Charles Weld declared "that
it was the passing of that very bill
that rendered this Institute necessary.
Up to that time the Catholics of Great
Britain were bound together by the
hard chain of common sufferings, and
still more effectually by their absolute
moral separation from the rest of their
countrymen. Emancipation came. We
were no longer a party, nor the subject
of a party: we became part of the
people. The bonds which had kept us
together were those of misfortune;
and when the external pressure was
removed, each went his way into his
own proper rank of society, to share
in those pursuits of mercantile, i^rofes-
aional and political interest which were

now for the first time opened to him.

Our late friends departed from us We

were each left to our own resources

It was here that the horrible effects of
the penal laws showed themselves.
During the pafoxysms of suffering we
had not seemed so weak as in the
languor that followed them."

The process of building up has been
necessarily slow and painful, and very
gradually indeed have English Catholics
come out into the light of day from
the hiding-places into which persecution
had driven them. Many of us can
remember even in our own days indica-
tions of the traditional horror Catholics
had of publicity. It was not till about
1825 that our priests began to wear
cassocks even indoors, and many a
religious still living has had to take
his vows to God in churches with
closed doors.

Though a list of chapels in and round
London, about eighteen in all, appears
in the "Laity's Directory" for 1793—
that is after the Relief Bill of 1791,—
no list of priests' names was printed
till 1806. Even in 1793 a warning
is issued in the same " Directory "
that Catholics may find themselves
in serious difficulties with the Custom
House officers if they attempt to bring
into England such things as Agnus Deis,
crosses, primers or missals. The first
advertisement for" money to help to
build any church or chapel was, so far
as I know, that which appeared in
1791 on behalf of the chapel of St.
George's Fields, London. In 1807 a
notice "to the nobility, gentry," etc.,
states that "the Catholics of the city
of Coventry beg to say that by the
death of the late Mrs. Latham, in
whose house their chapel has hitherto
been, they are now altogether deprived
of a place of worship." They conse-
quently appeal for funds to build some
kind of a place for themselves. The
following 3'ear the Vicar Apostolic
of the Midland district. Dr. Milner,

524

THE AVE MARIA.

appointed a second priest to minister in
the populous city of Birmingham ; and
a room was taken at No. 14 Bath Street
by Edward Peach (the priest named),
who advertised for subscriptions.

The first poor school of which I find
a trace is -that of St. Patrick's Soho,
London, for which help was asked in
1803. A few years later the Abbe
Carron appeals for a similar school
attached to the new chapel at Claren-
don Square. In the district there were
at the time, he says, between 120 and
130 poor children in need of instruction.
At the same chapel in Somers Town,
which was begun, apparently, in 1806,
we have Benediction for the first time
advertised as a regular service. The
list of music printed by the Catholic
publisher, Coghlan, of Duke Street,
seems to suggest that this service was
previously not unknown ; but in 1807
the Abbe Carron informs the readers
of the "Laity's Directory" that there
"will be Vespers every Sunday at four
o'clock, followed by Benediction ; and
Benediction every Wednesday at half-
past four."

These are the first signs of the dawn
of brighter and happier times for the
old religion. Slight indeed were the
signs at first — slight, but significant and
precious memories to us now — of the
working of the Spirit, of the rising of
the sap in the old trunk, and of the
bursting of bud and bloom with the
life which during the long winter of
persecution had lain dormant. Svccisa
rirescit. Cut down almost to the very
ground, the tree planted by Augustine
quickly manifested the divine life within
it, and put forth fresh leaves and
branches.

It is impossible to examine the
Catholic literature of the Thirties and
Forties without finding everywhere
evidence, in the Catholic body, of a
genuine enthusiasm, which enabled them
to do so much. We see it at every turn.
Clergy and laity were determined to

strive their utmost to show them-
selves worthy of the new hope and
the new life Providence had given
them. The foundation of the Catholic
Institute in 1838 is a case in point.
Away with apathy! "Organize and
pay" were the watchwords of the new
institution; and the speeches at the
meetings speak of the enthusiasm which
I have noted. O'Connell addressed the
first general meeting on the great work
which the Catholics had before them
in assisting the new organization. All
should be proud to bear their share.
In England and Wales the Catholics
were then believed to be a million ; and
if all would but contribute one farthing
a week, they would have £50,000 a
year for Catholic purposes. What he
preached to them, he said, the poor
Catholics of Ireland practised ; and he
invited all — rich and poor, aristocracy
and commoners — to unite in forwarding
Catholic interests by associating them-
selves with an Institute the motto of
which was that which Dr. Milner had
made his own: "I know of no politics
but religion, and of no party but the
Church."

Ihider the influence of this enthusiasm,
much was done in the first half of the
century in the work of clearing away
prejudice and in reconstructing Catholic
life. Many circumstances combined to
assist the work of settling the legacy of
misunderstanding between Protestants
and Catholics which the penal times
had left behind. The hospitality ex-
tended by the nation to the French
emigres, and particularly to the refugee
priests; the alliance of England with
the Pope during the great war; the
sufferings of Continental Catholics ; the
revulsion of feeling when the atrocity
of the penal code had been brought
home to the minds of Englishmen ; the
conciliatory spirit of men like Berington
and Butler, Lingard and Milner and
Doyle ; the great Irish immigration ;
the agitation for Emancipation and the

THE AVE MARIA.

525

unpopularity of the chief enemies of the
Catholic cause, who were also the chief
opponents of reform of every kind and
of all liberal progress, — all these and
much more tended to smooth the way
for the Catholic revival.

The influence of the movement may
be seen within the limits of Protes-
tantism itself In the Established Church
the era of renovation and revival, at
any rate, synchronized in a remarkable
manner with what Cardinal Newman
has designated "The Second Spring";
and, aided by the aesthetic feeling which
directed men's minds with admiration
if not with sympathy to a study of the
Middle Ages, a wide field was by God's
Providence prepared for the seed.

Of all this time, however, with its
memories, its hopes, its great men, its
work done, its successes and its fail-
ures—even of the memorable year 1850
when the English Hierarchy was estab-
lished, and when Protestant England
was carried away by the insane panic
about aggression,— it is not possible for
me to speak, nor, in this retrospective
glance at the position of Catholics at
the beginning of the past century, is
there need that I should.

Young Mr. Bretherton.

Religious Profession.

"Lord, if it be Tliou. bid mc come to Thee up<>n the
waters."

"FIS but a weak soul's strength 1 give to Thee
When Thou dost come by night upon the wave.
The billows roar ; yet Thou art strong to save
Thy child that dares the deep so trustingly.
Thou hast so won my heart that storm nor sea
Can grasp it fearfully. And shouldst Thou crave
A lifelong venture, take me for Thy slave.
Too little 'tis I give Thee ; yet set free
My soul from its low seekings, and with love

Subdue it ; that when Thy sweet voice shall wake
My spirit with, "Come, follow Me ! "— " Till death ! "
Full firm my voice may give its echoing breath, —
"Till death!" Through life what course soe'er

Thou take,
My pilgrim feet shall follow Thee above.

H. O'N.

BY ANNA T. SADLIER.

XXXVIII. — "Did You Know Evrard
Lennon?"

"'TAHE hawk is hovering about the
1 dove," said Mother Moulton,
suddenly. "Yes, he will seize it in his
talons. Black and. cruel, he will seize
it in his claws! "

Jim Bretherton, gazing at her in a
sort of fascination, was aware that she
referred to her employer and his designs
upon Leonora.

"He has terrified the old woman,"
continued the crone. "She dare not
move or speak but at his bidding. He
has made a fire, fiercer, more consum-
ing than this up'^n the hearth here;
and into it he will cast the dove and
you, my bonnie gentleman!"

Her ejes shone, her manner grew^
animated, and her speech became more
rapid.

"That he may seize her," she cried,
"that he may cast her into the fire, he
has thrown over her the dark shadow.
I warned you, young gentleman, to
take her away,— to wed her and to fly
with her far away where the shadow
might not reach."

Bretherton, who had been gradually
becoming more and more impatient at
finding himself thus transported from
the realities of life into what seemed
like some olden -time romance, asked
somewhat abruptly :

"Of what shadow are you speaking ? "

"Of the shadow of disgrace, — of the
secret of Reverdy B'ctherton."

Jim was startled, horrified. What
was this she was saying? And what
could disgrace have to do with them,
or with that uncle whom he remem-
1)ered as a model of irreproachable
respectability ?

"The lady, the beautiful lady," con-
tinued the crone, "will sacrifice herself,

526

THE AVE MARIA.

that the shadow may not fall upon the
Brethertons. She will let him throw
you into the flames, and when days
and years creep b}' she will throw
herself into them likewise. She will
marry to stop an evil tongue and hold
up an avenging arm."

The beldame became more confused
in her utterance, muttering darkly to
herself, and seeming to address her
strange speech less to the young man
than to the smouldering fire.

"She will marry," she repeated, "to
hold up that avenging arm and pre-
serve the secret of the Brethertons."

"She shall not do it!" cried Jim
Bretherton, vehemently. " I will go to
her and say that the Brethertons have
no secret which can not be proclaimed
to all the world."

The crone laughed a harsh, discordant
laugh, which awoke the echoes of the
silent room ; while the young man
added :

"I shall tell her that if there were a
hundred secrets they should not stand
between her and my love. She shall
not sacrifice me, much less herself. I
will force this man, not to keep, but
to proclaim the secret."

Again the old woman laughed loud
and shrilly.

"As well force the mill-wheel to stop
its course once the water has seized
upon it," she declared. "But you have
done a service to one of my race: you
have saved my daughter's life and
shown kindness to her and hers. She
has sworn to repay 'you, and her oath
is mine. She has drawn the serpent's
fangs. She has given you the papers.
He is powerless. With those papers in
your hand, you can defy him and marry
the beautiful lady. But if you are wise
you will leave the papers unread and
ask no more about the mystery."

"I would rather have an end to
mysteries and know everything at
once," said the 3'oung man, impetuously ;
"and to be assured in the first place

that it was really for this reason that — "

He stopped abruptly. Under the
influence of that strange scene, which
almost led him for the moment to
suspect in this singular being occult
power, or at least an inner knowledge
of this strange tangle of events, he
could not bring himself, even for the
sake of further information, to pro-
nounce Leonora's name in those sinister
surroundings. But the woman answered
his question as if it had been asked,
though in her own roundabout and
almost mystical language, which came
of her gypsy origin, and perhaps, too,
of her birth in that home of mystery
and romance — a mountain district
amongst the Scottish lochs.

" A3'e, that is the reason ! The bonnie
lady loves you well enough. I saw it
in her face, and I saw it in the stars
above, that night at the big house.
And you love her ; but maybe your love
will fade as clouds at the sunsetting, as
foam upon the wave. She's beautiful
now, but beauty is perishable. The
bloom fades from the face of a woman
as from the petals of a rose. Aye, does
it! — a3^e, does it! You will, perhaps,
be the happier and richer man if you
seek not to know these secrets, but go
your way and forget 3'ou ever saw the
bonnie lady."

"I would rather know whatever is
to be known," said Bretherton, firmly.
"If those papers concern me and my
people, I shall read them from beginning
to end ; and I beg of you to tell me
anything further 3'ou may know upon
the subject."

The crone shook her head, and, resting
her chin upon her hand, stared into the
fire. Bretherton gazed upon her as it
she had been some sibjd from whom
might be obtained the knowledge of
future events. It was a singular scene —
the loTV-ceilinged, dingy room, the dying
fire; the younger woman standing,
timorous, turning her eyes now upon
the door and window, fearing the

THE AVE MARIA.

527

arrival of Eben Knox, now upon the
beldame at the hearth, and the tall and
handsome young man who stood before
her, with eager face and the gallant,
confident bearing of youth. And all the
while with one hand she patted to sleep
the child whom she had laid on a bench.

Suddenly Mother Moulton roused
herself A strange fire came into her
eyes, an alertness into the shrunken
frame. She fixed her gaze full upon
Bretherton's face, and asked the totally
unexpected question :

"Did you know Evrard Lennon?"

"Evrard Lennon?" the young man
repeated. "No, I never knew him. He
is long dead."

"You knew who he was?"

"Yes, of course. Evrard was my
father's cousin."

"And my husband!" cried Mother
Moulton, with a pride that rang
through the room like a clarion note.

" Your husband I " echoed Bretherton,
involuntarily starting back. He had
often heard of this Evrard Lennon,
gay, dashing, handsome, disputing with
Reverdy Bretherton the leadership in a
wild and reckless but aristocratic set.

The old woman read the wonder, the
incredulity, almost the horror,upon the
young man's face, and she said :

" Eh, my bonnie gentleman, you may
stare and wonder; but I was, in my
time, fair to look upon as any lady of
them all ! But beauty fades and dies
like summer roses. I was comely once,
with the wild beauty of the gypsy.
Evrard Lennon crossed my palm with
silver, and I told him his fortune. I
saw his evil destiny plainly written
before him, but I did not tell hira that.
I bade him beware of alder bushes and
the mill-stream lit by a waning moon."

She paused, as if overcome by the
recollection ; but that note of pride,
that triumph which had survived all
those years of misery, was in her voice
as she resumed :

"He came often and often after that

to our camp out yonder ; and he loved
me and he married me. You'll find
my marriage lines there among those
papers. Oh, he was bonnie, and I loved
him! But a blight was on our love
from the first, — aye, from the first!"

Her voice ended almost in a wail;
and she rocked herself to and fro, as
if she were still mourning for that lover
of her youth.

Bretherton stood confounded. Here
was one mystery at least of which
Millbrook, prosaic and commonplace
Millbrook, as he had at first considered
it, had little cognizance.

"None ever knew," the old woman
went on. "He dared not tell his people
of our marriage, and scarce a year after-
ward he was murdered by the brook."

"Murdered?" exclaimed young Mr.
Bretherton, aghast; though it occurred
to him then that he had heard the
tragic circumstance lightly touched
upon in his boyhood.

" Aye ! " answered the crone, fixing the
other with her baleful eyes. "He came
to his death down there by the alder
bushes. I could show you the very spot,
were the window open ; and there was
a mystery about his death."

"Mj'steries seem to abound," mur-
mured Bretherton under his breath.

"Know you by whom his death was
caused?" inquired the old woman.

"I think I have vaguely heard that it
was by a wandering vagabond. The
murderer, as I remember to have heard,
escaped the death penalty, through
insufficient evidence; but he was sent
to serve a long term in jail."

" Was he, though ? " chuckled the hag,
her malignant laugh adding horror to
the scene and to her weird recital. "I
trow not,— I trow not'! The murderer
went unhanged, and never a fetter nor
a gyve bound his cursed limbs. Oh, if I
had had my wa3' then ! But it's all
past now, — all pa.st and gone!"

She passed her hand wearily over her
head, and paused a moment.

528

THE AVE MARIA.

"Anyhow," she went on, "Evrartl
Lennon's dead, and the one that got
his lands and siller is dead, and it's all
come to you. But if you read those
papers, my bonnie gentleman, you'll see
for yourself, — you'll see for yourself."

"It seems to me," cried Bretherton,
almost involuntarily, "that you must
be mad or dreaming!"

" It is you who have been dreaming! "
the beldame returned, wrathfully. " And
when you have read those papers,
you'll he able to decide whether any
woman's love is worth the price you'll
have to pay for it. If not, your secret's
safe with me. I care naught. When
Evrard Lennon died, my heart died
in my breast, and I grew old. So will
she grow old; her beauty will fade,
her cheeks grow wrinkled, her teeth
fall out, and her eyes grow dim. And
maybe you'll weary of her then, my
bonnie gentleman."

Her voice faded away into an
almost inarticulate murmur, and she
crouched once more over the fire ; while
Bretherton seemed overpowered by the
revelation which she had made, and
which portended he knew not what.
He stood still, regarding her intently.
The younger woman, with an evidently
growing anxiety, kept watch upon the
entrance. The child was still asleep.

Mother Moulton, rousing herself once
more from the lethargic condition into
which she was relapsing, pointed with
an imperious gesture toward the door.

"Go! go!" she cried. "The night
wears late. Honest folks should be
abed. The storm grows worse; and
it were better you were housed.
To-morrow will bring Ebenezer Knox
back again, to frighten the women at
the Cottage with his dark threats, and
to cajole, if he can, the pretty lady into
marrying him. Go you home to your
dwelling, and read the papers, since
that is.your will. In the dark midnight
hours, when evil is abroad and good
sleeps, you can take your choice. Will

you lose all that you must lose for the
sake of that mockery that men call
love, — for a face that will grow old and
ugly soon, for a soft look of the young
eyes, and for a trick of smiling?"

With profound relief, Bretherton took
leave of that sinister dwelling and its
strange inmates, who seemed like some
evil anachronism, separated from the
life about them, and belonging to other
epochs and places rather than the twen-
tieth century and prosaic Millbrook.

The storm had increased in fury. The
icy wind, sweeping relentlessly along,
was charged with tiny particles of
sleet ; the trees crackled ominously ;
the radiant face of Nature, which had
shone upon those early stages of Jim
Bretherton's romance, seemed now
transformed into something ugly and
cruel, even as that hag had been meta-
morphosed by the flight of years from
youth and comeliness.

The young man, as he went along
in the storm, thought of Mother
Moulton's words and her allusion to
the perishableness of earthly beauty.
But he cried out within his heart that
Leonora could never grow old and ugly
like that repulsive hag. The ugliness
that proceeds from malice and hatred
of humankind, from any low and base
motives whatever, could never be hers.
Growing old, she would be the more
lovely, or at least the more beloved.
He could not imagine a time when he
should fail to love her, and to shield
her, if that were p Dssible, by his strong
right arm from every wrong and from
every sorrow.

He recalled her beautiful, softly shaded
eyes, reflecting the proud innocence and
purity of her soul, and the curve of the
smiling lips. Through the darkness of
the storm, she seemed to him as one of
those sweet images which Faith shows
as gaiding the wanderer on his way.
That which had attracted him, which
attracted Lord Aylward, and even the
wretched Lben Knox, was precisely

THE AVE MARIA.

529

that calm streqgth about Leonora
which made them feel that, under any
circumstances whatever, she would
walk unspotted by the world; and
that, too, without losing any of her
lovablcness, of that warm human sym-
pathy, and that power of getting into
touch with the minds and hearts of
others, which is in itself a supreme
attraction. When a man is fortunate
enough to love such a woman, that
love is destined to endure ; and, in some
shape or other, it will exert an influence
upon him until the end of the journey.

As to the choice at which Mother
Moulton had hinted, no cowardice
should prevent Bretherton from know-
ing anything which it behooved him to
know, and which might enable him to
sweep away those barriers that had
been erected between him and Miss
Tabitha's niece. He never for an instant
weighed in the balance with his love
the prospective losses predicted by the
crone. He told himself that Leonora
was worth any sacrifice, and that by
any legitimate, honorable means he
would win her if he could.

His hope was rekindled ; the faculties
of his mind braced to action. He was
only eager to read those papers and
to face whatever might be before him.
He gave little heed to the storm;
nor, in his perfect physical condition,
did it much affect him ; though the
wind became eve^y moment wilder and
fiercer, sweeping up from the rocky
coasts and headlands of Massachusetts,
to work what havoc it might in that
sheltered nook. The one pervading
thought that Leonora might still be
his, the dearer and more precious
for the untoward circumstances that
threatened to separate them, made him
indifferent to an3' stress of weather.
He desired only to put an end, if that
might lawfully be done, to all mystery,
and so defeat the nefarious designs of
Eben Knox.

< Tu be cootinucd, )

The Crying Catholic Need of the Day.

IT is doubtful whether a full survey
of twentieth-century civilization can
proffer to Catholic prelates. Catholic
priests. Catholic teachers, and Catholic
parents, a subject of more importunate
interest than the increasing need, yet
actual paucity, of ecclesiastical and
religious vocations. No well-informed
student of contemporaneous church
history, and more especially no Catholic
editor who keeps in touch with the
relative progress or stagnation of our
holy religion, in other countries as
well as our own, will question the
statement that the great problem of the
Church to-day is to provide a sufficient
number of priests to break the Bread of
Life to the growing ranks of the faithful,
and of religious Brothers and Sisters
to carry on the increasingly necessary
work of truly Christian education.

In so far as concerns the United States
in particular, there is superabundant
testimony to the fact that the supply of
vocations is very far from meeting the
demand. The editor of the Missionary,
with exceptional facilities for securing
accurate information on the subject,
writes: "There is a constant cry over
the country of the dearth of priests.
There is scarcely a diocese that is fully
equipped to do its work. Probably,
without any exaggeration, a thousand
[additional] priests could be put to
work to-morrow, if the bishops had
them." So, too, the American provincial
of one religious Congregation declares :
"It may be said frankly that at no
time in the history of the Church in
this country have vocations to the
Brotherhood been so scarce, or the
need of them so urgent. It has come to
be a difficult thing to secure young men
of suitable age and dispositions in
sufficient numbers as candidates for
the teaching Brotherhood." Similar
testimony is given by the heads of

530

THE AVE MARIA.

other communities composed either of
Brothers alone, or of Brothers and
priests; and while, in the case of Sisters,
the discrepancy between the supply and
demand is not perhaps so marked as
in communities of men, there are no
Congregations of women in thiscountry
who are turning away desirable postu-
lants because their ranks are already
replete. As a matter of fact, the dearth
of Sisters bids fair soon to equal that
of Brothers.

Face to face with this undeniable
condition of affairs, the four classes
of Catholics specifically mentioned in
our opening sentence — prelates, priests,
teachers, and parents— should assuredly
give some earnest thought to the causes
underlying the condition, and to the
provision of effective means for bring-
ing about a somewhat radical change
therein. All due allowance being made
for the deterrent influence exerted on
our young men and maidens by the
social and economic forces by which
they are surrounded, the prevalent
quasi -idolatry of wealth, and the
frankly pagan worship of comfort and
ease and luxury and amusement and
"good times," there would still seem to
be, at the bottom of this lamentable
dearth of vocations, some dereliction of
duty on the part of those charged with
the formation of these young people's
characters and with the direction of
their spiritual life.

A call to either the sacerdotal or the
religious state is, of course, a great
grace, and one which God does not
grant to all; but no believer in Divine
Providence can doubt for a moment
that, if all who genuinely receive that
grace were to profit by it, were to
hearken to Our Lord's "Come, follow
Me," the seminaries and novitiates
throughout the country would need
immediate enlargement. If " the harvest
indeed is great, but the laborers are
few," it is not, presumably, because the
call is not beard by a suflicient number,

but because the siren voice of the
world is insistently chanting a different
strain, and because parents, teachers,
and pastors neglect to interpret to the
young the heavenly invitation which
their immature minds may mistake
for a purely natural fancy or even for a
prompting of reprehensible vanity. On
this point we can not do better than
quote, from the Missionary, the follow-
ing words of practical wisdom :

(1) It is more or less the duty of every priest to
cultivate vocations. The parochial schools are
helping in this good work. Every parish ought
to count as the note of its efficiency the number
of priests it has in the ministry. There are some
well-established parishes that are as barren as
a childless family. (2) Every diocese ought to
afford facilities for educating its young men;
and if the applications in any one diocese are
numerous, instead of turning them away, a
suggestion of another diocese, or at least some
other opportunity, might open an avenue to
such young men to the priesthood. (3) The
spirit of faith in the family ought to lead parents
to make the necessary sacrifices to keep their
boys in college as long as possible, with the
hope that they may develop vocations. It used
to be considered the proudest boast that a family
had one of its members in the sacred ranks of the
ministry. Nowadays families arc moving away
from these standards.

As for the religious vocation, as dis-
tinguished from the sacerdotal referred
to in the paragraph just quoted, the
Angelic Doctor declares "it is certain
that to enter the religious state is
better than not to enter it ; and he
who denies this, gives the lie to Christ,
who has given this counsel." And, let
it be said in conclusion, a somewhat
lengthy and varied experience has con-
vinced the present writer that, of all
Catholics, the most thoroughly happy
on earth and the surest of Heaven is,
not pope, cardinal, bishop, or priest,
with his tremendous responsibilities,
but the simple lay or teaching Brother
or Sister.

Egois.m is a parent of many children,
and often they do- not recognize their
father. — Robert Hicbens.

THE AVE MARIA.

531

The Spirit of Faim«ss.

AS an illustration of the spirit of
fairness that is now abroad, the
Rev. Father Gerard, S. J., at the recent
conference of the English Catholic
Truth Society', instanced the fact that
he had been requested by the editor of
"Chamber's Encyclopcedia " to revise
its article on the Jesuits ; and that in
the new edition of the " Enc3'clopa;dia
Britannica," the three articles by Dr.
Littledale, on St. Alphonsus, Monasti-
cism and the Jesuits, were to be weeded
out and replaced by articles written
by Catholics. This is more than fair:
it is generous. The late Dr. Littledale
was disqualified by his prejudices to
treat any of the subjects mentioned,
but it was not necessary that Catholic
writers should deal with them. Per-
sonally, all that we demand in ency-
clopjedias is that truth be not violated
nor facts distorted, and that in the
case of disputed questions both sides
be presented. It was indulgent on the
part of the editor of "Chamber's Ency-
clopaedia" to ask Father Gerard to
revise its article on the Jesuits. The
work is sure to be satisfactorily done ;
however, it would not have occurred
to us to assign the task to either Father
Gerard or Father Taunton.

"We Catholics" ought not to expect
too much, and there is no need of our
being over -solicitous about matters
that are rel:itivel3' unimportant. The
reputation of individual Catholics,
Popes included, and of aggregations
of Catholics, gives us altogether too
much concern. We ouglit to have more
hatred of heresy— heresy that is heresy, —
and a great deal more tolerance of the
ignorance and prejudices of outsiders, so
many of whom, as we well know, are
not in a |)osition to understand and
appreciate Catholic doctrines and prac-
tices, much less to distinguish between
our essc;itials and nonessentials. " Must

I believe that all the Popes were good
men, and say the Rosary beads every
day in order to become a Catholic?"
One may smile at questions like these,
but they are far more pathetic than
ridiculous. They go to show that there
is a real danger of our misrepresenting
the Church by not giving its essential
teachings and practices of precept
their due prominence, and relegating
matters of comparative unimportance
and works of supererogation to the
background.

• •
As a further illustration of the spirit
of fairness that is now abroad, let us
quote some passages from a review of
the recently published Life of St. Cath-
erine de' Ricci, appearing in the ablest
literary journal in the language:

The phenomena which made her extraordinary,
and her convent a focus of power, even as they
form the leading features of the present book,
belong to that class which various minds will
view variously. But those best acquainted with
modern experiment on the influence of mind over
body will be least disposed to the vulgar wisdom
of incredulity. Constantly meditating on the
Passion, she, like the Assisian and others since
him, exhibited on her own body the Stigmata —
the marks of Christ's wounds, even to the traces
of the thorny crown, and the long bruise of the
cross on shoulder and back. But this was the
least striking of her manifestations. The most
extraordinary was that she began regularly and
periodically to fall into ecstasy on the day and
at the hour of the Saviour's Passion, and during
this state followed in vision the whole sequence
of His suflerings, from the Last Supper to the
giving up of the ghost. She not only accompanied
everything with the spontaneous words and
exclamations of an eyewitness, with moving and
appropriate prayers often drawn from Scripture,
but also in her own person showed the reflex
signs and tokens of the agonies she spiritually

witnessed It was, in eflect, a kind of Passion

Play, so vivid that the beholders seemed to have
before them the suffering Christ, and were moved
to impassioned devotion and icjy^>!. ~(^^>^

This extraordinary drama syfjiyHfmi^h^Jctv n
oil her the church authoritii*j/i)iit, jfcmiVancd
l)eforc them, she answered fUW aJCiinhld j^'ld
submissive prudence beyond VjVN^lBrs ari/."?Wx,
which confounded thei# susp^JjSiifcJJji^jfitnie
to judge, and ended by admirin JSaaJ^^fer The
highest and noblest from all pSarts of Italy

532

THE AVt" MARIA.

flocked to witness the phenomenon ; incredulity
went away converted and moved to reformation
of life. The obscure nun became, single-handed,
an incalculable force against the Reformation,
which was secretly undermining Catholicism in

its centre and stronghold, Italy

Catherine herself ended the manifestation.
When she assumed rule over the convent, she
considered that the influx of visitors was marring
the spirit of recollection and solitude in the
community ; and, after the united prayers of
herself and her nuns, the ecstasy no longer came.
In harmony with the clear, good sense that
dictated this action, her letters and private life
display a side of her which will appeal to those
who might be merely repelled by singular
phenomena. The letters are very attractive.
Without the elevated sagacity, the political and
public breadth of the Sienese Catherine's, they
have a homely wisdom, a domestic and tender
practicality ; while the style reflects the matter.
As with that other Catherine, religion is so vital
a thing to her that it informs every sentence ;
yet asceticism nowise prevents the letters to her
father from being as full of daughterly and family
love as of tact and wisdom in the difficult position
of a child counselling a headstrong parent. ... Of
her wise rule and wide influence, her power over
others, her friendship with men like Philip Neri ;
of the convent as she made it, where the death-
day was a f'esta with singing of canticles, as
others joy over the coming into the world, — of
these things and much else must be read in the
book, — a book which will have interest for all
religious minds, whatever their attitude toward
those features which it shares with the life of the
friar of Assisi.

The "vulgar wisdom of incredulity"
is conspicuously absent here. Of course
one expects cleverness in the journal
from which we have quoted, but will
any Catholic periodical give St. Cath-
erine de' Ricci's Life a more sympathetic
review than this ?

The watch of Mary Queen of Scots
was in the form of a skull. On the
forehead was a small figure of Death
standing between a palace and a
cottage, and around it this familiar
passage from Horace : Palida mors
asquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas
regumque turres, — "Pale Death raps
impartially at the poor man's hut and
the king's palace."

Notes and Remarks.

The editor of the Lamp (Anglo-
Catholic) declares that the only Church
Unity possible for a distracted Chris-
tendom is a return of all Christians of
every name to communion with the
Holy See ; and he quotes a prophecj^ of
the late Bishop McLaren, of Chicago
(Protestant Episcopal Church), that
the existence of this society as an
organization separate from the juris-
diction, of the Pope would cease within
a hundred years. An easy prophecy,
we should say. Many leaders in the
Church of England now realize that
their separation from Rome can not be
justified, and that they are in conscience
bound to submit to the successor of
St. Peter, — as was pointed out by one
of the earliest seceders from their ranks,
who wrote:

It is worth the observation, that the liishops
and Ministers of England, to maintain the law-
fulnesse of their succession, do affirm that they
were consecrated by CatboHque Bishops, their
predecessors; which while they do not prove, it
shewes the interruption of their succession ; and
while they affirm, it shewes that they believe
their succession and calling insufficient, unlesse
they derive it from the Church of Rome ; thereby
acknowledging the Church of Rome the true
Church, which they in their Doctrine and depend-
ence have forsaken ; and there can be no reason
to forsake the true Church upon what pretence
soever.

Pleas for State support of the Church
are not so common that we can afford
to ignore the defence of this principle
contributed to a recent issue of Etudes
by M. Hippolyte Prevot, and quoted
by the Literary Digest. It will be news
to many that in Paris theatres are
subsidized by the city government.
"What!" exclaims M. Prevot, "part
of the public revenues are employed
to i>ay dancers and singers salaries
greater than the Prime Minister's;
part, again, is used to endow schools
of fine arts, museums, libraries, chairs

THE AVE MARIA.

533

of science and literature; and should
nothing be given to the Church, which
is for the peasant at once his school
of fine arts, his museum, his library;
the only place where he learns there
exist things called painting, music,
eloquence; where he hears duty and
hope spoken of; where his ideas rise
above that piece of ground which he
turns over and over so industriously
day by day until the hour comes when
he will He beneath it?" It is unpar-
donable, some people argue, that those
who do not attend divine worship,
who do not believe in it, should be
obliged to contribute to its expense.
To this objection M. Pr^vot replies:

Do a majority of the French people go to the
theatres subsidized in Paris ? Many a . class
lecture in the College of France has not more

than half a dozen auditors Of what good is

the road running along the shores of the Medi-
terranean to the fisherman on the Atlantic coast ?
And the public schools ? Would people who have
no children, or who prefer to send their children
to private schools, have a right to refuse to pay
the tax?

Archbishop Glennon is of the opinion
that the sanest way of approaching the
Negro question "is not as a theorist
filled with a priori notions, but as a
simple student of such racial condi-
tions and characteristics as confront us
here — The colored race is gifted in its
own way, has its own genius, its own
admixture of vice and virtue ; and its
progress can be effected only by taking
all these into consideration."

The St. Louis prelate is an observant
student of the black m^, and a generous
admirer of their good qualities as well
as a wise critic of their weaknesses.
He says further:

The colored man is ruled largely by his
emotions. He is a man of heart. He is quick to
love or to hate. It is easy to please him. He
will believe readily. He can be faithful, unless a
stronger impulse carries him away. What he
needs, then, is the education of the heart, — the
control of the emotions, — the complete conquest
in him of the moral law. And these results can
come only through a thorough religious training;

for it is only in a thorough religious training
that the moral law can be exploited or obtain
adequate sanction ; only through religion may the
emotions of the heart be purified and restrained ;
only through the dominant influence of religion
may a decent mode of life be created for the
colored man, who without that religion must
still remain near to the dark continent of his
origin. Kind words, good example, constant
guidance, orderly religious life, wherein are
exemplified the precepts of the moral law and the
teachings of Christian faith, should be daily
placed before him as his rule of faith and life.
This is done in the Catholic church and Catholic
school. ... I know of no surer means of their
enlightenment and progress.

The justice of Mgr. Glennon's con-
clusion is borne out by the concrete
results to be noticed in colored Catholic
communities throughout the Union. A
notable instance was given by Cardinal
Gibbons in an article quoted last week.

As the press, secular as well as relig-
ious, American not less than European,
still seizes with avidity upon any
incident thought to be illustrative of
the character of Pius X., we need not
apologize for doing into English a
charming anecdote that Raoul Aubi^
tells in a late issue of the Temps.

A French gentleman, distinguished in
the artistic world and a musical enthu-
siast, applied some time ago to the
proper authorities in Rome, where he
was sojourning with his family, for the
favor of a Papal a'udience. His request
being made known to the Holy Father,
the latter promptly granted it, and
even graciously expressed a desire to
meet the whole family. Now, the
Frenchman in question is no believer in
race suicide: the number of his boys
and girls would easily supply three or
four typical up-to-date Parisian house-
holds with their full contingent of
children. Accordingly, when the father
and mother, with their troop of little
folk, and their governess, advanced into
the room where the Pope awaited them,
Pius X. exclaimed, "Che processione !"
(What a procession!) and burst into a

534

THE AVE MARIA.

hearty laugh. Then, addressing himself
to the happy head of so thriving a
family, he inquired: "Do you mean to
say that all these children are yours?"
The smiling assurance that such was
the case elicited as hearty congratula-
tions as could be paid even by President
Roosevelt. Nothing could be more
cordial or paternal than the Pontiff's
reception of his visitors. Then, as each
took a chair in response to the Pope's
invitation, the governess alone remained
standing. She felt rather disconcerted
by so much unaffected kindness in a
function wrhich she had expected to be
most formal and solemn. There was,
however, a still greater surprise in store
for her. All the seats provided for the
visitors were taken up ; there remained
only a handsome armchair, quite close
to the Papal throne. "Come," said the
People's Pope to the bashful gover-
ness,— "come, sit down here." And,
sure enough, without further ado, the
governess was installed between the
Pope and her employers, at the right of
Pius X., and in a chair usually occupied
oilly by notable dignitaries of Church
or State.

Comment on this typical instance of
the Sovereign Pontiff's genuine kindness
and simplicity would be, like painting
the lily, " wasteful and ridiculous

excess.

It seems that Mr. Dalrymple, the
Scotch street - railway expert who
lately visited this country, was much
impressed by the sobriety of the citizens
of Chicago. The absence of drunken
men from the streets of the Wind}' City
was a great surprise to him, and roused
his admiration throughout his stay
there. We have no wish to lessen the
reputation of the great Western metrop-
olis for sobriety or anj- other virtue it
may possess ; however, there are numer-
ous large cities in the United States
where the excess of saloons over churches
is less marked than in Chicago, and

where drunken men are quite as little
in evidence. It seems too bad to say
so, but we can not help thinking that
if Mr. Dalrymple had hailed from any
other place in Christendom than
Glasgow, the edification he received in
Chicago would not have been so great.
Glasgow has the reputation of being
the most bibulous city in the world. It
is said that drunkenness has begun to
decrease in all countries. We sincerely
hope that the Land o' Cakes will be
no exception.

The suggestion of the New York Sun,
that a President's train should be
provided for the transportation of the
Executive of the United States, appears
to be very generally approved by the
press of the country. And naturally
so, for the suggestion is a thoroughly
sensible one. The salary of our Presi-
dent is altogether too low to permit of
his defraying the expenses of a special
train every time that the duties of his
position necessitate his travelling to
different parts of this extensive republic;
and there is a well-grounded dislike
on the part of our citizens to seeing
their chief magistrate the beneficiary of
any railway corporation. In point of
fact, it would seem that the railways
occasionally grant presidential free
passes, special trains, etc., practically
upon compulsion. A recent article in
the Railroad Gazette throws consider-
able hght upon the whole subject, and
emphasizes the necessity for a change.
If this country' is not big enough and
rich enough to pa}' its President's way,
at least when he is travelling on public
business, it doesn't deserve to have a
President whose travelling would be
worth while anywa}'.

On the recent festival of St. Francis
of \ssisi, appropriate religious cere-
monies marked the completion of the
first half century in the life of the Sisters
of the Third Order of St. Francis in

THE AVE MARIA.

S35

the archdiocese of Philadelphia. The
magnificent convent of Our Lady of the
Angels, at historic Glen Riddle, was the
scene of the jubilee festival, to which
especial distinction was lent by the
participation therein of the Apostolic
Delegate, Cardinal Gibbons, Archbishop
Ryan, and other prelates, besides a large
number of distinguished religious and
secular priests.

The story of this beneficent Congre-
gation needs no specific telling. In its
broader lines, it is the same narrative
that has been told of other American
sisterhoods,— early trials, indomitable
faith, a Sfirit of sacrifice and indefati-
gable devotedness, the outpouring of
divinest charity on an often unappre-
ciative world ; and, finally, the blessing
of Providence crowning with success
the most arduous of enterprises. May
the virtues of their beloved patron
continue to shine forth in these humble
daughters of St. Francis, meriting yet
further benedictions for their Order
and our country, that reaps in the last
analj'sis the abundant harvest of their
good works!

In a booklet entitled "From Doubt to
Faith," by the Rev. '-Father" Bull, of
the Anglican Community of the Resur-
rection, the fact is deplored that "the
republication of the old attacks on the
Christian Faith by the rationalistic
press in a cheap form on the expiration
o*^ the copyright has brought the
writings of non-Christians within the
reach of a very large circle of readers,
and is causing much unsettlement
among thoughtful artisans." Apropos
of this statement, the Rev. James O. §.
Huntington. O. H. C, writing in the
Holy Cross Mag'azine (Anglican), quotes
the following paragraph from Father
Tyrrell's "Tracts for the Million":

The paradoxes of one generation arc the
commonplaces of the next: what the savants
of to-day whisper in the ear, the Hyde Park
orators of to-morrow will bawl from their

platforms. Moreover, it is just when its limits
begin to be felt by the critical, when its pretended
all-sufficingness can no longer be maintained,
that a theory or hypothesis begins to be popular
with the uncritical, and to work its irrevocable

ill effects on the general mind In this way

it has come to pass that at the very moment
in which a reaction against the irreligious and
anti- religious philosophy of a couple of genera-
tions ago is making itself felt in the study, the
spreading pestilence of negation and unbelief
has gained and continues to gain possession of
the street.

This is as true as it is deplorable;
but it is no less true that refutations of
the attacks on the Christian Faith by
Rationalistic writers were made long
before their books were issued in cheap
form. The rejoinders have only to be
unearthed, republished, and scattered
broadcast. We quite agree with
" Father " Bull that " the grossly selfish,
luxurious, pleasure-loving, worldly lives
of many who profess to be Christians
is the chief cause of unbelief."

About a year ago we noted the
somewhat remarkable fact that an Irish
mother in Madras had given no fewer
than eight daughters to the cloister.
Under the title of " A Family of
Missionaries," a contemporary French
author discusses a household almost
equally fruitful in religious vocations.
Of the eight children of Nicolas Biet, a
citizen of Langres, the eldest became a
Trappist; four other sons were priests
on the mission field of the Orient, one
of them becoming Bishop of Diana;
and two daughters joined the Sisters
of St. Vincent de Paul. The only child
to remain in the world was a third
daughter, Marie-Fran^oise, whose son,
the well-known poet, Edmond Harau-
court, is at present curator of the
Cluny Museum, Paris. A few such
families as the Biets scattered to-day
through every department of France
would be about as grateful and oppor-
tune a blessing as Heaven could bestow
on that materially prosperous but
spiritually decadent land.

Catholic Heroes of Land and Sea.

BY MAY MARGARET FULLER.

VII. — Count von Tilly.

RANK was lazily watching
the smoke curl upward
from the busy little tug
that towed the house boat.
"It is too bad," he said,
"that we are not sailing up the Rhine
just now. We w^ould feel more like
talking of the Thirty Years' War if we
could see the very banks where the
armies carried on their operations."

"You'll have to be satisfied with the
Rhine of America," retorted Bessie;
"the Hudson is all right. And I wish
you would begin our story; for I
think it is just lovely to go sailing
past these grand old forests while we
talk about heroes and things."

"'Heroes and things' F" repeated
Frank, wondering what the last word
meant. "Well, we'll suppose that by
'things' you mean the causes of the
Thirty Years' War, so I shall satisfy
you. Attention ! Before the war's out-
break, the spread of Protestantism
through Germany had been arrested,
and the Catholic religion had been
completely restored in almost all the
Austrian provinces. The Catholics w^ere
nearly everywhere zealous, and loyal
to the Pope and to the princes of their
Faith. Seminaries and Jesuit colleges
had been established in many places,
while the Protestant institutions of
learning were scarcely attended at all.
But a new and powerful party of
Calvinists arose, and no attempt was
made by those high in authority to
subdue them ; for the successors of the

Emperor Charles V. were weak and
inactive. A treaty called the Religious
Peace of Augsburg had been drawn
up for the protection of the Catholic
Church in Germany ; but it was fre-
quently violated by these Calvinists,
who confiscated a number of bishoprics
and monasteries. This band later united
with the Lutherans to form the
Evangelical Union, whose object was
to make unlawful any attempt on the
part of the Church to regain its stolen
property."

"Didn't the Catholics defend them-
selves against these attacks?" asked
the Captain.

" Oh, yes ! " responded George. " Maxi-
milian of Bavaria, a devout Catholic
archduke, organized the Liga, and soon,
with the help of the Pope and Spain,
raised a large army. Both parties
w^ere ready to take action; all' they
needed was a pretext. They didn't
have to wait long; for the signal was
given after Count Thurn of the Union
attempted to murder the Catholic
governors at Prague."

"But their fighting didn't amount to
much then," said Frank. "The Protes-
tants made a few conquests, but no
real engagement took place until the
Battle of the White Hill."

"Ah, here is where the story of our
hero begins!" Bessie exclaimed. "For
he was placed in command of the
Liga forces. Long before, Tilly had
distinguished himself under Alexander
Farnese; and that great leader said
that some day the young soldier would
be one of the bravest generals in
Europe. Now, as the victor of thirty-
six important battles, he seemed to
have fulfilled the prophecy. His first
move was to invade Upper Austria,
which surrendered to him. Then he

THE AVE MARIA.

537

joined Maximilian and entered Bohemia,
where a rebellion had just begun.

"It seemed that the Archduke Ferdi-
nand had been chosen king, but the
Protestant inhabitants were very indig-
nant. They assaulted the castle, and
w^ould have ended the new monarch's
life but for the faithful officers who
refused to leave him. Finally he was
deposed, and Frederic V. — ( Belle, you
were asking me the other day who was
known as the ' Winterking ' ; it was
this Frederic, for he reigned only one
winter) — was selected to succeed him.
In Bohemia, Tilly captured city after
city, and soon marched upon Prague.
His campaign had been undertaken in
the name of our Blessed Mother, and all
along the line of march he had erected
shrines in her honor. Now, as the
chargers burst upon Prague, 'Sancta
Maria !' was their cry, and in less than
an hour the enemy was routed. As a
result, the Faith was restored, and a
few years later Bohemia took its place
among Catholic countries. The colleges
were reopened, and there was a proces-
sion of the recalled religious Orders, —
Count von Tilly and Maximilian hold-
ing a canopy over the Blessed Sacra-
ment as It was carried in triumph
through the streets. Belle, you tell
w^hat happened next."

"Both parties were quite peaceful
for two years," Belle commenced with
alacrity; "but I suppose they were
preparing for the long conflict which
began when Christian IV., who was
nicknamed 'Madcap Christian,' devas-
tated the bishopric of Paderborn. Tilly
overthrew that leader in three impor-
tant battles and compelled him to flee
to Paris. But he returned, and took
up arms against his old enemy at the
bridge of Dessau, where he suffered
another defeat. Christian was dis-
heartened bj' so many failures, and
sued for peace, which was granted by
the Treaty of Lubcck, in 1029."

"Well, that was only temporary,"

explained the Captain; " for Ferdinand,
who was now emperor, issued the Edict
of Restitution, by which Protestant
princes were commanded to restore all
the church property which they had
seized. They refused, so the war was
continued. Didn't Von Tilly receive
charge of the imperial troops about
that time?"

"Yes," answered Frank. "The Em-
peror raised him to that position at
the Diet of Ratisbon."

" He was encamped," said Belle, " with
a small company of soldiers in a village
near by when he learned of his promo-
tion; and immediately he paid a visit
to the little country church to beg
God's blessing on his new responsibili-
ties. It was evening, and the only light
in the chapel was the sanctuary lamp.
As the hero prayed, the church was
entered by a band of rough, boisterous
men wearing the uniform of the enemy.
Not noticing Tilly in the darkness,
they passed on to the altar, and stripped
it of its candlesticks and vases, which
they threw upon the floor. One man
seized the statue of the Blessed Virgin,
and another aimed a blow at the
tabernacle door. Tilly sprang from his
place, rushed up the aisle and pointed
his sword at the intruders. They were
stunned by his sudden appearance, and,
thinking that he was accompanied by
soldiers, started to run. The general
followed, signalled to the sentry at the
camp near by, and the culprits were
soon safely imprisoned. Then the Count
returned to the rectory only to find
everything in confusion, and the poor
old priest beaten insensible and tied to
the post of the staircase. Tilly did
all that he could to revive him, and
remained with him until he recovered
from the shock."

"The Blessed Sacrament was not
always so fortunately presers'cd from
sacrilege," remarked Captain Morris.
" Man^' times the priests went to say
Mass and found that their churches

538

THE AYE MARIA.

had been ravaged during the night.
A large number of sacred vessels
and vestments now exhibited at art
museums were taken, in a spirit of
hatred and revenge, during the Thirty
Years' War. I remember hearing from
a priest in France the history of one
set of vestments. It seems that thej^
vfeve stolen from a monastery during
one of ' Madcap Christian's ' marches,
and were given by the plunderers to
an ignorant peasant womrn in return
for food. Of course the treasures were
of no value to her; but one day the
thought struck her that she would
bring them to the great hero Von
Tilly, of whom she had heard, and ask
him for some souvenir of himself. So
she travelled many miles, and at last
came face to face with the renowned
general, who was only too glad to
receive her gifts. Nothing would please
her but that Tilly give her the buttons
from his coat. He granted her request ;
and, though the story doesn't tell us
how he kept his coat on, I know that
the vestments were sent in double-
quick time to the nearest bishop. Now,
George, I shall appoint you to tell us
of Tilly's last battles."

"From no-w on he fought against a
new enemy — Gustavus Adolphus, King
of Sweden," said George. "This ruler
had come to German}' Avith the inten-
tion of making as man}' conquests as
he could, for he was ambitious to build
up a vast Protestant empire of the
North. He at once joined forces with
the English, Dutch, and French Prot-
estants, and marched to the relief of
Magdeburg, the most important fortified
city in Germany. A rebellion had there
arisen against Austrian power, and
Tilly had besieged it for several months.
At last, in May, 1631, the Catholic
hero offered terms of capitulation, but
they were refused ; so, according to the
usage of war, he began to sack the cit}'.
Scarcely had his army entered the gates
when the Swedish troops rushed in and

set the streets on fire. Magdeburg fell
in ruins, and only b}' the wonderful
efforts of Tilly were the cathedral and
monaster}' saved. During the following
months the impirial commander was
several times defeated by Gustavus, and
in 1632 he was mortally wounded in
the Battle on the Lech."

"There never was a hero better
loved than Count von Tilly," concluded
Captain Morris. "His men, who .called
him 'Father John,' modelled their deeds
after his; and when we consider that
he was distinguished for his piety
and temperance, we must realize how^
different their camp life was from that
of most armies. The histories may
well call him 'the purest and noblest
character in the Thirty Years' War.'"

The Little Hungarians.

BY MRS. MARY E. MANNIX.

XXV. — Home Again.

The children remained a week at the
ranch; and then, amid lamentations of
regret from every one in the household,
and a genuine feeling of homesickness
in their own hearts, they set forth once
more. It was only the determination
of Louis that prevailed ; Rose dreaded
to face the future. Hers was a nature
that would have blossomed in almost
any place where kindness reigned, where
flowers bloomed, and the conditions of
life were comfortable and pleasant. But
Louis was now thoroughly convinced
that they had made a mistake, — one,
too, which savored of indifference and
ingratitude. He was ready to pay the
penalty, and had profited by their sad
experience.

As the train bore them away from
the hospitable people, whom, in all
probability, they were never again to
meet, they could hardly restrain their
tears. But regret soon gave place to
hope and anticipation; they became

THE AYE MARIA.

539

interested in the scenery through which
they were passing; and after a few
hours hunger began to assert its claims.
The senora had filled a large basket
with good things for consumption
along the route, and the children did
ample justice to the excellent and
varied food.

They were awakened in the middle
of the second night by the sudden jolt-
ing and stoppage of the train. Louis
peeped out of the window: there seemed
to be a crowd of persons near the
track; he could see the light of a fire
in the distance.

"What is the matter?" he inquired
of the porter, who was passing through
the cars.

"A freight wreck ahead," said the
porter.

"Do we have to stop here?"

"Yes, for several hours."

"What place is it?"

"Dos Arboles," answered the man,
hurrying away.

"Louis, he said Dos Arboles," whis-
pered Rose from the lower berth. " That
is where we stayed all night — in the
desert."

" Yes," said Louis. " Perhaps we may
see those nice people once more. But
we had better try to go to sleep now."

When they awoke again it was
morning— a gray morning, — the desert
stretching out grim and silent before
them like a motionless sea. Rose
thought the pine trees, scattered at
long intervals, and grown one-sided
from the force of the winds, looked like
distant sails upon a quiet ocean ; and
the tall cactus plants reminded her of
pictures of guide-posts she had seen
in storybooks.

They dressed hurriedly, ate their
breakfast, and went out to see the
wreck. Articles of every description
were lying about, — half- burned boxes,
canned fruit, vegetables, and dry-goods.
A crew of men were busily engaged in
getting the line ready for traffic. Two

or three hundred feet away, they could
see the station and telegraph office, with
the saloon adjoining.

"Let us go over," suggested Rose.

"Very well," replied Louis. "It will
help to pass the time, and they may
remember us."

The operator and his wife remembered
them well, and gave them a hearty
welcome. The children told them of
Stcffan's fate, which the couple seemed
to think was well deserved.

As they talked, Louis observed several
large birds, black as coal, flying at short
intervals above their heads.

"What kind of birds are those?" he
inquired. " Are they crows ? "

"Something like them," replied the
telegraph operator. "They are desert
ravens. A good many cattle have died
on the ranches this year, and they scent
the carrion flesh very far ofi". They are
returning from a feast."

"How horrible!" said dainty Rose,
with a shudder.

"In one way, yes," observed the man.
"But it is their nature to eat decayed
flesh, and they are the scavengers of
the desert. That is good, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," said the child. "But
I should not like to eat them."

"I fancy the meat would be rather
strong. Yet they are very friendly to
man, and gather boldly around the
camp fires in search of remnants of food,
which is scarce hereabouts. Many a
time a lost miner or prospector has
found his way by means of a raven,
flying leisurely but surely toward the
trail which the man himself could,
perhaps, never have found. They are
very intelligent. Often when they find
themselves in company with a solitary
individual, they seem to know that he
depends on them for companionship
and guidance. They will fly low,
£ind very slowly, cawing as the}' go ;
stopping when the man stops through
fatigue, and taking up their flight
again when he is ready. At least that

540

THE AVE MARIA

is what I have heard from prospectors.
My wife calls them 'the angels of
Tobias.' "

"I am never going to say anything
mean about them again," rejoined Rose.

"Is Chucka walla here still?" asked
Louis, as a group of Indians gathered
near the w^reck, eager to forage through
the debris.

"No: he is at Mojave now. He is
married," said the station master. "His
wife waits on the table, and he does
odd jobs — when he is not drinking. She
is the best man of the two; though
Chuck is not a bad fellow, as Indians
go. By the way, what did you say
your last name was?"

"Vladych," answered Louis.

"And your brother's?"

"Florian Vladych."

"Wasn't that the name of the young
fellow the soldier told us about?"
asked the woman, turning to her hus-
band. "You remember the soldier that
went down to the Bar A ranch about
a month ago?"

"Yes, I think it was," he replied.

"Are you sure? What did he say?"
asked Louis, eagerly.

"Well, not much," rejoined the man.
"We were talking of the war, and
how it ought to be a good thing to
learn the Spanish language, as it might
give a man a better chance in certain
places. This fellow said he had had a
chum in the war, and that he had
remained in Cuba. His idea was to learn
Spanish thoroughly, so that he could
use it in the United States afterward."

"Was that all?" asked Louis, as the
man paused.

"No," answered the station master,
slowly and reflectively, — "no, that
wasn't all. He said he was a fine young
fellow, and a musician. He said he
could staj^ in Cuba if he wanted to, and
make good money ; but he preferred the ,
United States. And I'm sure Florian
Vladych was his name. He was in
Havana,"

" O Rose, what good news ! " exclaimed
Louis. "We must write to him this
very day."

"I don't believe he's there now,"
observed the man. "The soldier said
he married a Cuban girl; she didn't
have any relatives but an old grand-
mother, and after she died they were
coming up. He said the old lady was
pretty near the end when he came
away, so I expect they've arrived before
this. Very likely you'll find him at
home when you get there."

"But don't you recollect ? " interposed
the woman. "We thought there was a
little difference in the two stories. This
young Vladych that we are speaking of
didn't have any relatives in America."

Louis looked down. " Poor Florian ! "
he thought. "He believed we had all
forgotten him." Then aloud:

"That must be a mistake. I am sure
it is our Florian. Could you get the
Havana address for us?"

"Yes. The man will probably be
along Saturday. I'll be glad to send it,
if you will leave yours."

Louis wrote it out, and the man put
the card in his pocket.

"Seems to me he said the Cuban
girl had some money," remarked the
woman.

"Yes, he did: money and no kin. If
it's your brother, he's probably well
fixed. And maybe he won't want you
kids about."

"He is not like that — our Florian,"
replied Louis, proudly. "There \vere
reasons why he did not write to us.
But I am sure of him. He will be glad
to find us."

"Well, I hope so, — I hope you won't
be disappointed. But years and absence
make a great difference."

The words jarred. Louis could not
bear to hear a doubt of Florian.

But the man was not conscious that
he had inflicted a wound. He bade the
children a heartj' good-bye; his wife
saw them safely into the car; and in

THE AVE MARIA.

541

a short time they had resumed their
journe3% which remained barren of
further incident until its close.

The children had been gone a year.
As the train steamed into the station,
they could have fancied all that had
befallen them in the interval as nothing
but a horrible nightmare. And now
trepidation and shame seized the heart
of the boy, while his little sister thought
only of being at home again. She
forgot for the time being that the
return might mean a parting from her
brother, for she was not so sanguine as
Louis as to the probability of finding
Florian. But Louis thought of many
things, of many possibilities, and his
heart was perplexed and heavy.

" I want to see the Mullens," said
Rose, trying bravely to help him with
the heavy valise, which he insisted on
carrying himself.

"They may be dead," he answered
gloomily, for the first time since their
wanderings had begun.

"And Father Garyo," the child said
cheerily, ignoring his despondency.

"He may be dead too, and he may
have had to pay Murphy for his
team," said Louis. "If he did, I am
going to "sell the house and pay him
back."

"That will be all right," replied Rose.

"0 Rose, I am so ashamed to think
how we ran away, and never found
Florian, after all ! But I feel very
hopeful about him now."

"I'll tell you what it is, Louis,"
answered Rose. "Unless Florian is
dead, he would have found us, if he
wanted us. If he is living, and doesn't
want us, there are still you and I.
Don't let us think about it. If he is
dead, he is better off; if he doesn't
want us, we are better without him."

Louis smiled at her logic, though
he could not take such a matter-of-
fact view of the situation. Rose still
chattered on; but as they neared their

former home, and familiar objects began
to present themselves, she too grew
silent.

At last they reached the comer of the
short street, at the end of which their
house stood.

"It is not burned down, anyway,"
said Rose, her heart beating rapidly.
"And there are lights in the windows.
Do you think the Mullens are living
there, Louis?"

"I don't know. There is a light in
their own cottage."

A few steps more and they were at
the gate. The garden had been well
kept, the house painted. Everything
looked bright, cheerful, and prosperous.
They stole softly up the path.

"Let us peep in the window first,"
said Rose.

Louis laid down the valise, and hand
in hand they stole to the window.
Everything had been changed in the
room, which was prettily furnished. A
lamp burned on the table; they could
hear voices in the room beyond.

As they looked, the door opened
between, and a young woman with
bright golden hair and a gentle, refined
face, came into the parlor. She was
smiling. Behind her walked Mrs.
Mullen, kindly and wholesome as ever,
carrying a beautiful babe, which unmis-
takably belonged to the^young woman
with the golden hair. The next to
appear was Father Garyo, holding an
open letter; then "young Dan" and
Pete, not a bit changed.

"He is reading my letter," said Rose,
complacently. " I suppose he only got
it to-day."

"What letter?"

"I wrote to say we were coming, so
that they wouldn't be too surprised.
The senora helped me. It's part print
and part writing. I'll have to go to
school, Louis, — I need to; but I told
Father Garyo I would run away again
if he sent me to the convent to board."

"The old problem. Rose!" said the

542

THE AVE MARIA

boy. "But I never suspected you had
wriiten."

"Of course you didn't. I didn't want
you to. Who do you suppose that
pretty lady is, Louis ? " asked Rose,
after a moment, as the young woman
took the babe from Mrs. Mullen's arms.
"Everybody seems to be talking at
f nee, — don't you think so? But who
can that lady be?"

"I suppose it is the lady who has
rented the house, and that is her baby.
I wish I could hear what they are
saying! "

"They are talking about us! " rejoined
Rose. " They are all excited."

"Let us go in," said Louis, again
taking up the valise and turning away
from the window.

"Look, look, Louis! Who is that?"
exclaimed Rose, pulling her brother
toward her once more. "0 Louis, who
is it?"

The boy glanced into the room. In
the doorway, behind the group, stood
a young man, tall, dark, handsome,
with a most captivating smile, which
he wa^ now bestowing upon the child,
holding out his arms to it, as, laugh-
ing and crowing, it tried to reach him
from its mother's embrace.

" Ah ! " ejaculated Louis ; and without
another word he dragged his sister up
the steps and ^hrew open the door,
crying: "Florian! Florian! Oh, it is
Florian! Thank God and our Blessed
Mother, he is found at last!"

And then the three were close clasped
in each other's arms, laughing and
sobbing; while the rest of the group
stood, smiling and wet -eyed, waiting
their turn.

"God be praised!" murmured the
good Irishwoman at Father Garj'o's
side, as she wiped the tears from her
cheeks. "God be thanked and glorified
forever! They have come to their own
again, the poor little wanderers ! They
hcive come to their own again ! "

(The End.)

A Little Girl's Adventure.

A pretty story of the Duke of Norfolk
is related by the Catholic Herald of
India. It is only one of many stories
showing how simple and kind-hearted
this distinguished Catholic gentleman
is, and how fully he deserves the title
of nobleman. He is noble by rank and
noble by nature:

A woman residing at Brighton took her little
girl on a cheap excursion to see some friends in
Arundel. The train was full, and the woman and
child, who had third-class tickets, were hastily
placed at the last moment in a first-class com-
partment. The little girl lost no time in getting
into conversation with a gentleman who was
the only other occupant of the carriage. The
gentleman put his paper down, and seemed so
very kiudly disposed that finally the child opened
her luncheon basket and offered him a banana,
which he took and ate. Just as the train drew
up at Arundel, he handed the mother a card,
which he said would admit her and her little
girl to see all parts of the castle. After he had
aliglited, the woman looked at the card, and the
little girl opened big eyes of wonder when told
that the gentleman who had eaten her banana
was the Djike of Norfolk.

P's and Q's.

"Mind your p's and q's." There are
two different origins assigned to this
expression. One is that it arose from
the custom of chalking up behind
alehouse doors the debts due from cus-
tomers, in which the number of pints
or quarts they owed for was made by
strokes opposite the letters P and Q.

Charles Knight, the editor of the
Penny Cyclopaedia, thinks that the ex-
pression originated in a printing office.
The p's and the q's in small Roman
type are so much alike that they are
always puzzling to a printer's appren-
tice. "'Mind your p's and q's' means,
' Do not be deceived by apparent
resemblances; learn to discriminate
between things essentially distinct but
which look the same; be observant,
be cautious.' "

THE AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

548

— It was not a Boston salesman who, when
asked for a good work on pedestrianism, sug-
gested Walker's Dictionary.

— "Catholic Ireland and Protestant Scotland:
a Contrast," by Michael J. F. McCarthy, is
announced by Messrs. Oliphant, Anderson and
Ferrier.

— "Brussels," a new volume in the Mediaval
Town series, will be from the pen of Mr. E.
Gilliat- Smith, an occasional contributor to The
Ave M.vri.^.

— A new translation of the "Devout Life" of
St. Francis dc Sales, by T. Barry, and "The
Shadow of the Lord," a novel by Mrs. Hugh
Fraser, are announced by Messrs. Methuea.

— The first numljer of the new Catholic mis-
sionary review for ethnography and linguistic
studies will appear in January. Antbropos is
the name chosen for it, and it will be published
quarterly.

— Dom. E. Legrand, Canon of the Holy Sep-
ulchre, Jerusalem, has written, and Lecoffre,
Paris, has published, a charming historico-
biographical volume whose (translated) title
is "Sister Sion and the Establishment in the
Holy Land of the Daughters of Charity."
Interesting as a romance, and edifying as a book
for spiritual readmg, the work well deserves the
high praise which French reviewers have given it.

— The intermediate grades in all our schools
will find "Webster's Modern Dictionary" (com-
piled by B. T. Roe, L. L. B., and published by
Laird & Lee, Chicago) convenient in form and
withal sufficiently complete. It contains twenty-
seven thousand words. One of its claims to
recognition is "its simple and accurate method of
indicating the pronunciation." We are particu-
larly pleased with the rational grouping of
animals, plants, etc., in the cuts scattered
throughout this neatly published volume.

— Mr. George Wharton James, the author of
"Indians of the Painted Desert Region," etc., has
published a new book dealing with the Missions
of California. ( Little, Brown & Co.) He has
sought to show several things never before pre-
sented, among them the direct origin of the mis-
sion architecture; the analysis of the details of the
mission style of arcliiteclure; the influence of ^he
mission style upon modern American archi-
tecture; the condition of the Indians prior to,
during, and immediately after, the misgiun epoch,
with a brief account of their present state; a
careful survey of the interior decorations of the
missions; a pictorial account of the furniture,

pulpits, doors, and other woodwork of the mis-
sions; a pictorial account of the statuary,
crosses, candlesticks, and other silver and brass
work of the missions ; and the story of Kamona
as related to the mission. " In and Out of the Old
Missions of California" contains one hundred
or more illustrations.

— The announcement of a history of the old
parish church at Surrey, England, founded about
800 A. D., should have interest for Catholic
readers. The work will include a description of
the curious wall-picture called "The Ladder of
the Salvation of the Human Soul and the Road
to Heaven." This picture was discovered in 1870,
during the execution of some repairs.

— Many readers will regret the demise of Long-
man's Magazine, which is announced in the
current number. It is explained that "the repro-
duction of drawings and photogr^hs has called
into existence a number of magazines and papers
depending largely upon their illustrations. Com-
petition for the patronage of the sixpenny public
has become very severe, and the mere endeavor
to keep up a high literary standard is nowadays
not sufficient." Tlie "sixpenny public" does not
demand literary excellence; it wants plenty of
pictures iind is not over-particular as to excellence.

— We are glad to see in the " Helpful Thoughts
Series" published by Messrs. A. C. McClurg &
Co., "The Spalding Ycar-Book," — passages chosen
from the writings of the Bishop of Peoria by
Minnie K. Cowan, who has made an excellent
selection. It is a delightful little Volume, full of
striking and stimulating thoughts, suitably varied
in verse and prose. From "Glimpses of Truth"
Miss Cowaa quotes:

Think \>f ir.e rigbu u' oitiers, rather than of their duties;
but v/iie'e thou ttiy.'cif atL cuncerucd, think o: thjr duties,
nut <>i cUy rijjhttt.

"The Si)alding Year- Book" contains many
such help;ul ina.xinis; every page has something
to arrest aiteiition. Tlie BisUop is original in
thought, plnlosophic in outlook, and lielicitous
in expression. A charming volume, charmingly
produced.

— "Questoes Sociaes-Religiosas " is the title of
a new book by Monsignor Viiicente Lustosa,
Can >i, of ttic Cutnciriil ol Ri'j ile Jai.eiro. In it
he c •.iibaLS s.>ine oi the Inllacies so often met
wiiii 111 llie wntini;j anii di; courses of con-
tei.!o..iiary ratt<<ii:^iin.s and fice-chinkers; as, for
example: "The Catholic Faith Enslaves the
Intelligence and Retards Human Progress";
"Submission to Dogma is an Abdication of the
Right of Free -Thought." Monsignor Lustosa

544

THE AYE MARIA.

knows his niclk-i; ami refutes such fallacies with
close reasoning and convincing logic. He is a
member of the Historical- and Geographical
Society of Brazil, and a journalist of distinction,
being a writer on the staff of the leading daily
of Rio de Janeiro, in which he published a series
of interesting and appreciative articles on his
visit to the United States during the St. Louis
Exposition.

— A unique bit of argumentation has been
added to the " Westminster Series," published by
M£ssrs. Sand & Co., and Mr. B. Herder. The
work is entitled "The Resurrection of Christ— Is
it a Fact?" and was originally a lecture delivered
under the auspices of the Catholic Truth Society
of Scotland. It deals " with the constructive
proofs of the Resurrection, as also with the
destructive criticism of the later and present
centuries." At the end of the volume is a list
of the principal authorities, Christian and
Rationalist, consulted by the author. Mr.
Marsh's exposition is scholarly and his style
pleasing. His concluding words are worthy of
Lacordaire: "No fact of history is better or so
well attested as the Resurrection of Jesus Christ
in the flesh. Nineteen hundred years ago He hung
upon the tree of shame. . . . And He bowed His
head to give the bunian race the kiss of peace. . . .
God speed the day when they [the Rationalists],
hand in hand with the Christian believer, may
exclaim no longer, ' Hail, Thou Godlike Man ! ' but
rather, ' Hail, Thou God made Man ! ' "

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford itiiormation
concerning important new publications of speciiil
interest to Catholic readers. The latest hooks will
appear at the head, older ones being dropfwd oat
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not he indexed.

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will be imported with as little dclny as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad
Publishers' prices generally include postage

"The Resuriection of Christ — Is it a Fact?" 30

cts., net
"The Spalding Year-Book." 75 cts., net.
"The Epistles and Gospels." Very Rev. Richard

O'Gorman, O. S. A 50 cts., net.
"Life, Virtues and Miracles of St.Geiard Majella."

Very Rev. J. Magnier, C SS. R. 15 cts.
"Infallibility.' Rev. Vincent McNabb, O. P. 36

cts., net.
"The Mystic Treasures of the Holy Sacrifice."

Rev. Charles Coppens, S. J. 50 cts., net.

"George Eastmount: Wanderer." John Law.

$1.10, net.
"The Senior Lieutenant's Wager, and Other

Stories." $1.25.
"The Story of the Congo Free State: Social,

Political, and Economic Aspects of the Belgian

System of Government in Central Africa."

Henry Wellington Wack, F. R. G. S. $3.50,

net.
"Rex Mens." $1.25.
"The Angel of Syon." Dom Adam Hamilton,

O S. B. $1 10, net.
"The Little Flowers of St. Francis." Illustrations

by Paul Woodruffe. $1.60, net.
"That Scamp, or the Days of Decatur in Tripoli."

John J. O'Shea. 60 cts.
" Bishop Gore and the Catholic Claims." Dom

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"Grammar of Plain-Song." Benedictines of Stan-
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More.)" Henri Bremond. $1, net.
"The Yoke of Christ." Rev. Robert Eaton.

$1, net.
"Some Little London Children." Mother M.

Salome. 75 cts., net.
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Spencer. $1.55.
"The Common Lot." Robert Herrick. $1.50

Obituary.

Remembei them that are in bands. — Hbti., xiii, 3.

Rev. J. P. Aylvvard, of the .\rchdiocese of
Chicago; Rev. Joseph Arnoux, O. M. I.; and Rev.
John Jones, O. P.

Mr. Albert Vanderhoof, of Detroit, Mich. ; Mr.
John Wuner and Miss Mary Crilly, Philadelphia,
Pa. ; Mr. Felix Sheridan, Columbus, Ohio ; Mrs.
Josephine Schulte, Dollar Bay, Mich.; Mr. M.
Moss, Atlantic City, N. J. ; Mr. Patrick Callan,
New Orleans, La ; Mr. Thomas Kelly, Kansas
City, Kansas; Mr. John Schroth, Trenton, N. J.;
Mr. Silvester Warneth, Weeser, Idaho; Mr. Hugh
Nolan, Ogden, Utah; Mrs. Mary McDonald, San
Francisco, Cal. ; Mrs. Anna Nienaber, Frederick
City, Md. ; Mr. John Kane, Montreal, Canada;
Mr. George Hummel and Mrs. A. Stadelnian,
Pittsburg, Pa.; Mrs. Bridget Dunn, Lowell, Mass.;
Mrs. Dora Drehcr, Defiance, Ohio; Mrs. Cecilia
Wehner and Mr. Daniel Cary, Frostburg, Md. ;
Mr. Frank Sturgeon, Y'oungstown, Ohio ; Mr.
Matthew Hoye, Fostoria, Ohio; Mr. John
Sautereau, Waterbury, Conn.; Mr. Edward
Donahoe, Chicago, 111.; and Mrs. Mary Hosenfelt,
Fort Wayne, Ind.

Requiescant in pace !

HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUK€, I., 48.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, OCTOBER 28, 1905.

NO. 18.

[Published every Saniiday. Copyti|;hi: Kcv. D. E. Hudson, C.S.C.]

An Offering.

PROM THE SPANISH.

IpORD, Thou wouldst own my heart:

I give it, then, to Thee;
And praiss be to Thy Name

For ail eternity!
Thou art my Light, my Sun,

My Peace, my Liberty,
My Saviour and my God, —

Do what Thou wilt with me.

Should earthly joy be mine,

'Twill be a gift from Thee, —
O praise be to Thy Name

For all eternity!
Or poverty or pains.

Or bonds or liberty, —
My Master and my King,

Do what Thou wilt with me!

Jeremiah J. Callanan.

EADERS of the pathetic
story, so true to nature,
^^1 which gives its title to the
"**^ll Rev. Dr. Sheehan's recent
volume, "The Spoiled Priest," will have
recognized in that interesting psycho-
logical study, delicately and deftly
drawn like a homely bit of genre from
.some master-hand, a familiar phase of
Irish life. A somewhat similar picture is
presented to us in the short but simple
annals which trace the life -story of
Jeremiah Joseph Callanan, one of Ire-
land's minor poets. It has been outlined
in a memoir by his nephew, the late

Mgr. Neville,* Dean of Cork, prefixed
to the third edition of his poems, f

Like his biographer, Callanan was a
native of Cork, where he was bom in
1795 ; and, like many sons of pious
Irish parents, with whom the wish is
father to the thought, was destined
for the priesthood ; the desire to have
"a priest in the family" being tradi-
tional in Ireland, — a desire sometimes
inspired by pure zeal and sometimes by
mixed motives. "Rather rashly, as the
event showed," is the somewhat hasty
commentary of the writer ; but the self-
revealings, the glimpses of the poet's
inner life contained in his private mem-
oranda, suggest the idea that it was
not his parents who acted precipitately,
but himself. His was a vocation nipped
in the bud, without time being given it
to ripen; with the result that his life,
turned awry, became what Montalem-
bert calls une vie manquie et bris6e.
Callanan gives us a pen -portrait of
himself in the following lines:

A poet's eye whilst yet a child,

A boyhood wayward, warm and wild.

A youth that mocked correction's rod,

Caressed, would strive to be a god;

And scorned to take the second place

In class or honor, field or race.

A manhood with a soul that flies

More high than heaven's own highest skies,

But with a wing that oft will stoop

And trail in filthiest dross, and droop

* A distinguished Irish priest wlio filled the chair of
dogmatic theology at Maynooth, and. whose name was
Bubroittcd to Rome along with those from whom a
successor to the Inte Bishop Delany was chosen, in the
persoo of the Most Rev. Dr. O'Callaghnn, O. P.

t "The Poems of J. J. Callanan," A New Hdition, with
Biographical Introduction and Notes. Cork : Mulcahy.

546

THE AYE MARIA.

With rebel tumult in his veins,

And one who rides with spurs, not reins ;

With mind which through the waves of sin

Still hears the helmsman's voice within.

In short, a man who has no life

Unless he feel the mortal strife

Of songs and harps and Freedom's fights.

And Glory's call and Erin's rights ;

Who's weak, but looks for strength above,

Who'd die for those he ought to love.

The shadows are more sharply defined
than the lights in this sombre portrait ;
but some allowance may safely be made
for the poet's "fine frenzy" and play
of fancy. Dean Neville says tersely,
with a candor worthy of imitation by
other biographers, "there was nothing
remarkable in his boyhood." He was
gifted with a wondrous memory, but
not otherwise distinguished.

Having studied the usual prepara-
tory course of classics under Mr. John
O'SuUivan, a well-known Cork school-
master, in one of those private schools
in his native city which turned out
many ripe scholars in their time; and
under Dr. Harrington of Queenstown —
then called Cove, — he entered Maynooth
for the rhetoric class, at the age of
seventeen. He did so in passive com-
pliance with his parents' wishes; but,
w^hen called upon to decide for himself,
w^avered. Morbidly sensitive and scru-
pulous, he was by a fellow-feeling drawn
into companionship with other students
afflicted, like himself, with that malady
of the soul, scrupulosity, as difficult to
endure as to cure. To choose between
blighting the long and fondly cherished
hopes of those he held dearest on earth,
and obeying what he conceived to
be the dictates of conscience, involved
a severe mental struggle, somewhat
analogous to that dark night of the
soul of which St. John of the Cross and
other ascetical writers speak. "It was
a painful, despairful dilemma," says his
biographer, "and conscientious men
must admire his decision ; although
perhaps — and even more than perhaps —
as he himself, and those who best knew

him, afterward thought, he did not
decide aright."

He quitted Maynooth during the
vacation of 1815, with the intention of
not returning. When a college friend
communicated his resolve to his father,
the latter was so much disturbed that
his son was induced to try again. In a
letter to his sister acquainting the
family of this alteration of his inten-
tions, he wrote: "If this letter makes
my parents easy, it will restore to
me that peace which I want no less
than they. To relieve their anxiety, I
shall endeavor to know myself more
thoroughly."

He does not seem to have devoted
much time to acquiring that thorough
self-knowledge, sometimes very difficult
of attainment; for, after making his
spiritual retreat on his return to May-
nooth, he left almost immediately.
Writing to his father, he says: "I have
consulted two clergymen eminent for
piety and prudence: they have both
been of opinion that I should follow the
promptings of my conscience. I hope
this will meet with the approbation of
God Himself."

Whether it did or not, of course, we
do not know, but it evidently did not
bring him the peace of soul he longed
for. It warped and colored his whole
after-life, and accounts for that deep
undertone of sadness which is the key-
note of most of his poetry. Memories
of Maynooth would now and again
cross his mind and awaken unavailing
regrets for the might have been. For
instance, he notes in his diary :

"Lisbon, Nov., IS57. — Recollections
of Maynooth. Morning bell — frosty
mornings five o'clock. Benedicamus !
Soldier of Jesus, mine was not your lot.
The better way is to submit to what I
must be — what Thou wiliest, — or I am
lost forever. Oceans of mercy, let but
the remotest billow touch me and I am
saved ! Deep moonlight — cloudy region
of my own soul ! "

THE AVE MARIA.

547

To his biographer this reads as if,
with all his "promptings of conscience,"
and confessor's sanction, he had still —
had always — some misgivings about his
abandonment of the clerical state. "He
had certainly," says Mgr. Neville, "many
of the finest qualities of a worthy
priest ; and it would be quite unfair to
conclude that the unstable and purpose-
less character of his life after leaving
Maynooth would have appeared in a
fixed and well-defined avocation." His
moral qualities are described as of a
very high order: he was scrupulously
truthful, honorable almost to romance,
meek and charitable in speech, never
speaking ill of any one, never resenting
anything, and endowed with a rare
gentleness of manner and charm in
social intercourse which inspired in
his intimes an attachment amounting
almost to devotion.

After leaving Maynooth he went to
Trinity College, Dublin, where until
1816 he attended lectures as an out-
pensioner ; spent two years in the study
of law and medicine, but never quali-
fying in either. Literature had more
attraction for him. He had already
dabbled in verse, his first known
literary efforts dating from 1816. His
successful competition for two prizes
in poetry at Trinity — awarded to him
by the vice-chancellor for his poems
on the restoration of the spoils of
Athens by Alexander the Great, and on
the accession of George IV., — fixed his
resolution to devote himself exclusively
to letters.

His mode of life on his return to
Cork was somewhat nomadic. His
parents were dead, and in a moment
of gloom and despondency he enlisted
in the 18th Royal Irish, then about
proceeding to Malta; but at the last
moment some friends intervened and
bought him out. After a few years
spent as tutor to the family of a
Mr. McCarthy who resided near Mill-
street, in the County Cork, where he

had opportunities of feasting his eyes
and feeding his imagination with the
beautiful and inspiring scenery of
Killamey and the Muskerry Mountains,
he returned once more, in 1822, to his
native city, where he sometimes lived
with his sister and at other times
sojourned with friends.

In 1823 he became usher in a school
in Marlboro Street kept by Dr. Maginn,
father of the celebrated but erratic
William Maginn, — "bright, brilliant
Maginn," the literary guide, philosopher
and friend of Thackeray, and congenial
companion of the Reverend Francis
Mahony, better known under his pen-
name of "Father Prout," — and as
assistant teacher to one Lynch who
conducted the "Everton School." Dr.
Maginn encouraged his talents and
introduced him to several literary
friends. He became a contributor
to Blackwood's Magazine, in which
appeared six popular songs translated
by him from the Irish; advertised a
volume of poems for publication ; pro-
jected a collection of Irish lyrics ; rough-
drafted the outlines of stories — some in
prose, some in verse — illustrative of
Irish legend or history ; completed a
few of the latter, but never finished the
others, which were, like the tale of
Cambyses, half told.

Resigning his tutorship, he wandered
about the country, collecting from the
lips of the Irish -speaking inhabitants
stray fragments of folklore, or "the
wild songs of his dear native plains" in
the vernacular. Occasional excursions to
the glens and mountains of West Cork
inspired some of his finest lays. It was
at Inchidony, an island at the entrance
to Clonakilty Bay — far from "the city's
din," in which, as he declared, he had
spent so many "wasted days and
weary nights," so well described in
"The Recluse,"— that he wrote "The
Virgin Mary's Bank," founded on a
local tradition. There, "alone with
nature," he loved

548

THE AVE MARIA.

... to walk unseen
To look upon the storms that I have pass'd,
And think of what I might be or have been ;
To read my life's dark page;

still cherishing a hope to be numbered
"among the chosen few whose names
can never die," although he had
No friend but this wild lyre, no heritage but song.
Cicada and Cahir-beama ("the hill
of the four gaps"), forming part of the
chain of mountains that stretches west-
ward from Millstreet to Killamey,—
he oft had climbed "with boyhood's
bound," before his life became " a
chequered scene" —

When passions slept, and virtue's holy ray
Shed its unsullied light round childhood's lovely
day.

The sight of these by moonlight drew
from him the pathetic exclamation:

O that I were onee more what I was then,
With soul unsullied and with heart unsear'd! —

and suggested one of his sweetest songs :

0 Avondu,* I wish I were

As once upon that mountain bare.
Where thy young waters laugh and shine
On the wild breast of Meenganine !

1 wish I were by Cleada's hill,
Or by Glenluachra's rushy rill!
But no! — I never more shall view
Those scenes I loved by Avondu.

Farewell ye soft and purple streaks
Of evening on the beauteous Reeks ! t
Farewell ye mists that lov'd to ride
On Cahir-bearna's stormy side!

Farewell November's moaning breeze.
Wild minstrel of the dying trees !
Clara, a fond farewell to you!
No more we meet by Avondu.

In "The Recluse of Inchidony," a
descriptive poem in the Spenserian
stanza, which Byron's "Childe Harold"
had just then popularized, he tells how
his sole joy was

. . . thus to stray my native wilds among,
On some lone hill an idle verse to twine,
Whene'er my spirit feels the gusts of song
That come but fitfully, nor linger long.

• The Manster Blackwater, the "swift Awniduff "
of Spenser.

t Macgillicuddy's Reeks, Killarney, the highest mountains
in Munster.

His friend and fellow - citizen, John
Windele, says: "When in his native
land, he delighted to wander among
its glens and mountain recesses; and
gather, in his intercourse with the
inhabitants, the wild legends of the
past, and the relics of song still pre-
served amongst them. Had he lived,
he would, like Scott, have embodied
and illustrated these, created for his
country a minstrelsy, and approved
himself the bard of Irish chivalry, and
a lyrist of the highest order."*

A brother poet, I. F. Waller, writes
of him: "Fully acquainted with the
romantic legends of his country, he
was singularly happy in the graces and
power of language, and the feeling and
beauty of his sentiments. There is in
his compositions little of that high
classicality which marks the scholar,
but they are full of exquisite simplicity
and tenderness ; and in his description
of native scenery he is unrivalled."

Another Irish poet — Sam Lover, —
speaking of his attachment to his
native land — a sentiment which, sad
to say, seems to be dying out, seeing
the alacrity with which the Irish of this
generation quit their country, — says:
"Callanan gives that sentiment with
a graphic detail for which his writings
are remarkable ; and the fondness with
which he particularizes the whereabouts
shows how deeply rooted were his
local attachments. Not only are hill
and glen, rill and river distinctly noted,
but their varied aspects in different cir-
cumstances, whether they are shrouded
in mist or bathed in the glow of sunset
or pale gleam of moonlight. Even the
voice of the wind — or, to use his own
words, 'the wild minstrel of the dying
trees,' — had a loving echo in the heart
of Callanan."

Thus the picturesque district in
and" around Bantry, with the broad
expanse of its beautiful bay ; Glenga-

• " Historical and Descriptive Notices of the City of Cork
and its Vicinity." p. 139.

THE AVE MARIA.

549

riffe — " tranquil Glengariffe," — with its
numerous islets; the wild mountain
pass of Leim-a-tagart, or the Priest's
Leap; Ard-na-mrahar, or the Friars'
Height ; Carriganassig Castle, once the
stronghold of the O'Sullivans, a princely
sept who formerly possessed the entire
country round ; Gougaune Barra, in
the rugged region of Ibh - Laoghaire
(O'Learys' Country) ; Noc-na-ve, or the
hill of the deer; Sliav-na-goila, or the
mountain of the wild people, now
Sugar Loaf Hill ; and Bearhaven, Ivera,
the barony of Bear, — form the natural
accessories, or background, of his his-
torical poem, "The Revenge of Donal
Comm," a poetical gem enhanced by
its local setting.

In fluent octosyllabic metre, which
recalls Scott, and may challenge com-
parison with the racy rhyme which
the Wizard of the North handled with
such felicity and facility, he describes
Glengariffe's vale, lovely bay, and moun-
tain wall with its thousand rushing
rills; Inver-na-marc, with its rugged
shore, bleak cliffs, and " beauteous and
unrivalled sweep of beach"; the dark
elders drooping over the graves of "Ard-
na-mrahar's countless dead," where

. . . the sculptur'd stone
Still sadly speak of grandeur gone,
And point the spot where, dark and deep.
The Fathers and their abbey sleep;

Sliav-na-goila's giant peak and head
of snow towering over the dark vales
beneath ; Carriganassig, the castled
keep of the O'Sullivans,— the hardy
race whose " bugle's merry sound " when
they rode forth to foray or chase
"roused the wild deer of Kaoim-an-^,"
the "swift Ouvan" that flows beneath,
and

. . . kisses with its sorrowing wave
The ruins which it could not save;

Finbarra's shrine and lake " dark
bosom'd in the hills around"; and the
heathery brow of Noc-na-ve, from which
. . . brightly, deeply blue
Ivera's mountain meet the view.

It was Gougaune Barra that inspired
his best known and most admired
poem, which Allibone considers the
most perfect of all minor Irish poems
in the melody of its rhythm, the flow
of its language, and the weird force of
its expression. The scene, solemn in its
sacred associations with Saint Finn
Barr, founder of the See and ancient city
of Cork ; impressive in the combined
grandeur and beauty of its picturesque
surroundings; and locally interesting
as the source of the Lee, — Spenser's

. . . pleasant Lee, which, like an island fair,
Encloseth Cork in its divided flood, —

was such as to appeal to the historic
imagination and poetical genius of a
Corkman. One stanza — the first — may
be quoted in full as a specimen of
Callanan at his best.

There is a green island in lone Gougaune Barra,
Where AUua of songs rushes forth as an arrow ;
In deep - vallied Desmond — a thousand wild

fountains
Come down to that lake from their home in

the mountains.
There grows the wild ash, and a time -stricken

willow
Looks chidingly down on the mirth of the billow ;
As, like some gay child, that sad monitor

scorning.
It lightly laughs back to the laugh of the morning.
And its zone of dark hills — oh! to see them all

bright' ning,
When the tempest flings out its red banner of

lightning ;
And the waters rush down, mid the thunder's

deep rattle,
Like clans from their hills at the voice of the

battle;
And brightb" the fire<restcd billows are gleaming.
And wildly from Mullagh the eagles are screaming.
Oh ! where is the dwelling in valley or highland
So meet for a bard as this lone little island ?

One of the best, if not the very best,
of his minor effusions, the beautiful
lines on "Mary Magdalen," came to
him like a sudden inspiration. He was
occupying the same apartment with
John Augustus Shea, another Cork
poet* — father of Chief Justice Shea of

• Author of "Ruddeki, the Lament of Hellas, and Other
ro'ems"; and "Clontarf; or. The Field of the Green Banner."

550

THE AVE MARIA.

New York, — who had retired to rest,
while his friend still remained up,
musing. Pacing the floor in a medita-
tive mood, he said: "Get up. Shea!
I've a thought." Shea got up, and,
having procured pen, ink, and paper,
jotted down the exquisite lines as they
were uttered by Callanan. They may
be quoted here, in part, as another
specimen of our author at his best :
To the hall of that feast came the sinful and fair ;
She heard in the city that Jesus was there.
She mark'd not the splendor that blaz'd on their

board,
But silently knelt at the feet of the Lord.

She marked but her Saviour, she spoke but in

sighs ;
She dar'd not look up to the heaven of His eyes ;
And the hot tears gush'd forth at each heave

of her breast,
As her lips to His sandal were throbbingly prest.
On the cloud after tempests, as shineth the bow ;
In the glance of the sunbeam, as melteth the snow,
He look'don that lost one — her sins v^ere forgiven,
And Mary went forth in the beauty of Heaven.

As a translator from the Irish, Cal-
lanan may be classed with Clarence
Mangan for fidelity to the letter and
spirit of the original and for force of
expression. "The Dirge of O'SuUivan
Bear" is a masterpiece. The pathetic
incident which inspired it is well known
to readers of Irish history. It belongs
to the epoch "when the French were
in the Bay," — that eighteenth century
w^hich closed so disastrously for Ireland.
In 1827, Callanan's health having
broken down, he accepted the position
of tutor to the family of an Irish gentle-
man in Lisbon. But soon an intense
longing to return to Cork and die in
his native land took possession of him ;
and this desire grew stronger and
stronger as he brooded over the past.
"Here, in a strange country," writes
Mgr. Neville, "without the light of
familiar faces to cheer, he is forced in
upon himself. He reads over the history
of his own past — his mistakes, his
vicissitudes, his disappointments, — and
grows wise and good as he reads. Ill

health has intensified the sensibility of
a naturally highly sensitive mind, and
he is full of shame and sorrow as the
errors and shortcomings of the past ten
years rise before him." In the twilight
of life, prematurely gathering and dark-
ening the horizon, with the "one clear
call" becoming gradually more audible,
he becomes meditative and religious.

In a notebook kept by him at this
time we read the retrospective reflec-
tion: "What a dark waste I leave
behind!" Again: "God pursues me;
I hope God has overtaken me, but not
in His justice. My director in Ireland
told me that God was pursuing me;
my director here in Lisbon says some-
thing similar. I did not wait for God ;
but He followed me over the ocean,
and I hope has overtaken me. A million
of praises to God! I have been at
Communion to-day."

Under date, Christmas, 1827, he
writes: "This night twelvemonth I
was in Clonakilty with dear friends;
this night I am alone in a land of
strangers. But if — as I purpose, please
God, — I seek to be alone with God, I
shall be happy anywhere." In another
place: "Most pure above the angels
and saints, Mary, shall not this harp
be strung to thee, thou loveliest far of
all ever born of earth — woman, but
Mother of Jesus? Virgin, the heaven-
born snow is dark to thy purity and
brightness." This pious thought is akin
to the spirit which suggested one of
his loveliest lyrics, "The Virgin Mary's
Bank," already referred to, and the
scene of which he recalls in the following
lines written in Lisbon:

Beneath tlie sun of Portugal, where golden Tais

shines,
I sat upon the hill that crowns the Valley of the

Vines ;
A breeze came coolly from the north, like an

angel's passing wing,
.^r"^ gently touching it, awaked sad memory's

sleeping string;
I thought upon ray friends and home, and on

my father dear,

THE ■ AVE MARIA.

551

And from my heart there came a sigh, and to

mine eye a tear.
. . . and I thought how happy I should be
Were I upon the Virgin's Bank that looks across

the sea.
His devotion to Our Lady often drew
his thoughts heavenward. In a short
poem headed "On the Last Day," one
of those additional pieces included in
Dean Neville's edition of Callanan's
writings, he thus addresses her:

Oh, thou who, on that hill of blood,
Beside thy Son in anguish stood;
Thou who, above this life of ill,
Art the bright Star to guide us still;
Pray that my soul, its sins forgiv'n,
May find some lonely home in heav'n!

In "The Lament" he gives pathetic
expression to the solemn thought of
death, which frequently crosses his mind
as the sands of life are running low :

Awake, my lyre, though to thy lay no voice of

gladness sings,
Ere yet the viewless power be fled that oft hath

swept thy strings;
I feel the flickering flame of life grow cold within

my breast.
Yet once again, my lyre, awake, and then I sink

to rest.

And must I die? Then let it be, since thus 'tis

better far
Than with the world and conquering fate to

wage eternal war.
Come, then, thou dark and dreamless sleep, to thy

cold clasp I fly
From shattered hopes and blighted heart, and

pangs that can not die.

Yet would I live ; for, oh, at times I feel the tide

of song
In swells of light come strong and bright my

heaving heart along!
Yet would I live, in happier day to wake with

master-hand
A lay that should embalm ray name in Albin's

beauteous land.

'Tis past — my sun has set — I see my coming night.
I never more shall press that hand or meet that

look of light;
Among old Albin's future bards no song of mine

shall rise.
Go, sleep, my harp, — forever sleep ! Go ! leave me

to my sighs!

Harper and harp were soon silenced.
These latest harmonies were like the

dying notes of the swan, — were last
flashes of fancy, the flickering of the
flame before it w^ent out. In the
autumn of 1829 he went on board a
vessel bound for Cork, but it was too
late. His symptoms became so alarm-
ing that he was obliged to return
to Lisbon, where he passed away on
September 19.

The year of his death witnessed the
issue of the first edition of his poems.*
This was followed in 1847 by another
edition, with biographical introduction
and notes, edited by the father of
Justin McCarthy, historian, novelist
and journalist.

Besides the additional poems incor-
porated in Dean Neville's edition — the
best of which are: "A Lay of Mizen
Head," descriptive of the wreck of the
Confiance, sloop of war, lost in April,
1822; and "Wellington's Name," in
which he poetically anathematizes the
Iron Duke in terms almost as scathing
as those in which Moore scathed
George IV.,— D. F. McCarthy, in his
"Book of Irish Ballads," quotes from
Bolster's Quarterly Magazine (Cork,
1826) two translations from the Irish
by Callanan, which escaped the notice
of previous editors: "The Lamenta-
tion of Felix McCarthy" and "Cusheen
Loo." McCarthy classes Callanan with
Griffin, Davis and Ferguson, as a
ballad poet, — no small praise from one
poet to another.

Callanan lies buried in Lisbon; but
a Celtic cross, with a suitable inscrip-
tion, has been erected by public sub-
scription, in view of Gougaune Barra
and the "green island in deep-vallied
Desmond," as a fitting memorial of
the bard who sang so sweetly of
"Finbarra's shrine." t

* "The Recluse of Inchldony, and Other Poems." By
J. J. Callanan. London: Hurst, Chance & Co.

t The parish priest of Inchigeela, tlie Rev. P. Hurley,
in whose parish Gougaune Barra is situated, has built
an oratory on the island, the funds having been supplied
by an American tourist attracted to the place which
Callanan has helped to make famous.

552

THE AVE MARIA.

A "Heart Tinker."

BY M. J. K.

a

ND tell me what will you be,
avourneenF" said Mrs. Maloney,
as she finished off the last stitch on her
shining knitting needle, and turned the
stocking in her hand before beginning
on the next one.

"A heart tinker," Billy answered
gravely, as he stroked the fur of the
old cat in his lap, and looked into the
fire with big, childish eyes of unnatural
gravity.

"A what?" asked his sister Kitty,
contemptuously. "Who ever heard of
such a trade as that ? "

The little fellow was silent; he still
stroked the cat.

"Can't you say you'll be a soldier
like Jack, or a shopkeeper like Michael, —
aye, or even a smith? But a tinker, a
mender of old gallons and cans!"

"I didn't say I'd mend cans," was
the indignant reply: "I said I'd mend
hearts; didn't I, mother?"

Mrs. Maloney smiled. , She paused in
her knitting for a second, to stroke the
curly head resting against her knee.
They were all around her on the
hearth, ^- her treasures, her very own
possessions: her blue -eyed girleen, her
two sturdy sons, and her youngest,
Billy, her little Benjamin.

"How will you set about mending
hearts, Billy?" Jack, the future soldier,
asked indifferently, as he concentrated
his energies on the wheel of a cannon
that had come out of its place upon
the hearth.

"I don't know," the would-be tinker
answered gravely. "I'll rivet little bits
on the outside; I couldn't cut out the
hearts to piece them."

Mrs. Maloney took the chubby boy
upon her knee.

"God love you for an ounchic !" she
laughed fondly. "You couldn't mend

them that way, but you can mend them
the way I'll tell you. Al-ways say the
kind w^ord and the tender one; listen
quietly and gently when poor creatures
say they're sick or sore or sorry; give
a helping hand when you can to such
poor neighbors as Mick Flood and
Peggie Caffery; pick the potatoes for
Aunty Walsh that's not able to bend
with the rheumatics ; bring her the
water from the well, and turn home
the goat in the evening. That's the
kind of a 'heart tinker' my little son
can be, and the one I'd like to see
him,"— kissing the flaxen head tenderly
and rocking him on her knee.

" I'd rather have a wallet like Pirrie
Kelly, and put on little pieces with a
hammer," Billy said thoughtfully, after
a little pause.

"The bits you'll put on, alanna, the
way I'm telling 3^ou will never come
off," Mrs. Maloney said fondly. "You
couldn't be a heart tinker any other
way."

"Couldn't he be a doctor, mother?"
Jack asked abruptly.

"Aye, my son, he could; but all the
medicines ever were mixed wouldn't be
half as good at mending hearts as the
way I'm telling you. When the cat
killed your canary a week ago, and
your heart was sick fretting, which
would you rather: that I'd have taken
you in my arms and listened to you
sobbing, and tried to comfort you,
or have taken down the black bottle
and given you a dose of it, and
said, 'lack alanna, 'tis a physic you
want''?"

The boy laughed; he looked up at
his mother with a smile.

"Your way was the best, mother,"
he said softly. " I know now what you
mean by heart tinkering."

For a long time after that there was
silence in the little cottage kitchen, each
busy brain thinking its own thoughts,
while the mother's shining needles flew
in and out of the blue stocking with

THE AVE MARIA.

553

a little clicking noise that disturbed
no one.
Then the "tinker" spoke again:
"I'll be such a great mender that
every man will send for me from every
place, — soldiers and doctors and kings
and policemen; and I'll make such a
heap of guineas I'll buy the court and
live like Squire Maloney."

" My lanna bawa ! " hir, mother
laughed, "you have great notions of
your own powers entirely. But you'll be
nothing at all, avourneen, unless God
and Hjs Blessed Mother will help j'ou.
And if you want to be a great man,
you must first be a very humble little
boy, and say j-our prayers and mind
your lessons, and practise the heart
tinkering the way I'm telling you; and
then who knows but when you're a big
man like daddy, some day or another
God may give you the chance of doing
something great for Him, and let you
put on some poor creature's heart a
piece that will shine out like the sun
before Him for all eternity in heaven,
and make Him when He sees it think
kindly of my poor curly- headed lanna
coora?"

And the good woman flung her
knitting over on the black oak settee,
and bent her tender face down on the
flaxen head of Billy, while she breathed
a prayer for the welfare of her boy,
that his Guardian Angel, hearing, bore
at once away to the foot of God's
own Mother's throne in heaven.

Years passed, and, under the shadow
of a giant yew in Rathronan church-
yard, Mrs. Maloney, with most of her
kin, lay sleeping. All her little family
had scattered like birds from the nests
of last year, and most of them had
settled down into homes of their own,
and begun the battle of life on their
own account. Kitty was a happy wife
and mother, far away in a Texas
valley, married to a man of her own
faith and from her own country and

her own native village. Michael, the
staj'^-at-home, was a thriving hardware
merchant, making money by the bucket-
ful when last I heard of him. Jack,
the soldier, alas! was resting on the
sands of an Egyptian battlefield, his
warfare over, all his fighting done.

The poor "heart .tinker," too, had
vanished, gone out into the big world,
and Rathronan knew him no more.
He had grown up the scapegrace of
the family, with more swear words
on his yellow head than blessings;
a wild, reckless chap, that was still
dearer than all the rest of the Maloneys
to the neighbors; for had he not on
one occasion got the priest for a dying
sinner when the roads were impassable,
with snow and drifts lying fathoms
deep on the hillside ? And had he not
saved the miller's infant son from
the flames when the old mill took
fire ? And was he not the best
hurler and the best wrestler from
Rathronan to Kinsale? And who ever
wanted "heart tinkers" in Rathronan?
He had forgotten all about his early
intentions by the time his mother died.
Shortly after that he started for
California, where he intended to grow
fruit and, of course, make money.

Five years later a neighbor met Billy
in 'Frisco. He had not grown the fruit,
and did not seem to be making money ;
in fact, from the neighbor's account, he
seemed "down on his luck," and would
not even go and have a drink when the
neighbor asked him. He said he would
call at his hotel, but never did. And
after that letter from Tom Cassidy he
dropped out of people's memory; so
the poor "heart tinker" was as one
that was dead to Rathronan.

Now I happen to have a Sister who
Is a nun in St. Michael's Hospital for
incurables in 'Frisco, and I had a letter
from her a month ago, and this is a
part of it :

"Such a strange thing happened here
a few weeks ago! — so strange that

554

THE AVE MARIA.

I'll tell you all about it now. A young
Irishman was brought into this hos-
pital, fearfully injured from a fall of
several stories from one of the tenement
houses, in one of the worst quarters of
the city. It seems the house took fire,
and in the top room there was a woman
with half a dozen helpless children ; the
w^oman was dying of consumption,
and was unable to give any assistance ;
and they w^ere all in danger of being
burned to death, when this man made
his way through the burning building
to the very top, and in a few seconds
w^as seen standing in the window with
a child in his arms, calling for help.
The firemen had arrived by that time,
and ladders were placed against the
house, and brave men scaled them;
w^hile the hose piayed on the flames,
and all that human aid could do was
done to save the inmates and put out
the fire.

"It seemed in vain, however; and six
times that man returned to the burning
room behind him, and six terrified
children he passed to the waiting fire-
men on the ladders ; then, scorched and
blackened, he brought out the dying
woman last, and saw her safely handed
down, stage after stage, to the ground,
when he prepared to descend himself.
But by this time the ladders had become
ignited, and the poor fellow was only
one or two stories down when they
suddenly collapsed, and fell with a crash
out into the street below.

"Now comes the strange part of the
story. For a full week after the Irish-
man's admittance to this hospital,
the door was besieged with callers of
the very poorest and most miserable
of 'Frisco's poor and miserable (and
that is saying a great deal), inquiring
for the 'Heart Tinker,'— for, if you'll
believe me, that is the name my grand-
souled Irishman was known by. Men,
women and children of every denomi-
nation came inquiring. And tears and
sighs and blessings followed these

inquiries; and poor, pinched, starved
faces lit up with joy when we told
them he was better. Now, you know,
my besetting sin was always curiosity ;
and, as I am an Irishwoman, I made
it my business to find out what I
could about my poor countryman.

"I can not write you half of what
those poor people told me. My ' Heart
Tinker' must have been very dear to
God, for his charity seems to have been
unbounded. The sick and sorrowful
and homeless and old seem to have
been his particular care, and men and
women poured out into my ears his way
of helping them and comforting them.

"'Sure he gave us the kind word
and the hand grip when he had nothing
else to give,' one poor woman told
me with tears. 'And his room was
always full of the homeless and the
starving; and there was a shelter for
our heads and a bit of fire to dry our
rags when the rain was coming from
the sky in torrents.'

"'Aye,' an old fellow chimed in, 'and
he'd talk of the football and the hurling
and the bonfires in Ireland tUl we'd
forget we were starving and shivering,
and would fancy we were back among
all the old neighbors at home. And he'd
talk of God's mercy to them that were
hopeless and sunk down almost to hell
in sin ; and put before them the gentle-
ness and the poverty of God's own
Blessed Mother; telling how she had
no place to put her little Babe in but
the manger in a stable in Bethlehem,
under the beasts' heads, so that their
breath would keep Him warm; and
how she had no cushion or carpet under
her knees when she knelt down to adore
Him, ---nothing only the cold ground.
And did we think when she knelt down
there and asked her Son for her sake to
pity us poor sinners, that He wouldn't
do it? Sure it stands to reason that
He would.'

"'Ah, woman dear,' a rough-looking
old fellow interrupted rudely, 'you'd

THE AYE MARIA.

555

be the devil himself if your heart
wouldn't be softened listening to him
and mixing with him ! He was an angel
down straight trom heaven, was our
"Heart Tinker"; and I never want to
know a better. All were for us: his
earnings, his time, — everything; and he
never thought of himself at all, — never
at all. He did more ggod among the
likes of us than any preacher that
ever stood in a pulpit. His life was a
sermon from morning to night, so it
was ; and, may God give him back once
more to us ! '

"He dashed the hot drops from his
eyes with the back of his grimy hand
ere turning away ; and my heart swelled
with pride to know my countryman
was their 'Heart Tinker.' It was the
same story for the whole week before
he died, — for he did die, poor fellow!
much as they all wanted him to stay.
And I was the Sister told off to be with
him at the last. He seemed to be in
very little pain after he was anointed,
and smiled when I asked him if he
was better.

"'I'll soon be all right, Sister!' he
answered genially. ' I don't think it
will be very long now.'

"I smoothed his pillow, and flecked a
drop of holy water over him from the
stoup beside the bed.

" ' Would 3'ou like to have a message
sent home?' I asked hesitatingly.

He laughed feebly.

" ' I'd like to have a notice of my
death sent to the parish priest of
Rathronan, County Tipperary,' he said,
smiling gravely, 'asking him to pray
from the holy altar for one Bill Malonej'
who died out here in 'Fri.sco.'"

Fly Home!

BY MARY M. REDMOND.

Do you wish to be great? Then
begin by being little. Do you desire to
construct a vast and Jofty fabric?
Think first about the foundation of
humility. The higher your struvture is
to be, the deejjer must be its founda-
tion.— St. Augustine.

OOWEVER far afield they roam,

When night draws near, the birds fly home.
With joyous cries and twitterings.
Or spent and tired, with lagging wings,
A million weary, wand'ring things
Fly home.

In life's fair morn the way seems sweet,
With flowers nodding at our feet;
But all too soon our pleasures pall,
And all too soon the shadows fall;
Then, spent and tired, we hear the call —
Fly home !

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SADLIBR.

XXXIX.— Thf Full Knowledge.
HEN Jim Bretherton reached

®

the Manor, everyone save Lord
Ay 1 ward had retired. He was still up,
writing letters in his room ; and,
exchanging a word with his friend in
passing, was struck by the grave, tense
expression of the latter's face.

Once in the stillness of his own apart-
ment, young Mr. Bretherton seated
himself in an armchair and spread out
before him upon a table those papers
which had been given to him at the
mill-house. He did not know what they
contained, — he could only conjecture
from the information which he had
already received from Mother Moulton ;
nor had it occurred to him to inquire
by what means they had come into
the younger woman's possession.

The light of the electric jets above
fell full upon the yellow and time-worn
documents, as the young man slowly
opened them. The very first bore upon
its surface, in legible, clerkly characters,
"Last Will and Testament of Evrard
Lcnnon, Gentleman." It was executed
under his own hand and seal, and

556

THE AVE MARIA.

antedated his death by at least six
months. The will was in favor of his
beloved wife, Janet Maxwell, to whom
were bequeathed house, lands and
fortune. It was expressly declared that,
since the marriage, performed by a
justice of the peace in the town of
Concord, had been kept secret, this
instrument was intended to provide for
the wife, her heirs and inheritors forever,
in the event of her husband's death.

Jim Bretherton shivered as he seemed
to hear this voice from the dead; and,
with a strange feeling of unreality, he
laid down that document which so
plainly attested the integrity of the
deceased and his desire to do jvistice
to the woman whom he had married.

"Evidently," thought he, "my uncle
Reverdy was unaware of the existence
of this document, which seems to have
been kept secret by the legatee, — if,
indeed, the hideous hag at the mill-
house is identical with the woman
whom Evrard Lennon married."

This paper, however, corroborated her
statement regarding the privacy of
the marriage, which, being celebrated
away from Millbrook, in the town of
Concord, was unknown to the rela-
tives of the bridegroom. The will was
accompanied by a copy of the mar-
riage certificate, which guaranteed the
validity, at least in a legal point of
view, of that ceremony.

Though this document considerably
impoverished young Bretherton, and
left him more or less dependent upon
his father and upon the prospective
favors of wealthy relatives in whom
the family abounded, it was far less
of a shock to his sensibility than was
the paper upon which he next laid his
hand. He drew a deep breath before
opening it, wondering what further
vagary of fortune it might disclose.

When he began to read, he could
scarcely believe his eyes, which wan-
dered in bewilderment over the page.
It was a written deposition of Eben

Knox, duly signed and attested before
a notary, in which he related cir-
cumstantially all that had occurred
upon that memorable night of which
frequent — perhaps too frequent — men-
tion has already been made in previous
chapters. It was wild and weird in
the extreme, like a page from some
ancient romance ; and it illustrated once
more the fact that truth is very often
stranger than fiction.

There was no rhetoric, no attempt
at dramatic effect; only strong, terse
language, brutal almost in its simplic-
ity, charging Reverdy Bretherton with .
the death of his cousin. It, moreover,
implicated Miss Tabitha Brown as an
accomplice after the fact, by reason of
her silence, and of the pressure which
she and her fellow-conspirator had put
upon Eben Knox, then a lad of fifteen,
to preserve such silence. And the two
were likewise charged with having
permitted the arrest, the arraignment
and condemnation to life-imprisonment
of an innocent man.

The lowering clouds, the darkness
relieved by a waning moon, the alder
bushes stirred by a moaning wind,
were introduced simply as part of the
narrative ; and it required no very vivid
imagination on the part of the reader
to conjure up that scene in its wild
intensity: the fall, the splash in the
water, the ghastly scar upon the white
face over which the waters were pres-
ently to close, to be seen no more save
in the awful rigidity of death.

Jim Bretherton was thrilled with an
indescribable horror at this thing of
which his kinsman had been capable.
Uncle Reverdy, whom as a boy he
had loved and admired, who had been
so prodigal of "tips," so apparently
kind-hearted and benevolent, — he it
was who had come into possession of
Evrard Lennon's goods, and who had
apparently enjoyed them without a
thought of remorse! He had held
his head high, indeed, in Millbrook

THE AVE MARIA.

557

and in the State; he had made an
advantageous marriage, and had been
considered in every way as an honor
to the familj'.

With a bitter pang at thought of the
Bretherton name and the Bretherton
honor thus tainted, Jim pushed away
the incriminating papers and leaned
back in his chair, a prey to the most
painful emotions. Well might Mother
Moulton have warned him that he
would be happier without the knowl-
edge just obtained. Ever since the
Garden of Eden, knowledge has been
either the cause or the consequence of
sorrow.

Even the thought of Leonora came
painfully into his mind. He could no
longer offer her that most excellent
gift — a name which had never known
the shadow of dishonor. And, thinking
of Miss Tabitha's niece, he naturally
remembered the aunt and her connec-
tion with the tragic story he had heard.
It seemed incredible that Tabitha, of all
people, should have had part in such
events, — she who in appearance was
so harmless, so inoffensive, so exactly
suited to her surroundings. The Cot-
tage with its rose vines, the garden
with its flower beds, bordered by the
prim row of sunflowers, were precisely
in harmony with Tabitha's apparent
character. The young man marvelled
that she could have lent herself to the
transaction, and he missed the clue
which his elders could have supplied —
Miss Tabitha's early affection for
Reverdy Bretherton.

There was still a third document
lying untouched upon the table. There
it lay, portentous in its relation to
those already read. What further reve-
lations might it not contain, fatal for
evermore to his unclouded peace of
mind ! With a determination to know
finally whatever was .still hidden, Jim
Bretherton unfolded the pages, again
in the handwriting of Eben Knox, who,
as a malignant genius, had seemed to

conjure up this whole harrowing drama.
It was easy to see now why Miss
Tabitha had feared him, and why he
had played upon her fears .till she had
consented to sacrifice Leonora. It was
not so strange, from her narrow and
limited point of view, that she had
deemed it best, in his own interests,
to sacrifice himself as well and to keep
inviolate the secrets so long buried.

Eben Knox related with cynical
frankness his own share in what
followed. Having, at the instigation
of those concerned, observed silence,
he kept a close watch upon Reverdy
Bretherton; though he had never
attempted to make use of the power
over him so strangely acquired. Had
Leonora never come into the question,
it seemed probable that the mill-
manager would have allowed the secret
to lie fallow.

Chiefly through a motive of curiosity,
he had, however, followed the culprit's
movements, and had tracked him once
more to the alder bushes. There, in
the wan and shadowy moonlight, he
had beheld him dig a grave, — not,
indeed, to inter the body of the dead,
which was already at rest, but to
conceal the copy of Evrard Lennon's
will and his marriage certificate.

With an involuntary movement of
shame and confusion, Jim Bretherton
covered his face with his hands. The
indignant blood suffused his very fore-
head ; for here was an act which had
not even the miserable palliation of
self-preservation. It was the deliberate
robbing the poor widow of her inherit-
ance. It was a mean and dishonest
act, unworthy of a man, much less a
gentleman with the high standard and
traditions of the Brethertons.

It was a relief to the young man's
overwrought feelings to compare one
kinsman with the other. Wild and
reckless as Evrafd Lennon had been,
he had at least endeavored to do a
tardy justice to the wife he had married

558

THE AYE MARIA.

and, at any cost to his own reputation,
to place her beyond the reach of want.

It was some moments before Jim
Bretherton could continue the perusal
of that hateful document, traced by
the hand of spite and treachery. Eben
Knox, having witnessed the conceal-
ment of the papers in the space under
the alder bushes, had seized a favorable
opportunity, later in that same night,
to disinter them, and to set down in
writing what he had observed. He had
also contrived to possess himself of a
letter written anon3'^mously by Reverdy
Bretherton to the widow, advising her
to fly, lest she be accused of participa-
tion in the murder. Eben Knox related
how he had been charged with the
delivery of that letter, had opened
and read it upon the way, sealing it
up again and conveying it to Janet
Maxwell at the encampment.

He described how he had seen her
standing there with an infant in her
arms, and how the child had started
and cried at sight of him, since when,
he owned, he had been oddly moved
at times by the crying of a child, as
though it were demanding its inheri-
tance. He dwelt in detail upon the
gyps}' girl's beauty, somewhat dark and
swarthy, which had made her famous
throughout the neighborhood, and had
induced manj' wild young men to visit
the tents and to have their fortune
told hy Janet. Claiming descent from
Scotch gypsy stock, the girl had been in
her own way proud and distant and
had repelled those would-be admirers,
save that one handsome and reckless
gentleman who had persuaded her into
a secret marriage.

The young woman, terrified at the
possibility of being charged with
murder, and dazed by grief at her
husband's untimely death, fled the coun-
try. Her whereabouts was unknown,
and it was many years later before
Eben Knox succeeded in discovering her
place of concealment. She was then

prematurely old and without a trace
of her fatal beauty. Eben Knox, who
had his own reasons for wishing to
keep her within reach, engaged her as
his housekeeper and re-christened her
Mother Moulton. A generation or two
had passed. Few remembered the gypsy
girl, and none would have recognized
her in the beldame of the mill -house.

While regarding this tissue of black
and more or less premeditated villainy,
in which so many actors had taken
a greater or less part, the thought
which was uppermost in the mind of
Jim Bretherton was that his father's
brother, his Uncle Reverdy, should have
been so utterly false to the traditions
of his race, so lost to all sense of
honor, of right feeling, and of moral
responsibility ; and it was this thought
which kept him pacing the room long
after he had read the last page of
that woful record.

There was but one bright spot in
all the darkness, and this was the cer-
tainty that it was on this account that
Leonora had acted as she did. He
wondered how much she knew of the
dark tragedy of the past; and he felt
convinced that she could have been
only imperfectly acquainted witli its
details. For he was aware that she
was far too right-minded and too
enlightened in the principles of her faith
to countenance a flagrant wrong done
to others. He felt an entire confidence
in her integrity, and this was the highest
compliment he could have paid her. In
all the confusion of his thoughts, he
never for an instant doubted her.

Miss Tabitha and Eben Knox had,
indeed, terrified Leonora, and probably
represented the benefit which she would
confer upon the Brethertons by purchas-
ing the hitter's silence. He felt certain
that they had not explained to her how
matters really stood. As for the aunt,
he pitied her weakness rather than
condemned her wrongdoing; and he
conjectured that her motive, partly at

THE AVE MARIA.

559

least, in observing secrecy, was her
loyalty to the family of the Manor.

It was characteristic of the young
man's character that he never for a
momeht considered the possibility of
observing secrecy himself, or of endeav-
oring to secure the continued silence of
Eben Knox. The one evident course
that occurred to him was to right
at any cost the wrongs of years. In
those bitter hours he felt as if he had
suddenly grown old; as if the careless
and unclouded happiness of that night
of the tableaux, when he had stood
with Leonora upon the moonlit lawn,
with the strains of "Amaryllis" sound-
ing in their ears, could never come
again. The gloom and the Sorrow of
life seemed to have fallen upon him
and encompassed him round.

Youth, finding in tribulation an un-
familiar figure, shrinks from its aspect
in an intensity of repugnance. Maturity
meets it soberly and sadly indeed, but
with a firmer aspect, since it is no
longer unknown. Age, w^ith weary eyes,
gazes upon it as something of daily
use and wont, forever upspringing in
the pathway of existence.

But from the darkness of that mid-
night emerged the idea of Leonora,
as the moon comes forth the brighter
from the blackest cloud. Their mutual
love appeared for the first time in its
true character, bom to soar above the
anguish and stress of the years; no
thing of roses or of gossamer clouds,
no midsummer phantom, but a strong,
brave and true affection, destined to
survive the fiercest storms, the most
fiery affliction. The young man realized
then what it would be to have Leonora
at his side in the face of misfortune.
Intuitively, he obtained a clearer com-
prehension of her qualities than is
sometimes the result of years of
ordinary association.

As he sat there under the electric
light, with the papers spread out in
front of him, or paced the room with

a rapid, excited step, Jim Bretherton's
face took on a new resolution, a new
intensity of expression. It was no
longer merely handsome and careless:
the lines had deepened, a hint of stern-
ness was apparent in its very calmness.
The strain of those hours coming upon
the unhappiness of the previous anxiety
and suspense with regard to Leonora,
had done the work of years.

Even after he had gone to bed, the
young man slept but little, and the
night slowly wore its tedious length
away. For the night, is the crucial time
when the woes of life press upon the
soul of man. He is conscious then of
his insignificance in the battle of the
universe. In the strenuous working-
day, effort seems possible, sorrow is
thrown aside, and the body reassumes
its share in the twofold partnership of
pain and care.

As early as possible in the morning,
Jim Bretherton sought his father, to
whom he was anxious to communicate
the singular facts which had come to
his knowledge. They had both been at
Mass, according to custom; and when
breakfast was over, the ex-Governor sat
in his library, reading the newspaper.
It had occurred to him during breakfast
that his son was looking unusually pale
and grave, and he fancied that the
mother had noted the same circum-
stance. But he reassured himself, smil-
ing as he reflected that, at Jim's time
of life, a quarrel with a sweetheart may
darken the landscape equally with the
overthrow of an empire.

He laid down his newspaper, however,
when his son appeared upon the library
threshold with the announcement that
he had something important to say.
As Jim took a chair near his father, the
latter leaned forward and laid a hand
upon his shoulder, with the olden kind-
ness which had met so many boyish
difficulties. The eyes of the ex-Governor
were half sad, half humorous.

•^'Well, my boy," he .said, "is she less

560

THE AYE MARIA

kind, and does the sun in consequence
refuse its light? Keep a brave heart.
The sun will shine and my lady smile
to-morrow."

A pang smote the young man as he
looked at the noble figure of his father
seated there in his ancestral home, the
strong face relaxed into tenderness, and
thought of the stainless and honorable
name he had borne unsullied to the
very verge of old age.

"Father," he answered, "I am sorry
to say that I have to speak of a very
serious and disagreeable matter which
concerns us all."

The father was silent for just an
instant. Though he could not, of
course, conjecture the nature of his
son's communication, experience makes
a man fearful of possible m'sfortune.
He let his eyes rest upon the flood
of sunlight which streamed over and
about him and out at the long French
w^indow, losing itself in the limitless
brightness beyond.

"This brightness," he said tranquilly,
"reminds me, dear boy, how the light
of God's loving care shines around
us, and must ultimately dispel the
darkest shadows. So whatever your
news may be, out with it."

He listened attentively to what Jim
had to tell; and for a brief space he
bent his head, and Jim fancied that he
murmured a prayer. It was hard to
hear these things of the brother whom
he had loved long ago in the sunny
days of boyhood. Whatever Reverdy's
faults had been, no one could ever
have dreamed of such misdemeanors as
these, which cast so dark a stain upon
the knightly shield of the Brethertons.
Perhaps it was only such a nature as
the father's, and that of the son who
so closely resembled him, that could
have felt the blow with such intensity.

It was the son's turn to lay a hand
tenderly upon his father's shoulder. At
the touch the Governor raised his head
with an air of manly fortitude, despite

the suffering depicted upon his features.

"My boy," he said, "this is an
unexpected trial. Let us accept it from
the right hand of the Most High, and
nerve ourselves for the consequences.
While we meet the trial bravely, we
must consider what it is incumbent
upon us to do."

"To right the wrongs! " Jim Brether-
ton cried eagerly, as a young knight
who is about to enter the lists.

"Yes, that must be our first con-
sideration," the Governor answered.
"Oh, how could mj' poor brother have
ever been so ill-advised as to keep
silence, and at another's expense! The
original occurrence was, no doubt, the
accidental result of a quarrel. Reverdy
was always hot-headed. No one would
ever have believed that it w^as pre-
meditated. But now — now it is
deplorable, indeed!"

He sat a few moments in deep and
painful thought; then he said, almost
as if he were musing aloud :

"And, with all his shortcomings,
Evrard Lennon was such a fine fellow !
Though led astray by wild companions,
he was the most honorable, the most
generous, the most high-minded of
men, — such another as I believed my
brother to be. Oh, Reverdy, — poor,
poor Reverdy! "

He paused in deep emotion, forget-
ting everything in the gush of warm
brotherly love for the erring, who slept
in the peace of the all -forgiving grave.

Perhaps Jim, after the fashion of
youth, was inclined to condemn unre-
servedly the uncle who had brought
this evil upon them. The Governor,
however, in the ripeness of his judgment,
in the perfecting and developing of his
own character which had been the
work ~o{ years, was tolerant and pitiful
to a fault toward the offences of others.

"Do not judge him too harshly, my
son," he pleaded. "Remember he is
dead, and he was such a lovable,
kindly boy!"

THE AYE MARIA.

561

The ex -Governor looked away over
the sunlit landscape visible from the
window, as if he discerned there in
that radiant distance the playmate of
his youth. And Jim, grieved at the
suffering which he read upon his father's
face, ventured the suggestion :

"I wonder if the whole story could
be an invention ? '•'

The Governor shook his head.

"The man would never have dared
to fabricate such a tissue of falsehood ;
nor would he have quoted living
witnesses, such as Miss Tabitha Brown.
Poor soul! she must have endured her
own punishment. And it was to save
Reverdy, to save us, that she involved
herself in this miserable affair."

"But how could she have been so
mistaken?"

"She loved your Uncle Reverdy," the
Governor explained, in a low voice.
"There was an early attachment
between them, which for family consid-
erations was put aside. When it was
too late, it was felt that it would have
lieen better to let Reverdy follow his
inclination. He loved her, too, poor
fellow! He was very unhappy at the
separation brought about between
them. Love is a genuine power, let the
cynics say what they will."

To this Jim gave an unqualified assent.

"I should be the last to minimize its
power," he declared.

"I am glad to hear j'ou say so!" the
Governor exclaimed heartily.

After this, there was a pause, occupied
by Jim in reviewing the situation, with
the new and softened light thrown
upon Miss Tabitha and upon Reverdy
by their ill-starred attachment, which
neither had the strength to bring to a
happy conclusion.

"How about Mr. Knox?" .said the
Governor, Ijreaking the silence. "One
of us must see him immediately."

"Leave that to me!" cried Jim. "It
will be a duty and a pleasure to tell
him my opinion."

The father reflected.
"I suppose I may leave the prelimi-
naries, at least, in your hands. But
keep cool, Jim my boy ! Give the fellow
no unnecessary provocation."

"Provocation!" echoed the son. "I
should like to strangle him, especially
when I remember how he has dared to
persecute Leonora."

"Man will dare much for love, and
you should not be too hard upon him,
since in the latter particular you
are rowing in the same boat. Still, I
must admit our manager of the mill
has proved himself a thoroughpaced
scoundrel."

Jim, however, could least of all forgive
Eljen Knox that he had aspired to
Leonora, and had sought to terrorize
her into accepting his suit.

"I leave it for the present in your
hands," repeated the Governor, — "not
with a view, however, to shirking my
share of the responsibility. And I am
glad to. feel assured that no principle
of right or justice will be violated
by you."

"We shall try to do justice to every-
one," said Jim, standing up tall and
straight before his father, who stretched
out his hand to clasp that of his son.
He had always loved his only surviving
boy with a passionate affection ; but
at that moment he respected him as
man to man, and reposed an absolute
confidence in his integrity.

On the threshold Jim turned back an
instant to say :

"You will tell mother what you think
best."

"Yes," said the Governor. "We must
spare her all we can."

(To be continued. 1

God alternately conceals and reveals
Himself in order the better to be seen.
His silence enhances the effect of His
words. It was His burial that gave
cretlit to His resurrection. — Lacordaire.

562

THE AYE MARIA

An October Fancy.

By Denis A. McCarthy.

HAVE you ever been awakened
at midnight by tlje thunderous
murmur of the incoming tide? Have
you ever hstened to wave after wave
as in regular succession they rolled in
and broke upon the beach? Have you
ever marked the deep, steadj'-, never-
hasting, never - resting reverberation,
w^hich makes the solemn and mysterious
night still more solemn and mysterious ?
Sound and silence— sound and silence —
sound and silence, — so it continues for
hours and hours of the night.

And such a sound ! And such a silence !
Can there be anything like it in all the
world, — anything so awe-inspiring,
anything so reminiscent of that dread
beginning of time when the spirit of
God moved upon the face of the deep!
How little — how very, very little and
insignificant everything else seems, in
comparison with this vast primitive
force! The rush and roar of a distant
express train comes borne to your
ears on the summer wind, but it sounds
as thin and ineffectual as a boy's tin
toy drawn over a table. The very
regularity and rhythm of the sea
at midnight is of itself appalling and
awe-inspiring. It is as if one were
listening privily and without right to
the sound made by the mechanism of
God's vast system of creation. It is
like the noise of the pendulum which
the Almighty Hand set swinging at
the dawn of time. It is more — it is
like the heartbeat of the Universe !

Have I said that there is nothing in
all the world like this sound of the sea
at midnight? I am mistaken. Have
you ever been in some vast church
.thronged with men ? Have you ever
hushed your own voice, and listened
to the deep roar of that vast multitude
"answering" the Rosary? If so, has

it not brought back with startling
suddenness to your mind the rhythmic
roll of the waves upon the shore? I
say if it has not, you are lacking in
imagination ! To me nothing is more
suggestive of the regular beat, the
murmurous thunder of the starlit sea
upon the silent coast, than the regular
roll of the "Holy M^rys," blended into
one mighty volume of sound, sweeping
through the vaulted aisles of some
sacred edifice.

And with the similarity of sound
there comes over me the same feeling
of awe, the same sense of being in the
presence of a vast and potent force.
I quiver as I hear again and again
the regular beat of that sea of sound
against the walls and lofty roof; and
I fancy I see each blended, deep-toned,
recurrent " Holy Mary " passing all
material bounds, and rolling onward
through the immensity of space till
it finally breaks against the throne of
Mary, the Queen of Heaven.

A Noble Profession of Faith.

ONE incident related in Father
Vaughan's book, " Viajes en
Espaiia y Sud- America," deserves to be
translated and widely read. It took
place in the year 1897, during the debate
on the Budget in the House of Deputies
at Santiago de Chile.

Since its independence, the Southern
Republic has enjoyed good government.
In the beginning, the solution of political
problems was sought by force ; but very
soon the people of Chile abandoned the
methods of revolutionists, and earned
the happiness of living under a wise
and honored government. It used to
be said, and with some truth, that,
although in name a republic, Chile
was in reality an oligarchy in the
hands of opulent families, owners of
large estates, whose ancestrj^ went back
beyond colonial times. Of late year's,

THE AVE MARIA.

563

however, there has been a change ; and
while the government possesses those
quaHties which obtain for it the respect
of all, the different political parties
through their representatives direct the
ship of State. These parties are known
as Conservative, Liberal, and Radical.

On the occasion referred to, the part
of the Budget relating to Worship was
being hotly discussed. One of the prom-
inent members of the Radical party, a
man of recognized ability, was energet-
ically condemning some of the items
for Worship, and, carried away by the
heat of debate, expressed himself in
terms that, from every point of view,
were blasphemous.

He had scarcely ended his speech when
a member of the Conservative party,
Don Macario Ossa, took the floor.
After referring in courteous terms to
the previous speiker, he declared that
he had listc.icJ with surprise and horror
to his discourse, and could not but
deplore that, in the honorable Chamber
of Deputies of a Catholic nation like
Chile, such words should have been
uttered and such an insult offered to
the Deity. Then, turning toward the
president, he said that with his per-
mission he would offer, there and
then, an act of reparation to Almighty
God.

A most profound silence reigned
throughout the Chamber when Senor
Ossa, placing himself on his knees, and
with arms outstretched in the form of
a cross, recited in a loud, impressive
voice the Apostles' Creed. An act so
heroic, it is needless to add, won for
him the respect and esteem of all.

Xe.xt to the union of the human
nature to the divine, which we adore
in Jesus Christ, and to the union of
maternity to virginity, which we ven-
erate in Mary, there is no union more
admirable than the union of our will
to the win of God. — Anon.

-Calendar Thoughts.

•If you won't listen to Reason, she'll
rap you over the knuckles. — Franklin.

Opponents are teachers who cost us
nothing. — F. de Lesseps.

Time appears long only to those who
don't know how to use it. — Dubay.

Those who always creep are the only
ones that never fall. — V. de Laprade.

Knowledge of the world consists in
respecting its futilities. — Mmc. Campan.

We give our pity- more readily than
our esteem. — X. de Maistre.

There's nothing new in the world save
what has been forgotten. — Bardin.

Never make tears flow: God counts
them. — Mme. de Lambert.

Every revelation of a secret is the
fault of him who first told it.

— La BrvySre.

No passion is more hurtful to the
reason than anger. — Montaigne.

Evil is man's going with the current ;
good is his stemming it. — Anon.

Folly always deserves iis misfortunes.
— N. Roqueplan.

Economy is the second Providence of
the human race. — Mirabeau.

Talent develops in solitude, character
in society. — Goethe.

The idle man kills time, time kills the
idle man. — Commerson.

To chastise with anger is not punish-
ment but vengeance.

— De Labrousse-Rochefort.
'Tis not enough to read everything:
one must digest what one has read.

— Bou/Hers.
Cleanliness is the setting of old age.

— La Harpc.
^ The excess of a man's vanity equals
the lack of his good sense. — Pope.

The best pleasantries are the shortest.

— Satis.

564

THE AVE MARIA

Sunday Rest Does Not Impoverish.

Notes and Remarks.

UNDERLYING the wholesale viola-
tion of the Third Commandment
in so many European cities— a violation
which, unfortunately, is becoming more
and more common in our own country —
is the idea that cessation from business
or work on Sunday must necessarily
mean reduced profits and a decrease in
material prosperity. On the face of it, of
course, this idea looks plausible enough ;
yet we believe it quite susceptible of the
fullest proof that the directly opposite
result comes from the non-observance
of the Lord's Day. The following
anecdote is typical on the subject:

Cardinal Gousset, of Rheims, once
sent for a prominent business man, and
begged him for the sake of good example
to discontinue every species of sale on
Sundays and holy days.

The merchant objected that such
action was quite impossible : his
business would suffer, and the future
of his children would be compromised.

" Very weU," said the Cardinal ; " then
do this. Stop selling on Sunday ; calcu-
late every evening the gams of the
day; and if at the end of a year their
aggregate does not equal that of the
preceding year, I promise to make up
the difference."

"But does your Eminence dream — "

"On condition, however," broke in
the Cardinal, "that if there is an
excess instead of a deficit in the year's
gains, you will give the difference to
me for my charities."

The offer was accepted, and at the
end of a 1 welvemonth the merchant
waited on the Cardinal.

"Your Eminence," he said, "here are
six thousand francs, the excess of last
year's gain over that of the previous
year."

Verily, when one seeks first the
kingdom of God, all other things are
added unto him.

In an address delivered at the opening
session of the Annual Congress of the
Church of England, the "Bishop of
London," while asserting the purity of
the Anglican creed, and contending that
the Establishment is "a true branch of
the Holy Catholic Church," admitted
that it had " often been unfaithfully
timid" in giving the Blessed Virgin the
place of honor which she always held
in the ranks of the Saints. Still unfaith-
fully timid, his Lordship should have
said. Only last week we met with this
frank statement in an Anglican journal :
"When it comes to saying the 'Hail
Mary' as a means of personal address
to the Holy Mother of God, the Anglo-
Catholic who does this is a rara avis
among his fellows." And the Rev.
Albert E. Briggs, "superior -general of
the English Confraternity of Our Lady,"
says with like frankness: "In spite of
a very general toleration of Catholic
ceremonial and practice, there is colossal
ignorance still among Anglicans of the
fundamental principles of Christianity.
Denial of the Virgin Birth is treated by
many as the mere discussion of an open

question."

*
* »

The "Bishop of London," and others
in high positions in the Church of
England whom Dr. Briggs accuses of
betraying the Truth as it is contained
in the Creeds of Christendom, would do
well to " read, mark, learn and inwardly
digest," as the "Book of Common
Prayer" has it, an article entitled
" What God hath joined together let
no man put asunder," published in
a rcifnt number of the Lamp. It is
something — it is much — that even one
Anglican can be found "to talk right
out in meeting" like this:

The trail of the Serpent across the English
Reformation is indicated most clearly by three
chief marks of the devil's handiwork — viz. : the

THE AVE MARIA.

565

abolition of objective worship offered to Jesus
Christ present in the Mass; devotion to the
Mother of God throned beside her Son in heaven ;
and obedience to Christ's Vicar throned in the
Chair of Peter on earth.

There is no lie forged in hell more in conflict
with the will of God, expressed in Scripture and
Catholic tradition, than the Protestant conceit
that they honor Christ best who most ignore
the existence of His Mother. "What God hath
joined together let no man put asunder," and
there is no divorce more horrible as a flagrant
violation of the Fiat of Almighty God than the
divorce made by the Protestant "reformers"
between Christ and the Blessed Virgin. The
fruit of such violence to revealed truth must of
necessity be all sorts and kinds of heresy, and
goes far to explain the scepticism and unbelief
which honeycomb the Church of England to-day.

Once again we repeat: " What God hath joined
together let no man put asunder." How is it
possible to keep alive within us any vital sense
of the Incarnation, "The Word was made flesh
and dwelt among us," if we deliberately shut
out of our minds and hearts all thought of, and
devotion to, Mary the Mother who conceived
"the Word made flesh" in her womb, nursed
Him as a babe at her breast, lived with Him
as His constant companion for thirty years at
Nazareth, stood by Him while He was crucified,
received into her arms His body taken down from
the Cross, and after her glorious Assumption
was seen by St. John enthroned in heaven, the
consort of Christ?

After urging his readers to "test the
truth by practice," the writer concludes
as follows:

The Catholic Church knows what she is
talking about when she affirms and reiterates
so continually that Christ in addressing St,
John on the Cross in reality addressed us all,
saying, "Behold thy Mother"; and that, having
constituted her the universal Mother of all the
redeemed, Almighty God has qualified her for her
office by assuming her into heaven, enthroning
her at the right hand of Jesus Christ, her Son,
and giving her command over a great retinue
of ministering spirits, to do her bidding in
ministering to those who look up to her from
every part of our far-off" world, and who never
cease to cry, " Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray
for U8 sinners now and at the hour of our death ! "

first benefactions under the terms of
that gift. As exemplified in this second
list of awards, the fund in question
appears to be approximating the well-
known MontA'on "prizes of virtue"
annually distributed in France. The
more closely it approximates the French
institution, the better. The "heroes"
who best deserve either medal or mone-
tary assistance are assuredly not those
who consciously pose as competitors for
public plaudits or financial recognition.
It is well, too, to remember that

Striking ventures, deeds uncommon, feats of rash,

instinctive daring.
Do not always mark the presence of a courage

real, true;
Better far the reasoned action of a heart no effort

sparing
First to know what deed is worthy, then that

deed forthwith to do.

Properly managed, the " hero fund " will
do excellent service, and may well entitle
Mr. Carnegie to a worthier fame than
will the multiplied libraries which he
has helped to establish in this country
and elsewhere.

The recent action of the trustees of
Mr. Carnegie's "hero fund" will do
much to silence the criticism evoked by
the manner in which they dispensed the

Louisville, Kentucky, is mourning the
death of a lay Catholic of more
than local celebrity — Sir John Arvid
Ouchterlony, M. D., LL. D. A Swede
by birth, Dr. Ouchterlony came to this
country as a young man, graduated
from the Medical Department of New
York University, served as a surgeon
during the Civil War, and, on the con-
clusion of that mighty conflict, settled
as a medical practitioner and instructor
in Louisville. During the four decades
that have elapsed since then, the
deceased physician did much important
work and received many honors, among
these latter being the Knighthood of
the Polar Star from King Oscar of
SVeden, the Knighthood of St. Gregory
the Great from Leo XIIL, and the
Doctorate of Laws from the University
of Notre Dame. A prolific writer on
medical subjects, Dr. Ouchterlony was
a frefjuent contributor to a number of

566

THE AVE MARIA.

professional journals, and the author
of several valuable treatises on different
diseases. Best among the eulogies that
have been pronounced upon him since
his death — best because fraught with
promise of the Christian's truest, nay,
only real, success — is this declaration
of the Louisville Record that "aside
from his foremost rank as physician
and teacher, and his eminent standing in
the medical world, he was a practical
Christian, — a man of firm Catholic
faith, of deep Catholic piety and of
exemplary Catholic ways." R. 1. P.

According to Mr. Melville E. Stone,
general manager of the Associated
Press, the Kaiser shares with President
Roosevelt the honor of being instru-
mental in bringing about peace between
Russia and Japan. "When the full
history of the conference is written,"
said Mr. Stone, at a recent meeting of
the New York Quill Club, "it will be
found that the German Emperor did
more than any one else except President
Roosevelt to bring about peace. At
that memorable meeting on a 3'acht in
the North Sea, Emperor William begged
the Czar to allow the war to be termi-
nated ; and when it seemed that the
negotiations at Portsmouth were about
to be broken off, it was the influence
of the German Emperor that kept them

going."

. » ■ »

Referring to the " Ceremonial for the
Laity" published by the Art & Book
Co., the pastor of an English seaside
place, in a communication to the
London Tablet, says: "Could not this
'Ceremonial,' or something of the kind,
be inserted in prayer-books, so that the
people shoiild all stand, sit and kneel
together?" Why not? The suggestion
is an eminently practical one. The
variety in ceremonial practised in many
places at the ordinary High Mass calls
for some such directions ; and it would
be the easiest thing in the world to

effect the observance of them. If the
same rules were followed everywhere,
there would be an end of the difhculties
complained of by the Tablet's corre-
spondent,— and experienced by numer-
ous other pastors who do not complain.
But the English priest is patient,
persevering, and hopeful of securing
uniformity ; being persuaded that the
people would be most willing to do
what is right, if they only knew what
right is. He says :

This is a seaside place, and, unfortunately, it
has a season. The number of visitors far exceeds
the number of the regular congregation, and
they change continually. The church became a
veritable city of confusion ; there was no order,
but each one stood, sat or knelt, according to his
own sweet will. At first I tried to introduce
some rule, but I gave it up in despair. I am
waiting now till the season is over, and then I
am going to try again.

The season is probably over by this
time, or we should be tempted to remind
this long-suffering pastor of St. Paul's
advice to Timothy: "Be instant in
season, out of season."

The Rev. Dr. Rainsfbrd (Protestant
Episcopal), of New York, is quoted
as saying: "The Italian ought to be
reached and can be reached by the
Roman Catholic Church. I would
engage in no effort whatever to make
him Protestant. He makes a very poor
Protestant." Dr. Rainsford's admission
that he is a Protestant will shock High
Churchmen, who are accustomed to
differentiate between "us and Protes-
tant schismatics." But let that pass.
We wanted only to remark that if the
metropolitan divine's experience were
wider, he would be convinced that a
RomaTI Catholic of any nationality
makes "a very poor Protestant."

Whether or not the late Sir Henry
Irving measured fully up to the
standard of greatness attained by
Garrick, Kemble, Kean, and others
among England's bygone actors, there

THE AVE MARIA.

567

can be no question that he was the
foremost figure in the contemporaneous
history of the English drama. The
first actor to receive the honor of
knighthood, he never for a moment,
either on or off the stage, gave the
world reason to doubt that the dignity
had been worthily bestowed. A thinker
and scholar, as well as an actor, he
had high ideals, and displayed untiring
patience in seeking to effect their reali-
zation. Honored by his sovereign and
beloved by the theatre-going public of
England and America, he died a few
moments after declaring, in the role of A
Becket, "Into Thy hands, O Lord; into
Thy hands!" — a dramatic coincidence
in which one may hope there entered
some element of prevision. His remains
have been deposited in Westminster
Abbey.

We have been deeply interested of
late by some reminiscences of the Boxer
outbreak in China, appearing in the
(French) Echo of the Mission ofChan-
Tong Or. In a recent number of this
little monthly. Father Yves recounts
the narrative of an impressive ceremony
of a kind one reads of rarely in foreign
missionary- publications, — the erection
of a monument to a Chinese martyr.
Liou-fong-tchoen had embraced Cathol-
icism at the' age of twenty. For
twenty-seven years thereafter he lived,
according to the unanimous verdict of
his neighbors and acquaintances, a
pious, zealous life, showing himself a
scrupulously exact observer of the laws
of God and His Church. In 1900 he
won the crown of martyrdom; and
only a few weeks ago, at the village
of Chang -hoa, his memory received a
notable tribute.

Three missionary priests ( a number
never before seen in the village) ; a
great concourse of the faithful and of
curious pagans; a procession with
music, banners, mounted guards, and
uniformed attendants ; the solemn bless-

ing of the monument; and a stirring
discourse, calculated to impress the
Christians and catechumens present
with the truth that martyrdom is a
magnificent triumph, — all this consti-
tuted a. notable demonstration that set
the pagan onlookers thinking deeply.
One of them was heard to exclaim :
"Look at these Christians! What im-
portance they attach to the smallest
details of their religion ! 'Tis five years
now since poor Liou-fong-tchoen was
killed for his Faith; and to-day, after
spending a lot of money, here are
three missionaries come to do him
honor, — one of them coming expressly
for the occasion from as far away as
Ts'ing-tchou-fou! "

It is to be hoped that the Boxer atroc-
ities are not to be renewed in China;
but should^ persecution again assail the
faithful of the Celestial Empire, such
celebrations as this one of Chang -hoa
will assuredlj' not lessen the number of

martyrs.

* • *

There was nothing new or strange
in the statements about Spain and
the Philippines made some time ago
by Major Gen. Leonard Wood, U. S. A.,
and published, with his personal
approval, in the Boston Transcript.
The same things have been said before ;
however, the repetition of them gratifies
us, and especially the fact that most
of our countrymen are now disposed to
listen to defences of Spain and the much-
maligned Spanish friars. Gen. Wood is
optimistic as well as frank and fair.
He holds that our government has
already solved the Philippine problem,
and declares that the ease with which
this work has been accomplished is the
natural result of what had previously
"been effected by the Spaniards. The
Army and Navy Journal quotes the
General as saying:

The Spanish did more for the FiHpinos than
any other colonizing nation has ever done for
nn Oriental people. Spain actually impressed
her ideas and principles upon them. She gave

568

THE AVE MARIA,

them her religion and language and civilization.
She did not merely scratch the surface: she
really aflfected and influenced .the lives of the
natives. Malays they are, yet they are like
no other Malays. In place of pure barbarism,
cannibalism and idolatry, Spain implanted the
Roman Catholic religion, which is to-day the
religion of nine-tenths of the people. Spain also
elevated the status of the Filipino woman.
In other Oriental countries the woman is little
'better than a slave. . . .

The work done by the Roman Catholic friars
in the three centuries Spain held the Islands was
wonderful and can not fail to excite our admira-
tion. And, in spite of her many troubles there,
Spain wag continuing the work of Christianizing
the Islands when our war came on. She was, for
example, just at that time, beginning to carry
the work into the interior of Mindanao, and
had introduced there light-draught gunboats to

explore the inlets and rivers Our people do

■ not appreciate our debt to Spain. Suppose we
had had to begin on an absolutely savage people
such as they were when Spain took them ? Then
our problem would have been many times more
difficult. But, with a Christian people to work
on, we had a basis upon which to build. You can
see why I accord so a high place to Spain as a
colonizing fiower.

From statements made to us by
Filipinos themselves, we judge that the
Filipino problem is far from being
solved, and that the work will not
progress until our government gives
solemn and definite assurance of national
independence. We admire Secretary Taft
as much as anybody, but we think that
in the public speech he made during
his last visit to the Islands he might
have shown a little more tact and given
considerably more satisfaction to the
Filipinos.

English Catholics, more especially
English converts to the Faith, noted the
fact that the 9th of the current month
was the Diamond Jubilee of Newman's
conversion. The day was worth com-
memorating; for it was the anniver-
sary of an event more notable than
any other in England's religious history
since the Reformation, — an event preg-
nant with beneficent results that are
still being unfolded, and will influence
English life for centuries to come.

Notable New Books.

Addresses. Historical— Political — Sociological. By
Frederic R. Coudert. G. P. Putnam's Sons.
In presenting to the public, in the appropri-
ately handsome form of a large and well printed
octavo, " these recoverable fragments of a life
singularly broad and useful," the publishers
have rendered a distinct service to a large body
of readers and to American literature as well.
Frederic Rend Coudert was not merely a suc-
cessful advocate, a great lawyer: he was a
ripe scholar and an orator of classic elegance.
The twenty addresses contained in this goodly
volume make delightful not less than instructive
reading; and the reply (in French) to Dumas's
advocacy of divorce is fairly redolent of the finest
Gallic wit and wisdom. Some of the best of these
discourses are those on " Morals and Social
Problems," delivered before the Catholic Union;
they constitute a very treasury of historic lore,
practical wisdom, delicate humor, and withal
choice English.

As one of the early presidents of the U. S. Cath-
olic Historical Society, Mr. Coudert naturally
took more than a passing interest in matters
relating to the early days of the Church in this
country; and his stores of knowledge were
frequently called upon not only to dispel many
popular misapprehensions as to general history,
but to expose a goodly number of specific
lies and errors in American annals. A staunch
Catholic and the son of a Frenchman, he took
occasion to say once, in the course of a
public discussion, that there were two things upon
which he was sensitive: the land of his fathers,
and the Barque of Peter. From the adequate
introductory note to these addresses we take
the follovi-ing sentence, quoted from a memorial
by Mr. Justice Patterson: "To his [Mr. Coudert's]
apprehension, the future life was quite as much
a reality as the present; and that belief was a
consolation and a joy in the long twilight which
to him was that which preceded the rising and
not the setting of the sun."

English Monastic Life. By the Rt. Rev. Francis
Aidan Gasquet, O. S. B. George Bell & Sons ;
Benziger Brothers.

The number of authoritative books on matters
belonging T;o ecclesiastical history is increasing;
and, of cour.se, this indicates an increase in the
public demand for authentic information. Doni
Gasquet's name is at once associated in the
minds of cultivated readers with this movement,
and justly so; for this distinguished writer has
not only consecrated unusual powers to the
work, but he has had unusual opportunities in the
way of research. His latest publication is a new

THE AYE MARIA.

569

edition of a book valuable alike to student and
general reader; for on a knowledge of English
monastic life depends in no little measure one's
understanding of conditions which in the study
of English Church history need elucidation from
sources other than the formal story of the times
involved.

Dom iGasqnet's charm of presentation is too
well known to call for comment; and these
chapters descriptive of old religious houses have
the interest of both theme and handling. The
appended summary of existing Orders, with the
list of English religious houses, is complete and
authoritative, furnishing valuable statistics to
the student and the historian.

Socialism and Christianity. By the Rt. Rev. Wm.
Stang, D. D. Benziger Brothers.

In the course of the present exceptionally
interesting and instructive volume, the Right
Reverend author quotes the following from the
late Bishop Kettcler, a renowned German social
reformer : " Immediately Ijefore my consecration,
the Church, through the consecrating prelate,
asked me : ' Wilt thou in the name of the Lord
be kind and merciful to the poor and stranger,
and to all that are in need ? ' I answered firmly,
'I will.'" We like to lielieve that these were also
Bishop Stang's sentiments when he was about
to receive the plenitude of the priesthood. In
any case, this book is a veritable echo of the
Master's words, "I have compassion on the
multitude." -

Particularly good arc the chapters on : Charac-
ter and Aims of Socialism ; History of Socialism ;
Not Socialism, but Social Reform; False Theories
in Modern Life; A Happy Home. The sane view
that Bishop Stang upholds throughout his book
may be gathered from this brief quotation :

If the social fjueslion of the hour is to a certain extent
the (luestion of aIcoholi.<(ni, the must eJTectivc temperance
reform must l>e]t;in, not with the saloon, but with the
kitchen and the table. Not those temperance women who
agitate on the public i)latform, but women who stay at
home .^nd know how to cook dinners, and feed men well
and make homes bright and restful, — such women are
our first and most valiant temiierance reformers. The
shining cups and saucers on the snowy linen, with the
sparkling glass of pure water, the sweet-smelling bread,
the fresh butter, the fragrant tea, — how inviting in the
poorest cabin to the poor workingman, who will not envy
his rich employer dining until midnight at Delmonico's!

Life of Sir Thomas More, Knt. By William Roper.
Burns & Gates.

If all biographies were as fa.scinating as the
present one, we should read more of them than •
we do. The life of Sir Thomas More is not
merely interesting: it is also highly instructive.
The glorious martyr-knight will always be an
inspiring example of Christian fortitude to those
who possess the ancient Faith. FroHn earliest

youth his character gave evidence of future
greatness. With reference to his schooldays, we
are told that he preferred to seem conquered
rather than discourage his competitors by a
brilliant victory. His words to the criminal
court that condemned him to death are memo-
rable: "More have I not to say, my Lords,
but that like as the blessed Apostle Paul, as we
read in the Acts of the Apostles, was present and
consented to the death of St. Stephen, and kept
their clothes that stoned him to death, and yet
be they now both twain holy saints in heaven,
and shall continue there friends forever, so I
verily trust, and shall therefore right heartily
pray, that though your lordships have now here
on earth been judges to my condemnation, we
may yet hereafter in heaven merrily all meet
together to everlasting salvation."

The martyr's letters to his daughter contained
in the present volume reveal the sterling prin-
ciples according to which his conscience always
acted. "Verily, daughter," he says in one of
them, "I never intend (God being my good
Lord ) to pin my soul at another man's back,
nor even the best man that I know this day
living; for I know not whither he may hap
to carry it." The "Notes" at the end of the
volume are satisfactory explanations of words
and phrases peculiar to the language of the time.

Glenanaar. By the Very Rev. Canon P. A.

• Sheehan. Longmans, Green & Co.
In this story of Irish life there is a happy
blending of the real and the ideal. The soft mist
of the Irish hills is over it all, and through it
gleams the warm sunshine of Celtic hearts. In
the character -drawing we see quick impulses
to good, with equally ready response to evil
suggestions. There are simple faith and weak
superstition, royal charitj' and obstinate unfor-
givingness, — the flash and the shadow so often
found in the tried and the true, if ofttimcs incon-
sistent, children of Erin.

The Americanized hero — is he the hero ? — is not
exactly convincing; and, now that story-writing
has come to be a science, we find ourselves noting
points of construction. In " My New Curate,"
the nature of the story precluded the use of
ordinary standards; but in "Luke Delmege" and
"Glenanaar" there is a want of proportion.
And yet who would venture to criticise Father
Sheelian for representing life as it really is, — a
strange blending of joy and sorrow, of right
and wrong?

A Girl's Ideal. By Rosa Mulholland. (Lady
Gilbert.) Benzigcr Brothers.

Notwithstanding the high praise culled from
a host of press notices and presented by the
publishers of the American edition of this story.

570

THE AVE MARIA

we must confess to first impressions of disappoint-
ment, on account of the unattractive outward
form of the book. But the story itself is most
pleasing; and the heroine's ideal is one which,
though commonplace, is far from common. The
complications brought about by the rich uncle's
will are sufficiently tangled to excite interest in
their resolution ; the characters are lifelike ; there
is more than one good lesson to be learned in
following out the plot ; and the end shows
worldly success attained without a sacrifice of
the ideal.

Valiant and True. Being the Adventures of a
Young Officer of the Swiss Guards at the Time
of the French Revolution. By Joseph Spillman.
B. Herder.

The vogue of the historical novel, although less
pronounced at present than a few years ago, is
still sufficiently marked to justify writers with a
talent for that branch of fiction in interweaving
the tissue of romance with the fabric of real
annals and bygone history. And so long as the
product of the weaver presents the admirable
texture of "Valiant and True," there will prob-
ably come no lessening of the popularity of such
■works.

The present book is one which we can frankly
commend, both for the qualities that go to make
up any good story of other days, and {oy the
thoroughly Catholic atmosphere with which it
is quite naturally pervaded. We have read
recently so many novels written by Catholic
authors and published by Catholic firms, and
been so frequently disappointed in discovering an
utter absence of Catholic setting, tone, environ-
ment and language, that it maj' well be our
enjoyment of "Valiant and True" has been
intensified from the contrast. Not that the story
is a religious one, or that it partakes in any
degree of the "goody-goody" sentimentality
that antagonizes the robust taste of the normal
reader; but its author is suflicicntly observant
of the laws of genuine artistic realism to make
his Catholic characters think and talk and act
as veritable Catholics, and not as emasculated
Christians with no particularly strong convic-
tions of any kind, and with little courage to
profess even the feeble few they have.

A well printed and handsomely bound volume
of four hundred pages, "Valiant and True"
deserves a welcome from novel-readers generally,
and from the Catholic members of that great
fraternity in particular.

Health and Holiness. By Francis Thompson.

Burns & Oates ; B. Herder.

Father Tyrrell says with truth in his illumi-
native, if short, preface to this little book: "In
these pages the thoughts of many hearts are

revealed in speech that is within the faculty of
few, but within the understanding of all." And it
was wise in his introduction to the poet-teacher's
thoughts on "Health and Holiness" to repeat the
author's admission: "It is dangerous treading
here; yet with reverence I adventure, since the
mistake of personal speculation is, after all,
merely a mistake, and no one will impute to it
authority." Not that we take issue against the
theories set forth : on the contrary, we subscribe
to them heartily as sane dicta. But this little
book will not go far to find opposition, and
this from upright teachers of the old tenets of
asceticism. Time-spirit can not be disregarded in
the ordering of life ; and we see a recognition of
this truth in the economy of the Church, which,
as Francis Thompson quotes, "is ever changing
to front a changing world, — Et plus qa change,
plus c'cst la meme chose."

The attitude of the author is here shown :

The modern body hinders perfection after the way of
the weakling; it scandalizes by its feebleness and sloth;
it exceeds by luxury and the softer forms of vice, not
by hot insurgence. It abounds in vanity, frivolity, and
all the petty sins of the weakling which vitiate the
spirit. It pushes to pessimism, which is the wail of the
weakling turning back from the press; to agnosticism,
which is sometimes a form of mental sloth. "It is too
much trouble to have a creed." It no longer lays forcible
hands on the spirit, but clogs and hangs back from it.
And in some sort there was more hope with the old
body than with the new one. When the energies of the
old body were once yoked to the chariot-pole of God,
they went fast.

Mr. Thompson then shows that if sanctity
energizes, energy, the outcome of sound physical
health, is needed for the preservation of sanc^
tity, — herein going against the teachings of many
ascetics. But, whatever one's views on the
subject, no one reading this little book will doubt
the sincerity of the writer, nor the power added
to the teachings of truth by charm of stj'le.

At the Sign of the Fox. A Romance. By Barbara.

The Macmillan Co.

One has to read some two hundred and
twenty of the three hundred and sevent3' pages
of this book before discovering the significance
of its title; but the reading is by no means
a task. The author's humor is of that delight-
ful sort — keen yet gentle, laughing with, not
at, the foible -encumbered portion of humanity —
which enlists the sympathy of the normally
cultured reader, and lures him on with unflag-
ging intei*st till the romantic story works
itself out to a thoroughly satisfactory close.
The book contains no obtrusive moral, and
gives no hint of any positive, specific religion
in the characters introduced ; but it makes
pleasant and harmless reading, — a compliment
one can not always pay to the latest output
of the fiction -factories.

Solomon and the Serpent.

AN ARAnlAN LEGEND.

RING SOLOMON had received
from God the gift of hearing
everything that went on in
his dominions ; and, as he
could transport himself from one end of
the world to the other on his magic
carpet, he went wherever he was needed.

One day while quietly seated on his
throne in Jerusalem, he heard a distant
voice saying:

"O sire, come to our aid! The people
of Cherchel have great need of thee."

The voice was so dolorous that the
monarch felt that there really was need
of him, so he betook himself to Cherchel
without delay. His magic carpet set
him down at the gate of the city, which
was in ruins and almost deserted.
Solomon contemplated the general deso-
lation, and then, turning to an old
eagle perched on a block of granite, he
asked it what had caused the destruc-
tion of so fine a city.

Th: eagle, which was more than two
hundred years old, said he really didn't
know, because the city had been in
about the same state as long as he
could remember. At Solomon's request,
however, he went for his old father,
who, in reply to the King's question,
said that the city had been ravaged by
a troop of barbarians, who had killed
almost all the inhabitants.

"Why have the citizens of Cherchel
asked m}- aid?" demanded the King.

"Here they are," answered the eagle:
"they'll tell you all about it." And he
slowly flew off.

Then the King turned around and
saw some old men who tremblingly

approached him. He asked them the
cause of their distress and promised
them his assistance.

The eldest of their number replied :

"My Lord, we have only a few
wells in the city. They don't supply
enough water for all our needs, so every
day our women and children go to d
spring outside the city walls to draw
water. Lately, however, a formidable
serpent has taken possession of this
spring, and now nobody can go near
it without being strangled. "

Solomon, touched by their misfortune,
went to the serpent, and said to him:

"Serpent, why have you taken pos-
session of this spring, which is indispen-
sable to the people of the city? And
why, especially, have you put to death
the women and children who have come
hither for water?"

Said the serpent:

"I did all that purely from necessity.
I dwelt in another spring, but it is dry
now; and this is the only one in the
whole country that has water enough
to satisfy my thirst. I am quite ready
to leave it, however, if you, who know
everything, will show me another
spring, and will give me the assurance
that I will not be injured."

Solomon returned to the city.

"Go find a cock; kill it, and bring me
its head," said he to a servant.

The servant did so, and Solomon
placed the cock's head in one of the
folds of his turban before returning to
the spring. The serpent saw him com-
ing, and inquired :

"Well, Solomon, have you thought
'^bout it ? Are you ready to assure mc
that no injury will be done to me?"

"Nothing will be done to you other
than what has been done to the head
under my turban," said the King.

572

THE AYE MARIA.

The serpent, thinking it was the
head of the King himself that was
meant, followed him quietly when
Solomon said he was going to lead
him to another spring. They proceeded
many leagues, the serpent crawling
after the King, who, astounded at its
enormous length, asked from time to
time :

"Well, isn't your tail out of the
spring yet?"

"No, not yet," answered the serpent.

At length they reached a place a long
distance from Cherchel, and the serpent
announced that the last folds of his tail
were out of the water. Then Solomon
showed him a little puddle in the desert,
and commanded him to live there.

The serpent, indignant, turned about
contemptuously and prepared to go
back to his old home, when Solomon,
drawing his scimitar, struck off his
head with a single blow, saying:

"'Twas thus they cut off the cock's
head which is under my turban."

The serpent was so long that his
blood formed a lake, known afterward
as Halloula. It formed a sort of oasis
in the desert of Mauritania.

Some Old English Customs.

BY MAGDALEN ROCK.

Trial by ordeal was one of the
customs that followed the introduction
of Christianity into England by Saint
Augustine; and in this custom, the
barbarit^^ of a pagan people and the
enthusiasm and belief of a newly con-
verted race were strangely blended. A
person accused of crime had no trial
like the processes of later daj's; no
witnesses appeared for or against him ;
no advocates brought guilt home to
him or pleaded for him. The accused
was simply told to prepare himself for
his trial by prayer, fasting, and the
reception of the sacraments.

He was then, according as the charge
brought against him was grave or
trivial, directed to walk barefoot over
red-hot iron, or plunge his arm into a
caldron of boiling water; or else he
was put to the test of the corsned, or
"proof by crumb." Should the person,
in the former cases, escape without
bums, he was adjudged innocent. The
corsned was a piece of bread, very
hard probably. It was given to the
accused person, and should he swallow
it without difficulty his innocence was
admitted by all. Whatever may be
thought of this custom — abolished by
the Council of Lateran — it witnesses
to the deep faith that had taken root
in the hearts of the people.

The Anglo-Saxons had early estab-
lished among themselves associations
or societies for mutual help. Each
member of the guild was, on the death
of a brother member, obliged to pay
a penny as "soul-shot." These pennies
were given as alms for the happy
repose of the soul of the deceased ;
and all members of the society were
enjoined to meet in the parish church
and offer prayers for the departed soul.

The custom of the Saturday whole or
half holiday has come down from the
days preceding the invasion of England
by the Conqueror. At noon on Satur-
day a bell rang in every parish church,
notifying all to leave off work, so that
they might prepare to pass the Sunday
in a fitting manner. An old writer
speaks of this custom as ringing "holy-
even at midday." The Saturday evening
Vespers were generally ended or begun
by a procession in honor of the Blessed
Virgin.

The fairs of England had in most
cases id, religious origin. They began in
the gathering together of the people
for pilgrimages to some shrine. In
those remote days there were no shops
nor stores in small towns and villages;
so when great numbers of people met
there, travelling peddlers displayed their

THE AVE MARIA.

573

wares on stalls of "standings." And
there, too, religious plays were acted
for the edification of the pious pilgrims.
It was a custom also to erect a
market cross on such occasions, to
remind the people of Christ and His
death. The fair of Ely, held on the
feast of Saint Audry, the royal abbess
of its convent, was continued until a
comparatively recent date; and the
great cattle fairs of Beverley, in York-
shire, owe their beginning to devotion
to Saint John of Beverley.

In those far-off days the Saxon
master and his servants ate at the
same board ; and the thane and his
wife were ready to supply the wants
of the needy about their gates. Thus
it was that the people bestowed on
them the names of "Laford" and
"Leafdian" — the parents of our own
lord and lady, — words which meant
the bread-givers.

Gem Lore.

BY FLORA L. STANFIELD.

IV.— The Opax.

The opal, which combines within
itself the beauties of all other precious
stones, has long been the subject of
discussion between those who have
loved its changing and varied colors
and those who have condemned it as
an unlucky talisman that would bring
only disaster to him who wore it.

In one of his novels. Sir Walter Scott
alluded to the fact that the Mexican
opal would lose its color when exposed
to moisture, and also asserted that it
possessed the power to confer ill luck.
So great was the influence of his
words that they were soon felt in the
gem market and opals began to lose
their value.

At another time, when the prejudice
against them was dying out, a certain
man, through his agents, raised a great

hue and cry to the effect that bad
fortune would pursue the man or
woman who was daring enough to
own an opal. The effect of the excite-
ment which followed was what the
canny mischief-maker desired. People
began to part with their opals for
any price they would bring; and the
rascal bought them up, and reaped a
large reward when they came again
into favor.

The opal, it is said, will not bring
bad fortune to one born in October.
On the contrary, October's child can
not have too many of these gleaming
and fascinating jewels.

October's child is born to woe,
And life's vicissitudes must know ;
But lay an opal on his breast,
And hope will lull all woe to rest.

A still more beautiful saying, and
one with a lesson in it, is that which
comes to us from the Far East: "To
him who loves God and 'trusts Him,
the opal is a friend."

Each gem seems to be endowed with
its own striking peculiarity. The opal,
for instance, defies all attempts at
imitation. Science counterfeits other
stones so well that all but experts
are deceived : one can not counterfeit
an opal.

The wonderful play of color is sup-
posed to be due to tiny fissures filled
with air and moisture; and the antics
played by the lights in them are so
curious that we can not wonder
that the ancients thought them to
be the abode of invisible spirits. This
is probably the reason of the opal's
reputation for bringing bad fortune.

Sometimes the colors are in spots or
flakes, like the tints on the jester's
dress, and then give the stone the name
of "harlequin." More often they are in
flashes or fine stripes, and opals with
these marks are commonly preferred.
The colors are more brilliant when the
weather is warm. For this reason if
you go to the shop to buy an opal

574

THE AVE MARIA

ring, be sure that the cunning dealer
does not hold it in his hand too long
and tightly, and thereby give it a
beauty it will lose as soon as you go
out of doors.

Good opal cutters are very rare and
obtain high wages; for only the most
delicate touches can be given this very
fragile stone. The friction of the wheel
often heats and destroj's a valuable
specimen. What are called fire opals
usually come from Mexico ; the other
varieties, from many parts of the
world.

The opal figures in ancient as well as
modern history; and some of those
w^ho read this may recall the story of
the opal, no larger than a hazelnut,
which Mark Antony coveted but could
not possess, its owner, Nonius, pre-
ferring exile to parting from his many-
colored treasure. Kings and queens
have ever hac| a fashion of searching for
rare opals, and have paid fabulous
prices for them. One of the finest col-
lections in the world is that of the
Emperor of Austria. It contains one
gem which weighs seventeen ounces,
and which is, it is needless to say, so
valuable that no one ever thinks of
attaching a price to it.

One of the old writers thus graphi-
callj' describes October's gem: "It com-
bines the fiery flame of the carbuncle,
the refulgent purple of the amethyst,
and the glorious green of the emerald,
which blend together to give us the
fairest and most pleasing of all jewels."

.^sop and the Donkey.

"The next time you write a fable
about me," said the donkey to Ai,so-p,
"make me say something wise and
sensible."

"Something sensible from you

A Faithful Friend.

At Ditchley, formerly the seat of the
Earl of Lichfield, there is a quaint
painting of a man and a dog, bear-
ing the motto, "More faithful than
favored"; and the story of the picture
is a curious one.

Sir Henry Lee, a courtier of the days
of Queen Elizabeth, had a great dog,
who was very devoted to his master,
and never wished to be absent from
his side unless he was asleep. One
night Sir Henry was accompanied to
his bedroom by tfiis dog, who refused
to leave his master, and howled so
dismally when turned out that Sir
Henry permitted him to ensconce himself
beside his bed. The courtier went to
sleep, saying jokingly to his dog: "Ha,
Bevis, dost thou play guardian angel ?
Then I sleep well!"

About midnight stealthy steps ap-
proached the room, the door was
opened without noise, and a servant
of Sir Henry crept in. Treacherous
and murderous, he intended to kill his
master and rob the house. But the
beast was more faithful than the man ;
and, reading his purpose, the dog
sprang at his throat. Sir Henry was
awakened by the struggle, and rose to
find the intruder upon the floor, held
fast by the watchful dog. Calling
assistance, he had the wicked servant
taken to prison to be punished for
his crime, and the faithful dog was
henceforth treated as a friend of the
family.

. Sir Henry had his portrait painted
with' Bevis, as his old memoir says,
"that ioiine descendants may know of
the gratitude of the master, the ingrat-
itude of the servant, and the fidelity
of the dog."

I "

exclaimed yUsop. "What would the
world think? People would call you
the moralist, and me the donkey!"

Carve thyself for use. A stone that
may fit in the wall is not left in the
way. — Eastern Proverb.

THE AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

575

— The new revised edition, in a single volume,
of Sir Francis C. Burnand's " Records and Remi-
niscences " should be read far and wide. Methuen,
publisher.

— A remarkable collection of illuminated manu-
scripts, miniatures, incunabula, and illustrated
books of the sixteenth century sold this month in
Vienna included a copy of the " Biblia Prima Ger-
manica" (Strasburg, Eggesteyn, 1466). Luther,
it will be recalled, was not born until seventeen
years afterward.

— " Benziger's Catholic Home Annual" for 1906
is already on our table, and it comes as an old
friend. Enlarged and improved in make-up, it
is an ideal almanac for the Catholic home. The
usual astronomical features are presented to-
gether with a fine array of interesting reading
in the line of history, biography, travel and
fiction. The illustrations are numerous and up
to the usual standard.

— To music lovers we commend " Reverie," for
the piano or violin or violincello, by Dudley Bax-
ter, published by Weekes & Co., London. The
composer's name is sufficient praise. — Fischer
Brothers have added to their sacred music list
Missa Solewnis (for mixed voices), by Robert
Tnrton ; Missa in bonorem SS. Rosarii B. V. M.
(two-part male chorus) , by G. Ferrata ; and Mass
in honor of the Immaculate Conception (for four
male voices), by J. Gruber. All of these Masses
are ecclesiasticallj' approved.

— The signature "Alfred Bartlett Cornhill" has
come to stand for a certain artistic excellence ;
and "The Beatitude Calendar," by R. Anning
Bell, is another evidence of the high ideals fol-
lowed by this Boston publisher. The calendar is
made up of five large panels, each bearing one
of the Beatitudes told in word and in picture.
Everything is in keeping; and to measure the
flight of the hours by these words of Our Lord
is to insure their being well spent. While not,
strictly speaking, necessary, it might be better
were the calendar marked with the year for
which it was issued.

—A large class of readers wherever our language
is spoken will be interested in a new work by
the Rev. Ethelred Taunton, now in press by
Messrs. Kegan Paul, Trench, Triibner & Co. It
is a cyclopajdia of Canon Law with about four
hundred articles in some seven hundred pages.
Every subject is treated separately, and every
article is complete in itself The general law of
the Church is first given; then, whenever neces-
sary, the provincial laws of England, Ireland, the
United States, etc. Father Taunton informs us

that he has given special attention to our
national legislation. The work, which it has
taken three years to complete, ^ is dedicated by
special desire to the Holy Father as the first
fruits of such studies by an English priest since
the Reformation.

—From the Australian Catholic Truth Society
we have received two booklets of 40 pages each, —
"Life of St. Patrick," by Cardinal Moran, and
"On the Condition of Labor," Leo .XIlI.'s famous
encyclical letter. A third issue of the same Society
is "Through the Furnace," a novelette by Benj.
Hoare. .\11 three are excellent penny publications.

— From the American Book Company we have
received "Africa," the latest of Carpenter's Geo-
graphical Readers. Like previous issues of this
series, the present volume is largely based upon
explorations, supplemented by the author's per-
sonal travel and observation. It should prove
eminently interesting to the young, and, so far as
we have noticed, is admirably free from religious
prejudice. The book is furnished with maps and
good illustrations.

— M. Alexis Marie Louis Douillard, the well-
known French artist, who died last month, was
remarkable for the versatility of his talent. He
painted genre subjects as well as portraits and
historical scenes ; but it was in the latter class
that he obtained a medal, the subject being " La
Mort de Saint Louis." He received a number of
important commissions for church decorations,
and examples of his work are to be found at St.
Julien, Tours, Bayeux, Belfort, Loigny, and at
many other places. His large religious composi-
tions formed for many years conspicuous objects
at the various Salons. He was a member of the
Soci^t^ des Artistes Fran^ais, and the subject of
his picture this year was "L^Ange Gardien."
R. I. P.

— "A Handbook or Dictionary of the American
Indians North of Mexico" is now in the hands
of the Government printer, who has received from
the Bureau of Ethnology over seven hundred cuts
which will be used in illustrating this work. Over
twenty -five years ago, before the Bureau of Eth-
nology was in existence, a number of men who
are now connected with that institution, and
who were interested in the subject of American
"Hnthropology, conceived the idea of compiling a
dictionarj' of the American Indians which would
give, in c<mdenscd though by no means abbrevi-
ated form, a complete and exhaustive descriptive
list of Indian races, confederacies, tribes and sub-
tribes, accompanied by a list of the various names
by which the Indians and their settlements have

576

THE AYE MARIA.

been known, together with biographies of Indians
of note, a list of Indian words incorporated into
the English language, etc. A vast deal of other
matter relating to prehistoric and pre-Columbian
conditions and other cognate subjects will also be
included in this work. It will be published in
December.

— On the principle that a good cut of mutton is
more satisfying than the best of mutton -broth,
some writers on child-literature advocate the use,
as a storybook for children, of the Bible itself in
preference to collections of stories about Biblical
persons, events, and incidents. Of this number is
not Margaret E. Sangster, the well-known Ameri-
can journalist and juvenile moralist. Yet, in her
new book, "The Story Bible," she has kept very
close to the Scriptural version, confining her
attention to the disengagement of each story from
surrounding passages that treat of other affairs.
While the volume is not a Catholic one, it contains
but little that grates on Catholic ears, and may
be cordially recommended to those (non-Catholics)
for whom it has primarily been written. Printed
in large type with a, dozen of colored illustrations,
"The Story Bible" makes a handsome volume of
almost 500 pages. Publishers: Moffet, Yard
& Co.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
appear at the bead, older ones being' dropped out
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not be indexed. ,

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pulj-
lishers. Foreign hooks not on sale in the United
States will be imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full, supply of works issued abroad.
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"Socialism and Christianity." Rt. Rev. Wm.

Stang, D. D. $1.10.
" English Monastic Life." Rt. Rev. Francis Aldan

Gasquet, O. S. B. $2, net.
" Health and Holiness." Francis Thompson. 55

cts.
"Glenanaar" Very Rev. Canon P. A. Sheehan.

$1.50.
"A Girl's Ideal." Rosa MulhoUand. (Lady Gil-
bert.) $1 50, net.
"At the Sign of the Fo.x. A Romance." Barbara.

$1.50
" Valiant and True." Joseph Spillraan. $1.60, net.
"The Resurrection of Christ— Is it a Fact?" 30

cts., net.

" The Spalding Year-Book." 75 cts., net.

"The Epistles and Gospels." Very Rev. Richard

O'Gorman, O. S. A 50 cts., net.
" Life, Virtues and Miracles of St. Gerard Majella."

Very Rev. J. Magnier, C SS. R. 15 cts.
"Infallibility." Rev. Vincent McNabb, O. P. 'M

cts., net.
"The Mystic Treasures of the Holy Sacrifice."

Rev. Charles Coppens, S.J. 50 cts., net.
"George Eastmount: Wanderer." John Law.

$1.10, net.
"The Senior Lieutenant's Wager, and Other

Stories." $1.25.
"The Story of the Congo Free State: Social,

Political, and Economic Aspects of the Belgian

System of Government in Central Africa."

Henry Wellington Wack, F. R. G. S. $3.50,

net.
■'RexMeus." $1.25.
"The Angel of Syon." Dora Adam Hamilton,

O, S. B. $1.10, net.
" The Little Flowers of St. Francis." Illustrations

by Paul Woodruffe. $1.60, net.
"That Scamp, or the Days of Decatur in Tripoli."

John J. O'Shea. 60 cts.
" Bishop Gore and the Catholic Claims." Dom

John Chapman, O. S. B. 25 cts.
"Grammar of Plain-Song." Benedictines of Stan-
brook." 75 cts., net.
"Sir Thomas More. (The Blessed Thomas

More.)" Henri Bremond. $1, net.
"The Common Lot." Robert Herrick. $1.50.

Obituary.

Remembei them that are in bands. — Heb., niii, 3.

Rev. Stephen Urbanke, of the diocese of San
Antonio ; and Rev. P. J. Mulconry, S. J.

Mother M. Lucretia, of the Sisters of St. Joseph ;
Sister M. Bartholomew, Sisters of Mercy; Sister
M. Augustine, Sisters of the Holy Cross ; and
Sister M. Johanna, O. S. B.

Mr. Frank Rheim, of St. Louis, Mo. ; Mrs.
Sarah Barlow, Oakland, Cal.; Mr. James McDade,
Wilkesbarre, Pa.; Mrs. Agnes Collins, Rochester,
N. Y. ; Mr. E.J. Manch and Mr. Joseph Gertz,
Pittsburg, Pa. ; Isabel McDonald, New York city;
Mr. Oliver McAvoy, San Francisco, Cal.; Mrs.
Teresa ITolling, Liverpool, Ohio ; Mrs. Mary
Gloster, Holyokc, Mass. ; Mrs. M. S. Brennan,
Philadelphia, Pa. ; Mr. L. Hayden, Cleveland,
Ohio; Mrs. Felix Gaffney, Mrs. Anne Conway,
and Mrs Anne McCann, Taunton, Mass. ; Mrs.
Marie Barabe, Los Angeles, Cal.; and Mr. Frank
Harvey, Escanaba, Mich.

Requiescaat in vace !

HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUIOC, I., 48.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, NOVEMBER 4, 1905.

NO. 19.

[Published every Satuiday.

November Voices.

BY LIONEL BYRRA.

QNCE more on Nature's organ vast
November strikes the minor keys,
And dirges weird, wild threnodies,

Surcharge with grief each moaning blast

Through every mood in sorrow's scale,
From deadened pain's dull monotone
To sharp distress and anguished groan,

The strains sweep on with shriek and wail.

How shall our souls interpret them,

These doleful strains that come and go,
Adown the gamut drear of woe.'

As leaves' and flowers' requiem?

Ah, no! Not plaints for Summer sped.
The dirges sad November plays.
But pleading cries our loved ones raise, —

For they are voices of our dead.

The Memory of Mentana.

BY MRS. BARTLE TEELING.

'HAT the 25th of September was
to the survivors of that famous
charge at Balaclava, when

Into the valley of death

Rode the six hundred;

what October the 21st must have been
to the little group of sorrowing yet
proud survivors of the crew of Nelson's
Victory, in the earlier part of the last
century, — that, too, for all its lesser
importance in the eyes of the world, is
still the memorable date of November 3
to a certain numlier of sober, grfcy-

Copyrieht: Rev. D. E. Hudson, CSC]

headed men, sole survivors of that little
band of chivalrous and devoted souls
who faced an almost overwhelming
majority that day on Mentana's plains.

To die in arms! 'Twas all our hope.
There, round the shrines of Rome ;

Our souls to God, our names bequeathed
Through all the years to come,

A memory of reproach and shame
To recreant Christendom.*

It was a strange spectacle in Rome
that year, — how strange none save
those who were there have ever realized.
In the ranks of the Pontifical Army,
prince and peasant, noble and hireling,
together, shoulder to shoulder, soldiers
all. Before the enemy, all equal; the
only rivalry, that of superior readiness
to take every post of danger, to be
first in facing the foe. Off duty, and
the gay young soldiers were to be
found ip every salon, picnic and frolic ;
their paltry pay of three sous a day
flung half contemptuously to their
servant -comrades, who blacked their
boots, furbished their swords, did all
that a British soldier -servant does for
his master to-day ; aye, and took their
turns at "sentry-go" now and again,
if no danger were near, no possibility
of the peaceful "guard" being turned
into grim earnest of defence.

"We are in wonderful request in the
Roman ballrooms and salons," wrote
one, of them. " In fact, we have become
quite 'the fashion,' and no party is
supposed to be comme il faiit without
a considerable sprinkling of Zouaves.

"Our Flag." By K. M. Stone.

578

THE AVE MARIA

But it is the privates, not the officers,
who are mostly sought after, as the
titles and fortunes that are hidden
under some of these privates' jackets
are among the oldest and largest in
Europe; though the press of England
designates us 'the cutthroats of the
Vatican' and 'Papal mercenaries.' Yet
the private fortunes of many of these
'mercenaries' w^ho fight for three sous
a day is several thousand pounds
a year. You might, for instance, even
to-day, have seen a young French noble-
man, in his private's uniform, driving
his four-ip-hand down the Corso."

" Yes, verily we were a curious
corps, — we Zouaves," comments the
same writer later. "Almost every
country in the world and every grade
of societ3^ from royalty and the bluest
Bourbon blood, in the person of Don
Alfonso of Spain, down to the bluest
skin I have ever seen, in the person of
Beaujoli from the mines of far-away
Peruvia, was represented in our ranks.
Aye, we even had amongst us a Turk
who had renounced Mahomet for
Christ, and had come to fight for the
common Father of the Faithful."*

Oh, those wondrous days of early
youth in Rome ! To be fighting for the
holiest of causes ; to be the darling of
fair ladies and the envy of those at
home; to have no cares save some
touch of impatience at the irksomeness
of inaction, some frown of a fair one
after moonlight strolls within the grey
old Coliseum ; some fitful indignation
at the harassing tactics adopted by
that unseen but ever-felt enemy, here a
flying report of plot or attack, there a
shot fired out of impregnable darkness,
never a bold stand face to face.

They are sober-minded, middle-aged
men now, those who still survive:
calm men of business, intent on city
or professional interests; country
squires, treading the lonely roads of

• "My First Prisoner." By B. T.

some remote shire with rod or gun, or
watching the green shoots of spring
crops with absorbed interest; top-
hatted Londoners, lounging down
Piccadilly or gossiping at the Bachelor's
or the Carleton, with all a Briton's
sublime self- sufficiency and horror of
"heroics," — who would have dreamed
that these prosaic individualities had
once slept on the marble stones of
St. Peter's, or mounted guard at the
Vatican to shield the person of the
successor of St. Peter?

It was then the autumn of 1867.
Since 1866, when, on December 11,
Napoleon le Petit had recalled his
protecting troops from Rome — no
numerical, but a strong moral force,
as was well understood by Italy, — the
Leonine city had been guarded by a
small volunteer army made up, as we
have said, from almost every nation in
Europe, and every class of society from
prince to peasant.

"On October 1, 1867," writes their
historian, "the Papal Army reckoned
nearly 13,000 men. Of these, 2083
were gendarmes ; 878 artillerymen ; 975
chasseurs; 1595 infantry of the line;
442 dragoons; and 625 squadriglieri,
or armed mountaineers. All these were
Papal subjects. The foreigners were
2237 Zouaves, about two -thirds of
them Dutch or Belgians, the rest French
or other nationalities; 1233 Swiss
Carabiniers, and 1096 French soldiers,
who formed the Legion d 'Antibes.
Ireland did not send a contingent as
in the previous campaign, but w^as
represented in the Zouaves by Captain
d'Arcy and Captain Delahoyd, who had
served" in the battalion of St. Patrick
in 1860; by Surgeon -Major O'Flynn,
who, in the same year, had taken part
in the defence of Spoleto under Major
O'Reilly; and by several recruits who
hastened to enlist under the Papal
standard when the Garibaldian invasion
began. [Among these last were the
two writers from whom we quote in

THE AVE MARIA.

579

the present article, Bartle Teeling and
Donat Sampson.] The effective force
available for fighting did not, however,
amount to more than 8000 men; but
their excellent discipline and organiza-
tion, and, still more, the spirit which
animated them, compensated for their
deficiency in numbers."*

We should here explain briefly that,
although Garibaldi and his bands of
desperadoes were not openly in touch
with the Piedmontese Government,
there is no question but that some
secret understanding existed between
them. Tuscany, the Duchies of Parma
and Modena, Venetia and the two
Sicilies, had all been absorbed, one by
one, into the growing "Kingdom";
and it remained but to annex Rome,
and proclaim a "United Italy," — the
war-cry of Italian soi-disant patriots,
and the catchword of English politi-
cians and enthusiasts.

When the last French garrison was
removed from Rome, a diplomatic
correspondence between that power and
the Piedmontese court resulted in the
agreement that the latter would guar-
antee the inviolability of the Papal
City, — all that now remained of the
old Papal States; while it was craftily
stipulated that should any insurrection
take place within the city, Italian
troops might be called upon to —
interfere.

Students of history well know how
valuable a weapon in the hands of
unscrupulous governments is a ficti-
tious, or made - to - order insurrection;
and more than once has a misguided
populace fallen victim to such ignoble
diplomacy. It was so in this instance.
Emissaries of the revolutionists crept
here and there, sowing seeds of discon-
tent, mistrust, and revolt. Garibaldi
himself moved stealthily onward, rous-
ing excitement and enrolling volunteers
on all sides; while the Piedmontese

• "Garibaldi's Defeat at Mentana." By Donat
Sampson.

Government first ignored his move-
ments, and then, when they could be
concealed no longer, went through what
must have been little more than the
transparent farce of a short imprison-
ment; after which he was set free —
within the limits of Caprera, — guarded
only by an ineffective blockade of a few
cruisers round the island.

During the month of September,
several minor encounters took place
between small bands of Garibaldians
and the Papal patrols who were
occupying the outlying posts near
Rome; one of which encounters was
at Bagnorea, near Viterbo, resulting
in ninety -six Garibaldians killed and
wounded, to only, six men wounded of
the Papal troops; and another and
more serious one at Monte Libretti,
a walled village to the north of Monte
Rotondo, some seventeen miles from
Rome itself Here the Zouaves lost
seventeen killed and eighteen wounded.
Among the former was one English-
man, Collingridge, and a tall and
athletic Dutchman, Peter Yong, who
dispatched no less than sixteen Gari-
baldians with the butt end of his rifle
before he fell, mortally wounded. After
a stifi" encounter, the Zouaves, who
were numerically far inferior to their
opponents, were forced to retire, while
Menotti Garibaldi, on his side, likewise
evacuated the village next day.

While the scattered bands of Garibal-
dian volunteers were thus harassing the
Papal defence force here and there, their
chief had managed — by the assistance,
it is said, of an English family on
the spot — to escape from Caprera ;
and, summoning to his banner all the
scattered "Red Shirts" throughout the
countr3', a very few days later he was
at the head of about 10,000 men, —
many of whom were merely camp
followers, it is true, but by far the
greater number trained and seasoned
veterans. With this considerable force
he now set forth toward Rome, where

580

THE AVE MARIA

his emissaries had, it was hoped, already-
prepared the way for internal revolt
such as should lead to its enforced
surrender.

They had, in truth, played their part
w^ell. While the city was in a state of
siege, its gates closed and barricaded,
or defended by earthworks, its artillery
in position, the Castle of St. Angelo
fortified and its ditches filled; while
the various barracks at different points
of the city were filled to overflowing
with Zouaves, busily drilling, patrolling,
guard mounting, and so on, — these
gallant defenders of the "Pope-King,"
as he was universally called, were in
the harassing position of knowing their
foes to be within as well as without
the city.

"It was a service," writes one of
the Zouaves, already quoted, "which
entailed but little of the fatigue or
danger or excitement of actual warfare.
But we were in constant expectation
of an attack ; and, to be ready for any
emergency, the two companies which
formed the depot remained under arms
in front of the barracks every night
from sunset till past midnight, while
advanced posts and sentinels were
placed in the neighboring streets to
guard against a surprise."

One night the Serristori barracks —
one of the principal ones in Rome — were
blown up, and thirty -seven Zouaves
buried beneath the ruins; a touching
incident in connection with which may
interest our readers. The author of
"My First Prisoner" tells us:

"At daybreak we went round to
remove the mangled corpses of Our
comrades from beneath the ruins of
Serristori, — a sad duty which had
already been begun by another com-
pany which worked through the night.
We pulled out twenty bodies and laid
them reverently aside.

"'Where is little Creci? Where is he?
He was here yesterday,' we said one
to another.

"A sweet, childlike voice said faintly:

"'Here I am! The Madonna has
saved me.'

"We looked round and saw him
lying among the debris, between two
beds. He had been sitting on one, and,
in the explosion, another had turned
over on it, and he had come down com-
paratively safely in the crash, between
two mattresses. His face was cut and
one of his arms badly hurt, but other-
wise he was uninjured. And later on
I saw that little twelve-year-old bugler
stand on the spot where he had been
blown up and sound the appel of the
regiment on his little bugle.

"Creci was a brave and chivalrous
child, — a supremely handsome, dark-
eyed Spanish boy of twelve years. He
had heard in his home in Spain that the
Pope wanted soldiers, and the impulsive
child started off for Rome. He walked
from Spain to Rome, begging his way
from town to town, and receiving help
and guidance from many a kindly,
willing hand, on a pilgrimage which
would have done honor to one of the
old Crusaders.

"When he finally arrived in the
Eternal City, he sought out the quarters
of the Colonel of the Zouaves, our be-
loved old 'Pere Alet,' as we used filially
to call him, — a very giant among men.
And the child told the sentry at the
door that he wanted to speak to the
Colonel. As he spoke in Spanish, he
was not understood ; but he persisted
in his demand ; and, an interpreter
having been obtained, the little fellow's
request was conveyed to the good-
natured old Colonel, who briefly said :
'Bring the child to me.' They brought
him ; and he said :

"'I have come to fight for the Pope.
Let me join your Zouaves.'

"The big Colonel smiled.

"'You could not, my child. You are
too young. You could not do the hard
work of a soldier.'

'"I have walked from Spain to fight

THE AVE MARIA.

581

for the Pope,' he replied. 'Let me try.'
"The kind heart of the old soldier was
conquered, and he gave orders that a
little uniform be made for the boy. We
made a bugler and a little pet of him ;
and he was the only one amongst us
who was never allowed to carry a
knapsack, though his straight little
shoulders would willingly have borne
the heavy weight if he had been
allowed."

That same night, and about the
same hour that the Serristori was
blown up, some fifty youths attacked
the guardhouse of the Capitol; "but
their bullets struck nobody, except the
old Emperor Marcus Aurelius, whose
statue bore the full brunt of their fire."
Another day attacks were made on the
gas-works and on the military hospi-
tal. The Vatican itself was strongly
guarded; while isolated attacks on
individuals, or guerilla street - fighting,
were far from infrequent.

"Our comrades were shot down as
they were met walking the streets.
One little French noble, who had come,
like so many others of the old French
noblesse, to offer his fortune and his
life in defence of the Holy See, was
shot through the heart as he was
returning alone to barracks. Another,
having entered into conversation with
a civilian whom he met, accepted from
him a proffered cigar; and, having
thanked htm and said Addio, lighted
it. The cigar exploded and blew his
face to i)ieces. It was filled with
gunpowder !''

Small wonder, indeed, that the brave
Zouaves were indignant, and that they
yearned to face the enemy!

( Conclusion next week. )

The Two Millers.

BY J. PORCHAT.

Man is like a palace which has
fallen in and has been rebuilt with its
own ruins. We see there the most
sublime and the most hideous portions
intermingled. — CbateauhrUind.

fN a remote canton of Bourgogne,
Gaspard Mirel built a mill on the
bank of a little stream, whose
waters, when carefully collected, fell
with force sufficient to turn a fair-sized
wheel. Having no competition in the
neighborhood, the miller carried on a
thriving business.

In the course of time, however, the
progress of agriculture became so great
that Gaspard's mill was not able to
meet the growing demands of the
farmers. For this reason Pierre Chosal
decided to erect a windmill on the
neighboring hill.

Gaspard viewed this rival establish-
ment with anger and jealousy. He
considered himself on the way to ruin,
because bags of grain no longer
crowded his floors as they had once
done, and the farmers did not clamor
for their turn with their former eager-
ness. Although his wheel turned con-
tinually night and day, he cast many
angry glances toward the hillside.
When he saw the great white wings
sailing merrily round as they caught
the breeze, he railed against the estab-
lishment and the one who built it. He
sometimes said :

"They took express pains to set the
mill where I can't help seeing it when-
ever I go out of doors or when I
even go to the window. Those wings
seem to leer at me. They can he seen
for miles around ; and my mill, hidden
in the valley, will soon be forgotten."
•^ Gaspard was happy only on those
days when, the wind dying down, the
wings hung motionless. He eyed them
with a malicious satisfaction, and
hstened complacently to the sound of the
waters falling on his own mill-wheel.

• Trunslaied lur The Avk Makia by 11. TwilthcU,

582

THE AVE MARIA

For a long period the calm was so
continuous that Pierre was reduced
to despair. It rained often enough,
but there was not the least wind. The
wings, soaked with water, drooped
dolefully, like a bird perched on a
branch with w^ater running off its
plumage.

In his wicked selfishness, Gaspard
believed that Providence sympathized
with him; and he said to his wife:

" God is punishing the man who
wants to ruin us."

At other times he indulged in bitter
jests at the expense of his unfortunate
neighbor. He would say, with a
triumphant air, to the farmers who
returned to him after having left him
to patronize Pierre:

"So things aren't moving over there,
hey ? Don't talk to me about machines
that go only at 'the will of the wind!
Take my words for it, friends : stick to
Gaspard 's mill and you will never be
disappointed. When you are promised
your grist at a certain time, you'll get
it. It will come as sure as the sun."

But He who is Master of the wind
is also Master of the rain. After the
long calm, breezes once more swept
over the hillside, and the wings of
Pierre's mill began to turn. The wind
came from the north, or veered round
to the west, but it brought no rain.
This state of things lasted so long
that the little stream began to feel its
influence. Finally, it could not turn the
wheel with sufficient force to grind the
grain. Gaspard had to wait for the
water to collect in the pond, so he
could work only at intervals.

The stream grew smaller day by day,
and at last it dried up entirely. Such a
thing had never been heard of before.
The unhappy Gaspard sat beside his
motionless wheel and watched the
wings on the hillside flying around in
the breeze. Farmers who had brought
their grain to him lost patience, and
carried it to Pierre.

Gaspard watched the barometer from
morning until night, but it seemed as
if the column of mercury was fixed at
a certain point. When clouds appeared
in the sky, he fixed his anxious gaze
upon them ; but his hopes were vain :
they passed over, carrying their precious
moisture to distant places.

His young wife said to him, as she
rocked her babe:

"We have angered God. Let us bear
His punishment without complaint."

Pierre Chosal saw what was tran-
spiring in the valley. It w^as now his
turn to triumph, and he said to his
family :

"Gaspard now has time to amuse
himself watching which way the wind
blows and speculating as to whether
it will bring rain or not. As for me, I
don't care which way it blows : it will
turn my mill just the same."

Being curious to observe his neigh-
bor's distress at closer range, he
descended into the valley one evening.
Here he saw that the stream had
entirely dried up. The turf around was
yellow and withered ; even the trees
drooped and seemed to suffer. But as
their leaves rustled, he thought:

"The wind is still blowing, so every-
thing is all right with me."

When he reached Gaspard's mill,
he looked through the shrubbery and
saw the great wheel standing motion-
less; the river-bed was dry, with the
exception of a little pool in which some
ducks were disputing for possession.

As he stood silently contemplating
this scene, through the open door he
saw the miller's wife rocking her babe
and singing a lullaby. The listener was
moved to pity. The child cried out at
intervals as if in pain ; and as he looked,
Pierre felt the pangs of remorse.

"I'm a wickeil man," he said to
himself. " I built m3' mill in order to
be able to support my family; and
here I am triumphing over Gaspard,
who can not make a living for his!

THE AYE MARIA.

583

May the Lord forgive me, for I have
sinned against charity and justice ! And
may He send to my poor neighbors the
rain they need so badly!"

Somewhat comforted by this prayer,
Pierre stole away from the spot with-
out being seen. He was ashamed of
having yielded to his curiosity, and he
decided to return the following day
and visit Gaspard openly.

As he was walking slowly homeward,
pondering on what he had seen, the
sky suddenly became overcast with
clouds. A strong wind blew through
the trees and shrubs, making them
bend and groan. Pierre felt satisfied
and happy. But this joy was not
destined to last.

The wind increased in velocity until it
became a veritable tempest. Growing
anxious, the miller hurried along, and
he had just reached his home when the
storm broke. It lasted all night, and
in the morning it became so furious
that Pierre thought it prudent to take
his family out of the house. They had
gone scarcely a hundred feet when the
wings snapped off and the building
toppled over. The frightened man took
his wife and children to the church
which stood near by.

At first the storm brought joy to
Gaspard's heart, as the full force of the
wind was not felt in the valley, and
the sound of falling water was indeed
pleasant to hear. As the tempest in-
creased in violence, he said facetiously :

"Neighbor Pierre has rather more
wind than he wants, I fancy!"

Then, glancing up to the hillside, he
exclaimed :

"Can it be possible, wife? God is
just and we are avenged ! Pierre's mill
is in ruins! "

The woman ran to the window, and
at sight of the ruins she was touched
with compassion.

" Perhaps they have all perished under
the house!" she cried.

"I don't wish for their death, I am

sure," said her husband, curtly, feeling
the reproach implied in his wife's tone
and manner. "But why did they build
their mill so close to me ? A wicked man
built it and the Lord has destroyed it."
" Don't say that, dear. You might
bring down the vengeance of Heaven
upon us by your uncharitableness."

Meanwhile the rain fell incessantly.

"This is too much!" exclaimed
Gaspard, growing alarmed in his turn.

And well he might be. The stream
had now become a raging torrent.
Soon the danger was extreme, and the
miller ran out of his house, followed
by his wife, carrying her child. They
also went to the church for safety. On
reaching it, the wife swooned from
fatigue and fright, and Pierre's family
cared for her as best they could.

Pierre himself was not there. He had
gone in pursuit of his small flock that
had been scattered by the fury of the
storm. His search led him down to
his rival's mill-stream. Seeing that the
house was in danger unless the course
of the waters was changed, he forgot
his own flock in his desire to help
his neighbor.

Great was his surprise on finding the
house empty. Seeing a pick near by,
the brave man waded into the stream
waist-deep, and began cutting at the
bank so as to open a new channel
for the angry waters. He was about
completing his task when Gaspard came
upon the scene. What a spectacle for
the hard-hearted man! Here was his
rival exposing his life almost in order
to save the mill from ruin ! The scales
fell from his eyes and he realized his
wickedness.

"My dear neighbor!" he exclaimed,
t"hen words failed him.

And, in truth, it was no time for
words. There was still much to be
done; and, seizing another pick, Gas-
pard went to work beside his neighbor.
After a time, through their united
efforts, the danger to the mill was past.

584

THE AVE MARIA.

The tempest quieted down at last
and the waters ceased their rushing.
One of the men could now leave to go
to look after the women and children.
Gaspard took this duty upon himself
He went to the church and brought
both families back to his house. On
the way he found some of the stray
sheep, and afterward he accompanied
his neighbor in his search for the
others. Thus it was that friendship
was established between them.

The two men formed a partnership,
and the windmill was rebuilt. When
the weather favored one, the other
supplied it with grist, and the reverse.
But ordinarily the two mills were
both running. The dreadful disaster of
the storm lived in the memory of the
children as a divine lesson, by which
they were to profit. They all grew up
loving their neighbors as themselves,
and great happiness was their portion.

Our Lady of Rocamadour.*

BY YMAL OSWIN.

1 N the heart of France, on a rocky height,

There stands a chapel on stony ways.
Hoary with time, a shrine all bright
With the love and faith of a race that prays, —

Our Lady of Rocamadour !
Within hangs, secret, the mystic bell,
Fourteen cycles rings its knell, —
O Bell of Rocamadour!

Far out on the ocean wild bloweth the blast,

Whirling waves sweep a storm-washed deck;
And cold the mariner clings to the mast,
Praying her help against utter wreck:

"Our Lady of Rocamadour,
Stella (Maris, sweet Virgin, aid!"
The wind abates, the waves are stayed, —
Our Lady of Rocamadour!

Rose a sound from the heart of France:
The mystic bell began to ring.

Untouched by hand, — as in a trance,
To swing and sway, to peal and sing,—

Our Lady of Rocamadour!
A sailor's drowning upon the main !
Say, no : he is saved, and returns again,-
O Bell of Rocamadour!

Gladly the mariner springs to land,

Blue is the sky, the sun shines clear ;
With grateful thanks he kisses the strand,
And soon climbs up to the chapel dear,—

Our Lady of Rocamadour!
A silver heart hangs beside her shrine,
An offering to his Love Divine, —
Our Lady of Rocamadour!

An American Community.

* At this celebrated shrine there is iiti ancient bell of
Celtic design, which is said to have often been heard to
ring by itself, when a sailor in danger invokes the aid
of Our Lady of Rocamadour.

BY ELLA LORAINE DORSEY.

XN 1794 not a convent could be
found in Ireland ; and where pious
voices had chanted the praise of God
at Matins and Vespers, the silence of
two centuries still cried to Him
against the laws that made such praise
a crime. Men and women who wished
to dedicate themselves to God and were
unable to reach foreign lands, could do
so only by a single vow, dwelling in
the enclosure of good works.

So when Alice Lalor, of Queen's Co.,
was urged by her brother-in-law, Mr.
Doran, who was an American merchant,
to come with his wife to Philadelphia,
she embarked with her sister, bearing
her hope with her. On the voyage she
formed an intimacy with two widows,
Mrs. Sharpe and Mrs. McDermott,
whose devotion led them also in the
path of the cloister; and they agreed
that on reaching port they would
receive Holy Communion together, and
select as their director the priest who
heard their confession.

This confessor proved to be the Rev.
Leonard Neale, S. J., who, by ways of
France, the suppression of his Order
in 1773, and the wilds of Demerara,
had been led back to his native vState,
Maryland ; and thence to Philadelphia,

THE AYE MARIA.

585

to replace Father Grasler and Father
Fleming, who had died of yellow fever
while tending their flock during the
epidemic of 1793.

Father Neale was a son of that heroic
Madam Neale who, rather than see
her children lose their faith under the
proscriptive and penal laws passed in
Marj'land by those who seized the
Government from the Catholic Loi;ds
Proprietary, sent her children to France
to be educated. Five of her six sons
became priests, and her onty daughter
a nun. Three of her sons she never saw
from the day their little faces faded into
the distance through her tears until
the day they met her in eternity; but
Father Leonard and Father Francis
came home to her.

In 1797-8 the fever again scourged
Philadelphia. It invaded Miss Lalor's
little house, carried off their one novice ;
and Father Neale, having been ordered
to Georgetown College and made its
president, invited the three faithful
companions to settle in that place. So
in 1798 they came to Georgetown, and
Miss Lalor bought a small cottage
and lot near the home of the Poor
Clares, — three noblewomen of France
who, escaping the Terror, had sought
refuge there, hoping to found a house.
The rigors of the climate, however,
added to the severity of their Rule,
compelled their return to France in
1804, and "incidentally led the way to
the carrying out of Father Neale's hopes
and plans for the young community.

lie had put the "Pious Ladies," as
they were called, under the Rule of St.
Francis de Sales, but had tried in vain
to get in touch with the Visitandines in
Europe; for Annecy was swept away
in the Terror, and Stepton-Mallet and
Challiot could do little to further his
wishes. So in hope he continued their
director, and encouraged them in every
way; his inspiration being to advance
Catholic education, especially in Mary-
land, where the Acts of Assembly of

1654, 1704, 1718 (adopting the full
measure of English severity in Statutes
11 and 12 of Wm. III.) to 1755. had
extinguished Catholic education except
at the hearthstone and the little school
of the Jesuit Fathers at Bohemia
Manor, carried on with death at the
doorstep.

Their school was opened June 24,
1799; their first pupil being Anna
Smith, of Prince George's Co.; and their
first novice. Sister Aloysia Neale, of
Charles Co. (1801.) Their pupils multi-
plied, and in 1802 the school was raised
to an academy. Then their space was
enlarged by the property of the Poor
Clares which Father Leonard Neale
bought in; and Father Francis Neale
having bought their altar, books and
belongings, and presented them to the
Pious Ladies, they gained a temporary
chapel of their own. Previously they
had heard Mass with the Poor Clares,
and later at the college chapel; for
no enclosure was observed at first,
and they were called "Mistress" or
"Madam," until Bishop Neale obtained
from Pius VII. the Brief (dated July 14,
1816) which raised the community to
the rank of a monastery.

In 1804 Sister Stanislaus Fenwicke
joined them; in 1805, Sister Magdalene
Neale; in 1806-7, Sister Mary, who
lived to be one hundred and five years
old ; in 1808, Sister Catherine Rigden ;
in 1810, Sister Margaret Marshall; in

1811, Sister Eliza Matthews ; and in

1812, Sister Henrietta Brent. It was
at this date that among the French
books of the Poor Clares was discov-
ered a tiny publication containing the
long -sought Rules of the Visitation,
with a vignette of the sainted Mother
de Chantal.

Solemn vows were taken December 16,
1816, with thirty choir Sisters, four lay
Sisters, and one "out" Sister. Father
Bestcher, formerly of the Papal Choir,
had trained them in the chants of the
Office, and congratulations came from

586

THE AYE MARIA.

Paris, Chambery, Rome, Stepton-Mallet
(England), and from Challiot, which
last also sent them a model of the
habit and silver crosses.

Six months later, the crystal chalice
of his soul filled to the brim with
life's duties done, their father, friend
and guardian, Archbishop Neale, died ;
but he had selected and summoned
from Charleston, S.C., as their director.
Father Clorivi^re. He arrived January
13, 1818, in the midst of the reception
f^te of three postulants (Miss Corish,
Miss Hughes, and Miss Digges), and
immediately began the career of help-
fulness that ended only with his life.

Father Cloriviere belonged to the old
aristocracy of Bretagne, had served
with distinction in the Royal Army,
was a Chevalier of the Order of St.
Louis, and a friend of Charles X. All
this prestige he brought to the aid of
his new charge. He sold his estate in
Bretagne, and devoted the proceeds, as
well as his French pension, to building
the chapel of the convent; he asked
and obtained from Charles X. its altar-
piece, which is said to have been painted
to order, and represents Martha and
that Mary who "chose the better
part"; he carried his beautiful court
French into the class-rooms of the
academy where he taught; and with
all his strength he helped the Sisters in
their Poor School, which was the first
free school in the District of Columbia.

The chapel was begun under the
administration of Mother Catherine
Rigden,who broke the ground ; a parish-
ioner of Father Cloriviere in South
Carolina gave the symbolic window;
and it was the first church of the Sacred
Heart in the United States.

In 1819 the Sisters issued their first
prospectus. The woodcut shows house
and chapel, with three cherubs hovering
over the scroll ; it is signed by Mrs.
Henrietta Brent, Mrs. Jerusha Barber,
and Father Cloriviere ; and the curricu-
lum and rules are set forth. In 1823

the new academy was built, and in
1829 the European Sisters arrived.

In 1832,' with 100 pupils in the
academy, 57 Sisters in the community,
and 150 children in the free school, it
seemed as if permanence and prosperity
were assured beyond question. And yet
a crisis arose; and dispersion and
absorption into other orders were
averted in 1837 only by the fact that
Mr. La Salas, of New York, sent his
three daughters to be educated and
made all the payments in advance.
Of these daughters the gayest and
prettiest, after two years of social
triumphs, came back to her Alma Mater
to take the habit.

Mother Teresa Lalor died September
10, 1846, after four terms ( twelve
years) of office, and after seeing her
daughters established in Kaskaskia,
Mobile, St. Louis, Baltimore, and
Brooklyn. Of the Mothers Superior of
Georgetown, only three others served
four terms : Mother Juliana Matthews,
Mother Agatha Combs, and Mother
Angela Harrison. The last-mentioned
was the Civil War Mother; but her
first term as superior was served in
1829; for three years is the limit of
each, and only two can be served in
succession.

The convent was the only semi-
public building in the District of
Columbia that was not seized for
hospital purposes during the Civil
War; its halls being exempted by the
grim War Secretary Stanton (not so
grim, it would seem), at the request
of General Winfield Scott, whose dear
child Virginia slept in the shadow of
the cloister, where she had passed her
novitiate and rendered her vows.

The cottage of the Pious Ladies has
grown into a great square of build-
ings; and the little lot has expanded
into thirty -eight acres, laid out in
farm garden, cemetery, flower gardens,
shrubbery, play -grounds, walks, and
groves.

THE AVE MARIA.

587

In the crypt of the chapel and in the
foundations — a wide cemented space,
whose windows look into the garden
of the monastery — lie the remains of
Archbishop Neale, Mother Teresa,
Father Plunkett, Father Cloriviere, the
daughter of the Mexican Emperor
Iturbide, and the other thirty original
Sisters. Several of the latter are inclosed
in the walls, as in ancient vaults.

As one of the objects of St. Francis
de Sales and the Baroness Jeanne de
Fremiot de Chantal in founding the
Visitandines was to provide an Order
in which pious widows might dedicate
the remainder of their lives to God,
Georgetown has on its rolls histories
that are an inspiration. Sister Olympia
( Madam Fulton ) saw her son enter
the priesthood, and for some years
had the consolation of his presence;
for he was the famous Jesuit, Father
Fulton. Sisters and brothers, mothers
and daughters? emulated one another
in dedicating themselves to God ; and
often the child led by her vocation
from a Protestant home woidd cast
the golden net of prayer around souls
precious to her, and draw them, as did
Sister Stanislaus, through the waters
of baptism to the Bark of Peter.

She was the daughter of Commodore
Jacob Jones, the American hero of the
battle between the Wasp and the
Frolic, October 17, 1814; and later the
comrade of Decatur and Bainbridge, as
well as prisoner of the Algerines. Her
brother, also a naval officer, became a
Catholic, and his son a priest.

But courage among the Pious Ladies
went higher ; for living love was laid
at the foot of God's altar, and an entire
family passed under that yoke whose
burden Our Lord Himself has declared
sweet. Sister Mary Austin Barber was
the wife of the Rev. Virgil Barber,
an Episcopal clergyman. He became a
priest, and she a nun; and their only
daughter followed her, while their four
sons likewise became priests.

This heroic lady and Sister Margaret
Marshall represent, perhaps, the two
highest types of courage, moral and
physical, in the history of the Pious
Ladies. For Sister Margaret left her
home in the Pennsylvania mountains,
in snow knee-deep; and, unmolested of
man or wild beast, walked to George-
town (two hundred and fifty miles),
over unbroken and scarcely travelled
roads, to become a tower of strength
to the community. Her brother, too,
became a priest.

The widow of the Mexican Emperor,
Iturbide, with her daughters, found a
shelter there; there, too, dwelt for a
time Mrs. Ann Mattingly, whose life,
through the prayers of Cardinal Hohen-
lohe, God had miraculously restored ;
New England sent one of its Pearces
and one of the Ripley-Emerson connec-
tion to dwell in the cloisters; France
gave one of the house of Beauhamais ;
Maryland gave one, and sometimes two
and three, from each of its old historic
Catholic families; Virginia gave a
daughter from Gunston Hall, and
another from among the pious Clearys
of Accomac; Baron Keating and the
house of D'Arreger gave each a daugh-
ter; Judge Whyte and Gerald Griffin
gave sister and niece.

Such instances of love and devotion
could, however, be multiplied ; for the
Holy Year was the golden clasp on the
convent's history of a Hundred Years;
and the Pious Ladies share with the
Carmelites of Charles County the
happiness of being the first convent
foundations in the United States; as
New Orleans and its dear Ursulines,
who followed Bienville in 1727, did
not come into the Union until 1803.

The Carmelites named were three
American Sisters, and one English Sister
whom the Rev. Charles Neale lirought
from Europe to Port Tobacco, October
15, 1790, and who remained there until
September 13, 1831, when they removed
to Baltimore.

588

THE AVE MARIA

The Madonna of the Emerald.

ONE fine afternoon, some five
hundred years ago, the podesta,
or chief magistrate, of Fiesole was
taking a walk around his city. It was
quite an old city even then, as was
attested by its weather-beaten Etruscan
walls. Fiesole is perched upon one of
the first spurs of the Apennines, and
dominates both the beauteous valley
of the Arno and "Florence the Superb."

The podesta was not, however, think-
ing of the admirable panorama spread
out before him. Strolling by the garden
of the Friars Preachers, not yet walled
around, for the convent was of recent
foundation, he was noticing that the
sons of St. Dominic had some roses of
unparalleled beauty.

These marvels of floriculture were
due to the skilful care of Brother
Simplicius, ^vho, in obedience to the
command of the Father Prior, devoted
his time to the garden. Simplicius was
not at all a doctor of Canon Law,
but just a faithful lay Brother who
worked out his salvation in drawing
water from the fountain, — a frank,
unspotted soul, who counted the "Hail
Marys" of his Rosary with watering-
pots emptied and filled uninterruptedly
all day.

If sin ever sullied his robe of innocence,
it must have been the sin of vanity as
he contemplated the scented radiance
of his flowers, lovingly prepared for the
adornment of the sanctuary. During
Divine Office, when he saw his roses
beautifying the tabernacle or forming
a brilliant carpet beneath the glorious
monstrance, he could hardly drive away
thoughts of vanity ; and it appeared to
him that the Madonna of the cloister
beamed with especial complacence on
the garlands with which he decked her.

Of course he participated without
reserve in the enthusiasm of all Tuscany
over the charming frescoes with which

a lately arrived young monk, Fra
Giovanni, was profusely ornamenting
the vaults and ceiling of the monastery.
But Simplicius was inclined to believe
that the homage of his roses was still
purer and sweeter, far more agreeable
to the King of nature. Poor Simplicius !
How his soul, limpid as the fairest
crystal, would have been troubled had
he suspected that his horticultural
success was giving to the meditations
of the strolling podesta a most unfort-
unate direction!

The podesta, as a matter of fact, had
arrested his promenade, and was admir-
ing the roses through the garden fence.

"How this hilltop has been im-
proved ! " he murmured to himself.
"Formerly there was nothing visible
here but stones and thistles. The city
didn't know how to utilize it. That's
why, without any protest, I allowed
the Reverend Fathers to occupy the
abandoned place and make a domain
for themselves. If I had foreseen that
they would produce so fine a garden,
I'd have charged them a hundred golden
guineas. That sum would come in
very handy just now ; for they are
asking us, at Foligno, sixty guineas for
painting the Madonna that is lacking
to the high altar of our cathedral. But
perhaps it is not too late. No regular
cession has been made of the municipal
property. It would be excellent business
to exact at least some indemnity
before recognizing as legitimate the
establishment, on this site, of the
Friars Preachers."

These thoughts preoccupied the lordly
podesta during his return walk, during
supper with his family, and even, it
must be confessed, during his recitation
of night prayer.

As he was no scoundrel, however, he
resolved that, before opening the matter
in the city council, he would talk it over
with the friars, and see whether a basis
of agreement could not be found that
would permit him to offer his fellow-

THE AYE MARIA.

589

citizens a solution satisfactory to all
parties. The next morning, accordingl}',
he went to the convent and exposed the
matter to the Reverend Prior.

The city's claim for compensatio;i
was altogether unexpected ; the magis-
trate's disclosure filled the Prior with
consternation. The good man was
no diplomat. He knew, of course, the
rights of the city of Fiesole; but he
recalled the fact that he had taken up
a wild and uncultivated bit of land,
adding that the kind silence of the
authorities had always appeared to
him a tacit cession of the site.

"Things will turn out," he humbly
concluded, "as pleases God and your
lordship. But, as you know, we are
mendicants by vow and profession.
Our father, St. Dominic, has forbidden
us to lay up earthly treasures ; we have
neither coin nor coffers ; and if we are
dispossessed, we can only leave you
our poor half-finished buildings and go
plant our tent wherever the wind of
the good God shall waft us."

The departure of the Friars Preachers!
The podesta had not even thought
of so violent a hypothesis. They were
well liked in the city; for that matter,
he himself regarded them with esteem
and affection. He accordingly protested
with sincerity that he desired nothing
of the kind.

"Nevertheless," he continued, "your
Paternity ought to have a regular
deed of the property; and, despite all
our good will, the state of our finances
Ijrevents our making you a gift of the
site. IvCt us seek a compromise."

The compromise was found ; and
the first to hear of it was the young
artist monk, Fra Giovanni. The Prior
found him on a scaff'olding in the
chapter hall.

"Brother," said the superior, "leave
this work for a time. The gift of art
with which God has endowed you is
to be utilized for His glory and the
salvation of our house. The authorities

of Fiesole demand of you an impor-
tant canvas — a picture of the Blessed
Virgin. Put your whole soul into the
work; we are to offer it to the city
for the altarpiece of its cathedral, and
the city in return will give us a deed
of our monastery's site which does
not yet belong to us. Will you need
a model?"

" The model is up there," answered
Giovanni, directing a seraphic glance
toward heaven.

"Very well. Hurry up! From now
on, Brother Simplicius will be at your
orders to mix your colors and aid you
in the rougher part of your work."

The young religious bowed, and went
forthwith with his assistant to shut
himself up in his humble studio.

He knelt down and prayed with
fervor. And, little by little, as the ardor
of his naive faith illuminated his imagi-
nation— the imagination of a believer
and an artist, — the type of the Virgin
seemed to take form before him. His
eye fixed on the divine model which
his ecstasy presented to him, he seized
palette and brush, transferring to his
composition the exquisite grace and
tender mysticism that enraptured his
grateful heart. There was nothing
redolent of earth in this sweet, ethereal
figure which the kneeling priest copied
from the pure ideal engendered by his
faith, transcribing the Madonna whom
he saw smiling on him from her starry
nimbus.

Mute with surprise before the artist
and the canvas which day by day
took on intenser life. Brother Simjjlicius,
preparing on the palette the crimson
of the tunic or the azure of the mantle,
felt himself overpowered by a religious
respect, as if he stood before a real
apparition of Our Lady ; and when he
stole out for a moment of an evening
to water his beloved roses, his only
rei)ly to the curious Brothers who
waylaid him in the corridors to ask
about the mysterious work, was :

590

THE AVE MARIA.

" Angelico ! Angelica! 'Tis an angel
that's painting."

In fact, Brother Simplicius grew quite
infatuated with the holy picture. He
spoke to it, confounding the figure
with the model. He loved it, and his
love increased in proportion to the
nearness of the day when the ecstatic
painter should lay down his brush.

That day came, and Fra Giovanni
went to notify the Prior that the
work was finished. The monks were
assembled, and all went to the studio.
Enthusiasm seized them at once. With-
out exception, each felt something of
the emotion that mastered Simplicius,
as, falling on their knees, they exclaimed :
" Ave Maria ! Ave Maria!" And the
word used by the Brother was repeated
as the exact expression of the general
sentiment : " Angelico ! Angelico ! "

''Angelico !" cried also the podesta,
who was sent for without delay ; and
he resolved that the picture should
be carried to the cathedral the very
next day.

The clergy, the city council, and the
whole population of Fiesole came pro-
cessionally on the morrow to take
possession of the new Madonna ; and
Brother Simplicius, with radiant visage,
threw open to them the doors of the
chapter hall where the painting had
been carefully hung.

There was a cry of admiration,
and immediately afterward an angry
murmur rising into an indignant out-
burst from the thronging spectators.
A sacrilegicms hand had cut through
the canvas in order to place in the
grasp of the Madonna a beautiful
rose, — a rose still empearled with the
dewy kisses of morning. It was the
naive homage which Brother Simplicius
had tliought most worthy of his dear
Aladonna, and with which, in oonse-
(juence, he hjvingly bedecked her in
bidding her gvjod - bye.

The common people in Italian cities
were artists five centuries ago; and,

despite the holiness of the place, there
were hasty imprecations and a mani-
fest disposition to give poor Brother
Simplicius some rough usage. Fra
Giovanni, however, ran forward and
covered his assistant w^ith his white
mantle. At the sight of the master, one
sentiment moved every bosom, and
there was a noisy shout of "Angelico !
Angelico !" The ovation to the painter
gave Brother Simplicius a chance, which
he promptly seized, to escape by the
garden door.

Angelico, — Fra Angelico. The monk
of Fiesole retained the sweet name in
the monastery of Florence, which he
adorned with his masterpieces; in
Orvieto, where he decorated the cathe-
dral ; and in Rome, where the Pontiff,
Nicholas V., confided to him the adorn-
ment of a Vatican chapel.

As for the Madonna transpierced by
a rose, it took the name, "Madonna
of the Emerald," because, when Fra
Angelico died at Rome, and it accord-
ingly became impossible to have the
picture restored by its author, the old
podesta detached from his official hood
a sparkling emerald given to him by
his neighbor, Cosmo de' Medicis, and
fixed it on the outraged canvas to
hide the rent.

As there are numberless flowers on
the earth, all of them flowers, and so
far like each other; and all springing
from the same earth, and nourished by
the same air and dew, and none without
1)eauty ; and yet some are tar more
beautiful than others; and of those
which are beautiful some excel in color,
and others in sweetness, and others in
form; and then, again, those which
are sweet have such perfect sweetness,
yet so distinct, that we do not know
how to compare them together, or to
say which is the sweeter: so is it with
souls filled and nurtured by God's
secret grace. — Newman.

THE AVE MARIA.

591

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SADLIBR.

XL. — Eben Knox Seeks the Docu-
ments.

IT was not very long after Jim
Bretherton had left the mill -house
before Eben Knox returned. He had
taken the night train from Boston,
and had walked from the station in the
deep silence of the middle night; raising
his hollow eyes from time to time to
the calm, majestic sky, where glittered
the glory of numberless stars.

Arrived at the mill -house, he let
himself in by a key; and, taking a
dry crust and a scrap of cold meat
from the larder, satisfied his hunger.
This done, he sat down by the hearth,
upon which lay the ashes in cold, grey
heaps. He stared at them, with hands
thrust deep into liis pockets and feet
outstretched, a very image of despond-
ency. The desolation of the hearth
symbolized the ruin of his hopes, which
he vaguely felt to be impending. For
the exhilaration of the mood which had
led him to give that singular feast had
vanished ; and the prospects, lately so
bright to his imagination, appeared
now as the delusive mirage haunting
th? mariner upon ocean wastes. He lit
bi:t a solitary candle that cast over
tVc room an uncertain, flickering light.
He was utterly indifferent to the cold,
the qualor, and the dreariness.

] .e remained thus lost in thought
V. hile the night wore away, marked
only by the ticking of the watch in
his pocket; and the first streaks of
dawn were visible in the eastern sky,
peeping as a wan and frightened visage
through the curtain, when a sudden
impul.se seized him. He felt moved to
have a look at the treasured documents
which constituted his only hojie, and
might have been regarded as his title
deeds to paradise.

The candle had burned low in the
socket, till it was merely a seething
mass of grease. He lit a fresh one;
and, seeking the key in the clock case,
stood upon the bench, opened the
comer cupboard, and drew thence the
iron box. Perhaps some slight difference
in its weight attracted his attention,
for he hastened with feverish eagerness
toward the table where stood the light.
Turning the key in the lock, he raised
the lid. After a quick glance, which
became presently a stupefied stare, he
let fall the box upon the floor with a
loud clang, awaking at least one sleeper.

For a few seconds he stood clawing
and clutching at the empty air, as one
who fights with phantoms, the grim
shapes of horror and despair. Then
from his lips, with a hissing, dreadful
sound, telling of their diabolical origin,
imprecations issued forth in a contin-
uous stream. It was ghastly in that
ghastly dawn to hear the wretch thus
calling down his Creator into the petty
concerns of life, and defying omnipotent
power. It was terrifying to one who,
awakened by the fall of the box, listened
above, shivering like an aspen leaf; and
yet, with a fearful fascination, acquaint-
ing herself with every detail of that
horrifying scene.

"Gone!" she heard the manager
say, — "gone, the papers, the proofs,
my sole hope and reliance!"

He wailed aloud in a very agony ;
and the woman, stealing down to that
place upon the stairs which had been
Ijcfore her post of observation, beheld
the livid, contorted countenance, the
horrible wrestlings and writhings of
the wretch, emphasized by those terrific
.{jlasphemies.

The clock upon the mantel, from
the case of which the key had been
abstracted, struck an hour. It was an
old clock, out of gear, and did not often
strike, so that there was something
uncanny in its sudden sounding. The
man turned and cursed it, as if it had

592

THE AVE MARIA.

been a living thing. He had a desire
to smash its white face, which stared
at him, — stared as did the black ruin
and despair confronting him. For w^ell
he knew that an enemy had done this
thing, — some one who was hostile and
who desired to defeat his plans.

Throwing himself at last into a chair,
Eben Knox let his head fall upon his
hands in a fierce paroxysm of sobbing, —
strong, deep, terrible sobbing, such as is
but rarely heard from human breasts.
How long this lasted it would have
been difficult to say; and when it had
died out, the manager was quiet a
few moments from very exhaustion. In
that brief interval, however, a sudden
idea seized him, and, bounding from
his chair, he rushed in the direction of
the sleeping apartments. Arriving at
the door of the room where Mother
Moulton still slumbered unconscious,
he began a violent pounding.

The old woman stirred uneasily,
believing at first that she was dream-
ing; but as the clamor continued, she
raised herself upon her elbow to listen.
It occurred to her that she must have
overslept ; for it was her custom to rise
with the sun. But no: she glanced at
the window-panes, which were merely
cold and grey in the first light of dawn.
Yet there was the knocking at her door,
and surely that was the voice of Eben
Knox, inarticulate though it was with
the fury which possessed him. These
words at least she distinguished :

"Get up, you hag! Get up and come
out here at once, — at once, I say!"

"I'll be there when I'm ready!" the
crone retorted, wondering what was
astir. Such a thing had never happened
before in all her experience.

"Make readj soon, then, or it'll be
the worse for you ! " roared Eben Knox.

"The curse of the crows upon you
for disturbing a body's rest!" cried the
irate old woman.

Partly impelled by curiosity to dis-
cover what had happened, Mother

Moulton began to obey the summons.
She made a hasty toilet, presently
emerging in a costume which certainly
did not add to her charms. She wore
simply a short petticoat and jacket,
and a cap from which escaped elf-locks
of iron-grey.

Eben Knox, however, noticed none
of these details; but, gripping the
crone by the arm, hurried her, with
grumbling, snarling and complaining,
to the living room, where a candle
still struggled for supremacy with the
rising sun.

"You daft loon," muttered the angry
woman, "I'll have the law of you for
dragging me about like an article of
furniture! You're losing your wits,
and the house isn't safe with the like
of you in it."

"Hold your blathering tongue," said
Knox, "and tell me what you did
with them?"

"Did with what?"

"The papers!"

" Papers ? What papers ? " replied the
beldame, concealing the dismay with
which she undoubtedly heard that the
loss of the papers had been discovered.
"What should I know, dragged out
of my bed before the screech of dawn ? "

" Answer my question ! " he demanded.
"What did you do with my papers?"

"Where did you keep them?"

The manager indicated by a gesture
the corner cupboard, which was at an
angle considerablj' elevated above the
floor.

Mother Moulton laughed scornfullj'.

" It's full twenty years since I climbed
that high. And if your wits weren't
wanttering you'd know well enough
I never could get up yonder. Do you
think I'm the 'auld wife sweeping
cobwebs off the sky'?"

Even in his rage, Elien Knox perceived
that there was truth in her defence.
Apart from her age altogether. Mother
Moulton was considerably crippled by
rheumatism, which the dampness of the

THE AYE MARIA.

593

mill -house had engendered. She could
scarcely have been convicted of soaring
so high, even had she known — which
the manager doubted — of the existence
of the hiding-place. Something like
superstitious awe stole over him for an
instant. Could it have been that the
dead had established a literal mortmain
over what was once their property ?

Presently rallying from the creepiness
which seized upon him, he pointed to
the empty box upon the floor.

"The papers are gone, I tell you;
and if you didn't steal them, it was
the other!"

A real terror possessed the stout-
hearted old woman at this conjecture,
which she knew to be the actual truth.
But she gave no sign, only exclaiming:

"What should she know of you and
your bits of paper, or the hiding-place
you had like the eyrie of an eagle?"

"Where is she, till I question her?"
retorted the manager. "Tell me in-
stanth' where she is."

Though it was the last thing in her
thoughts to acquaint Eben Knox with
her daughter's probable whereabouts,
she involuntarilv glanced up the stairs.
Instantly the man, who was watching
her as a cat watches a mouse, took the
hint. Snatching the candle from the
table, he bounded up the stairs, followed
by Mother Moulton as fast as she
could hobble.

Neither was aware of an interlude
which had occurred while Eben Knox
was racing along the passageway, and
])<)unding at Mother Moulton's door
in his effort to awaken her. The young
woman above had been haunted ever
since her aljstraction of the papers In'
the fear of Eben Knox. This fear had
h?cn, at first, urgent and all-pervading,
so that it occasioned sleepless nights,
or caused her to start from feverish
dreams with the fancy that the manager
was at her bedside demanding the docu-
ments. Gradually her extreme anxietv
had been lulled into fancied security

by Knox's apparent indifference to his
late possessions. When at last the blow
had fallen, and she had witnessed the
fearful scene in the living room, and
heard with her own ears the torrent of
horrible blasphemy, the younger woman
had been so overcome with terror as
almost to grovel upon the floor. It
seemed only too likely that the manager
would connect her presence in the house,
of which he was now aware, with the
loss of the papers.

Hearing him, therefore, rush down the
hall, she had picked up the sleeping
child, thrown a cloak over her shoulders
and sped down the stairs. While Eben
Knox was still waking the echoes with
his frenzied knocking, she had trem-
blingly unbolted the fastening of the
outer door. It had creaked upon its
hinges ; gusts of cold and frosty air had
swept into the room; a sky of livid
white streaked with faintest grey had
shone ghastly cold and dreary an
instant. Then the door had been closed
again, and a silent, flying figure had
sped out and away from the mill-house.
Quivering in every nerve, stumbling,
trembling, the woman had fled into
the chill and stillness of the newly
awakened day.

Reaching the top of the staircase,
Mother Moulton's bleared eyes, know-
ing just where to look, almost instan-
taneously convinced her that the loft
was empty. She drew a deep breath of
relief and thankfulness; while Eben
Knox, guided by the feeble rays of the
candle, stumbled about searching for
his prey. Around him fell strange
shadows from the beams and rafters,
and the crone's discordant laugh rang
i;i his ears.

" I wish you joy of your fool's (juest! "
she cried. " I'm thinking it's little you'll
find up here l)ut b;its and mousics."

lie ])resently saw that she was right,
and that the (jbject of his pursuit, if she
had been there at £ill, hfid eluded him.

"My man," Mother Moulton con-

594

THE AVE MARIA.

tinued, emboldened by the certainty of
her daughter's flight, "if you go on
making such a rout about the papers
that you stole from your betters, I'll
loose my tongue at last; and if I do,
it'll be easier for you to stop the mill-
clapper than my talk. I've held my
peace this many a day, for the sake
of a roof to cover me, the bit I ate,
and the quiet of the place. But if it
comes to making a rout, you'll rue
the day you began it."

So saying, she hastened down the
stairs; and Eben Knox, black with
suppressed fury, followed her.

There was something ominous in the
silence which had replaced his wild and
violent mood ; and he was impressed
more than might have been supposed by
the threat which Mother Moulton had
let fall. She could speak, and she could
reveal many things more than were
recorded in those ill-starred papers, —
much which he did not desire to make
public at all. For he had assuredly
never meant that all the workings of
his nefarious schemes, made manifest in
the papers, should see the light of day.

Even now he had a faint, glimmering
hope that the documents might still
have been stolen merely for a reward,
and that he might recover them. If
they] were irretrievably gone indeed,
and if they should reach the proper
channels, not only was his power over
Miss Tabitha and the Brethertons
futile, as well as his hopes of winning
Leonora, but his own character would
be so hopelessly blasted 'that he would
not dare to appear in Millbrook. Not
that he cared very muchfor that, if all
the^rest were gone, — if he had thrown
his last die and lost. For the time
being, however, he realized that he must
keep Mother Moulton silent at any
cost, save the actual violence which
w'ould defeat his own ends.

lie, therefore, stood silent, breathing
hard, and regarding her with eyes that
still blazed with furj\ But he gave

no further sign of rage or malevolence,
except to bring his fist down upon the
table, and set the candle dancing, as
he cried :

"I'll have the papers, you hellhag!
And let you and her beware how you
play with a desperate man!"

So saying, he flung himself out of the
door; and Mother Moulton laughed
softly to herself, knowing that for the
time being the victory was hers.

The manager did not even perceive,
as he went forth, that the door, which
he had so lately bolted upon his
arrival from the train at midnight, was
unfastened. His brain was boiling
and seething with the ferment of his
thoughts. There was upon him an
awful sense of failure and of approach-
ing disaster, which had been heralded
by his mood of despondency. He knew
not whither he was going, or what
was his errand ; but he felt the need
of getting into the open air, lest he
should stifle after the fierce and fiery
agitation through which he had passed.

It vaguely occurred to him that by
seeking he might find Mother Moulton's
daughter. He looked off" in one direc-
tion, and then in another; he peered
about the projections of the mill-house
and of the mill itself; he took the short
cut to the highroad, and gazed up and
down. As yet not a living creature was
stirring, save a dog or two wandering
about in aimless fashion.

Re-descending, Eben Knox turned
instinctively to the spot under the alder
bushes whence 3'ears before he had
disinterred the documents. He examined
it narrowly, as if he had a fancy that
they might have returned thither again.
He recalled with a horrible vividness
that and other scenes in the drama of
long ago ; and as he did so, by a curious
chain of association, he began to sing
in a croaking voice, low and harsh as.
the grating of a door upon rustj- hinges,
a song which he had not heard or
sung since those bygone days. He sang

THE AVE MARIA.

595

the verse over and over, while he dili-
gently pursued that fruitless work of
following up old traces.

He continued at this occupation, still
droning out that monotonous song,
till signs of life appeared upon the
highroad, and he dimly realized that
soon the mill bell must be rung and
the mill hands summoned to work.
This thought sent him indoors, where,
confronting Mother Moulton again,
he compelled her to bring forth her
worm-eaten clothes-chest and turn out
the contents, lest the papers might
be concealed there. The old woman
humored him, though she kept up a
stream of jibes and uncomplimentary
epithets the while she aided him with
simulated ardor in the search. He
heeded her words no more than if they
had been the whistling of the wind
in the trees without. He regarded only
that inward voice which seemed to warn
him that all was lost, and that the dark
Nemesis of his fate was approaching.

By a kind of instinct, however, he
hastened at the accustomed hour to
open the mill, and watched with strained
and haggard eyes while Dave Morse
rang the bell, and Matt Tobin, who
was usuallj' the first to arrive, went
about among the looms in his taciturn
lashion, jireparing for the day's work.

The mill bell clanged harshly, eliciting
muttered execrations from Jesse Craft
on its ear-splitting properties, and
bringing the mill hands in a straggling
but steady stream along the street.

As they passed in, saluting, in more
or less uncouth fashion, their employer,
where he stood, a grim, rigid figure, not
one of them guessed the fiery tumult
through which the "boss" had passed.
His dark and bitter thoughts left scarce
an unusual trace, upon his saturnine
countenance. His somljre aspect was
hardly more sombre, his fejitures not
a whit harsher or more repellent, nor
the loneliness of his isolation from his
fellows more marked. Only when they

had all passed in, the manager stood
staring out through the open door,
with unseeing eyes, until Matt Tobin
roused him from his reverie.

The instinct, the mechanical habit of
years, was so strong that in an instant
Eben Knox awoke from his dream and
went about his customary occupations,
with an exact attention to routine
which left no room for remarks. It was
part of the man's melancholy isolation
that none cared to read those signs
about him which would have been
visible to the keen eyes of love or of
friendly interest. To aH Intents and
purposes, therefore, the manager of the
Millbrook woolen mills was precisely
the same as he had previously been,
though the most eventful day of his
life had dawned with those first faint
streaks of light in the eastern sky,
and though notable events were now
thickening upon his pathway.

( To be continued. )

The Passing Bell.

IN connection with the Plango
dcfunctos — "I bewail the dead," —
so frequently found inscribed upon old
bells, it is interesting to note that it
was once the custom to ring what was
known as the "Passing Bell," — that is
to toll the bell, not after the sick person
had died, but whilst he was actually
dying. The custom arose naturally
out of the pious belief that the sound
of the con.secrated bells had power to
terrify evil spirits, and that such spirits
were particularly active in harassing
the expiring patient.

This tolling of the Passing Bell was
fetained even by the Reformers, who
instructed the people that its use was
to admonish the living, and excite
them to pray for the dying. At the
beginning of the eighteenth century,
however, the modern fashion had been
generally adopted ; the tolling took
place after the death instead of before.

596

THE AVE MARIA.

A Question to Mr. Goldwin Smith.

IT strikes us that Mr. Goldwin
Smith has a great deal to say on
the subject of " supernaturalism " for
one who claims to have given up "any-
thing above or contrary to nature."
In the course of a communication to
the New York Sunday Sun (Oct. 22),
the venerable Canadian tells of getting
"the declaration of a simple soul who
has been converted, or reconverted, to
the fai^ J)y witnessing the miracu-
lous liquefaction of the blood of St.
Januarius. He says," continues Mr.
Smith, "that he actually saw with
his own eyes the solid suddenly be-
come liquid. Unquestionably the simple
soul did. There is another periodical
miracle of the same kind at Amalfi,
where the bones of a saint exude on
a certain day in each year. Does
American Catholicism believe in these
miracles?"

We are not informed as to the Amalfi
marvel; but regarding the liquefaction
of St. Januarius' blood at Naples, Amer-
ican Catholicism — which is essentially
like any other Catholicism — would
answer Yes. This miracle is proved
by a mass of evidence and testimony,
has been witnessed innumerable times
by men of the highest character, and
chemists of the first fame, under cir-
cumstances the most favorable for the
detection of imposture. It stands, —
we believe it.

Now we should like to put a ques-
tion to Mr. Goldwin Smith. In the
same letter from which we have quoted
he says:

Many v'cars ago a convent in the Tyrol was
the alleged scene of miracles wrought upon the
persons of two nuns. The .^ddolorata l)ore the
stigmata; the Ecstatica was miraculously raised
from the ground in prayer. There was a great
controversy about the case, in which, if I
remember rightly, Lord Shrewsbury, the leading
Catholic layman, took part. I happened to allude
to the case in print as probably one of hysteria.

Thereupon I received a visit from a fellow of
a college at Oxford, who afterward became a
Roman Catholic, but who was a man, I should
have said, not only of superior cultivation, but of
remarkable good sense in ordinary matters, and
certainl}- of the highest character. He assured
me that he and two companions, also fellows of
colleges and in every respect, except that of their
extreme High Church bias, eminently trustworthy,
had actually witnessed the miracles, and had
seen the blood run upward on the Addolorata's
forehead. Those miracles were in the end com-
pletely exposed and withdrawn.

Persons familiar with the case of
Maria Mori will notice at once that
Mr. Smith has got it mixed up with
another — that of Maria Domenica Laz-
zari. Both were brought before the
English public by John, Earl of Shrews-
bury; A. L. M. P. De Lisle, Esq.; the
Rev. T. W. Allies ( he was then an
Anglican clergyman), and others. The
two celebrated subjects of stigmata
have been dead many years; and the
pamphlet written by Mr. De Lisle, with
etchings by J. R. Herbert, R. A., is now
out of print. It appeared in 1841
(London: Dolman). A more complete
and detailed account of Maria Mori is
given in Gorres' "Christliche Mystik."
Mr. Smith's insinuation is that these
impostures, as he would call them,
were "worked" as long as possible,
and withdrawn only on compulsion.

Mr. Goldwin Smith asserts very posi-
tively that "those miracles were in
the end completely exposed and with-
drawn." Our question is as simple as
possible : When and b\' whom ? We
have answered a question put by Mr.
Smith, he should be willing to return
the favor.

lT~is necessar\' to learn with great
care the sacred doctrines of the faith
which Peter taught, and to show forth
good works corresponding to that
faith. —St. Bcde.

Ships and armies you may replace if
thej^ are lost ; but a great intellect once
abused is a curse to the earth forever.

— Ruskin.

THE AVE MAFJIA.

59?

Notes and Remarks.

The organization, last month, of " The
Catholic Church Extension Societ3^ of
the United States" was an event of
notable interest, no matter what degree
of success or failure the movement is
destined to meet with; and to the
optimist, with eye steadfastly fixed on
the glowing possibilities of develop-
ment, and heart strong in the faith that
Providence will assuredly crown zeal-
ous effort with brilliant achievement,
it may well appear an epoch-making
occurrence in the history of the Church
in America. The specific purpose of the
new society, as stated by its founders,
"is the development of the missionary
spirit in the Catholic population of the
United States, by aiding the building
of churches in needy places, or by any
other missionary work that may be
deemed advisable by the board of
governors."

The society is the legitimate outcome
of the efforts of the Rev. Francis C.
Kelly, who for several years past, in
the American Ecclesiastical Review and
elsewhere, has been advocating organ-
ized effort along the lines indicated
above. He has called attention to the
fact that in many States, notably in
the West and South, churches must be
built for flocks, few in number and poor
in pocket, formed mostly of settlers
having indeed a future, but at present
hampered by debts and mortgages ; and
that the work of church organization
in such places can not be postponed
without the loss of many souls.
To make such organization possible
all over our country is the primary
purpose of the Church Extension
Society, which is, accordingly, only
another form of the Propagation of
the Faith.

» * ^

The age of the earth has been esti-
mated as high as six hundred million

years (Hutchinson), and as low as six
million years (Dawson). It was Voltaire
who said, "The world is an old coquette
who conceals her age"; and she has
managed to keei? the secret remarkably
well. It is quite possible, however, that
the contention of Sir J. W. Dawson
("Modern Science in Bible Lands"),
that the facts of both geologj' and
astronomy beautifully harmonize in
point of time with those of the Bible
history, may yet be established beyond
a peradventure. Reviewing a collection
of essays and addresses by the Professor
of Geology at Oxford, juSt published by
Fisher Unwin, a scientific writer in the
Athenxum, after remarking that the
most important of these addresses (on
the Age of the Earth) was delivered five
years ago, adds: "Since that time such
remarkable discoveries have been made
in connection with radium and other
radio-active bodies, that any conclu-
sions based on the time required for the
earth to cool down from its original
heated condition must either be useless
or need modification of a very serious
character."

No one acquainted with the Bishop
of Hartford could doubt that he is
doing his best and his utmost to
provide for the religious needs of the
many immigrants from various Cath-
olic countries that of late years have
flocked into Connecticut. Whether Mgr.
Tierney was the first to adopt the
policy of sending seminarians abroad
to study the different languages of those
whose spiritual welfare he has at heart
quite as much as if they were natives,
is of no consequence. His Lordship has
shown that this course is the true one
to pursue; and has won for it the
approval of the Pope, who, after hear-
ing last month an explanation of how
immigrants were cared for in the diocese
of Hartford, exclaimed: "The proper
way and the only way ! " Priests of
foreign birth and education imbued

598

THE AYE MARIA.

with the spirit of their high vocation
are unlikely ever to be too numerous in
the United States; and, on the other
hand, there is no country in the wide
world where priests of another stamp
can do more harm. Bishop Tierney's
aim is to provide his foreign flocks
with shepherds, and at the same time
to protect them from hirelings.

We are gratified to notice that public
action is being taken in California for
the preservation of its historic titles,
so many of w^hich were in danger of
change or loss. The Southern Pacific
Railroad .is circulating a pamphlet
pleading for the retention of all historic
place-names; and the citizens of San
Buenaventura have prepared a petition,
to be sent to President Roosevelt,
requesting that the present nickname
of their city (Ventura), invented by an
official of the Post Office Department,
be dropped. A beautiful public senti-
ment has grown up in San Francisco
against the nickname "Frisco," which
is rightly characterized as stupid or
barbarous. It was natural that Mr.
Lummis should have something to say
on this subject; and what he says is
worth repeating:

When the old Bay State is willing to call her
most famous battlefield "Bunk" instead o
Bunker Hill ; when Los Angeles is mostly infested
with people who think that "Angle" would
be a more "progressive" name; when Santa
Barbara is ready to renounce her sainthood and
her history for laziness' sake, — in a word, when
Americans in general are "too tired" to use
respectable speech, — why, then probably we shall
all be reconciled to the impudent curtailing of
California names by $75 ignoramuses in Wash-
ington bureaus. But not until then.

In contradistinction to the bigotry
of the White Star Line, an instance of
which we commented on last month,
comes this testimony from one of our
missionary priests in China: "The
harbor of Tche-fou looks, for the .time
being, like a port in war-time. We

have here twenty battle-ships, — English,
American, German, and Chinese. Among
the sailors a good number are Cath-
olics; and, at the request of the
American blue-jackets, I solicited of the
Oregon's commander permission to say
Mass on board a week ago last Sun-
day. The commander, a most amiable
gentleman and one who speaks French
very correctly, replied that some Protes-
tant ministers had already engaged the
ship for that day, but that on the
following Sunday he 'would be much
pleased to see the Catholic sailors
have their Mass.' The Holy Sacrifice
was duly celebrated, a number of
Catholic officers joining with the men
in assistance thereat, and the ship's
band furnishing appropriate music at
different parts of the service."

We do not know what particular
officer has succeeded the gallant Captain
Clark as commander of the Oregon ;
but, whoever he is, we congratulate him
on his having impressed upon residents
and visitors in Tche-fou the truth
that the United States countenances no
religious bigotry in its naval service,
although England, it must be said,
makes far better provision for the
religious needs of her navy.

It is not often that one meets with
historical data so clearly set forth as
in the following paragraphs which we
clip from a recent number of our Anglo-
Catholic contemporary, the Lamp.
The prophecy of King Edward is new
to us. Fully conscious of our incapacity
for the interpretation of such things,
we will borrow that of our contempo-
rary. It concludes with the Scriptural
words: "He that hath ears to hear, let
him hear what the Spirit saith unto
the Churches":

It was in 1533 that by act of Parliament
Henry VIII. was formally proclaimed Supreme
Head of the Church of England, the same claim
being forced upon Convocation the j'Car following.

It was in 1833 that the Oxford Movement had

THE AYE MARIA.

599

its Pentecostal birth, when on Sunday, July 14
(the 7th after Whitsundaj-) , John Keble preached
his famous sermon at Oxford on the "National
Apostasy."

Just three hundred years, then, from the begin-
ning of the Erastian Captivity, which resulted
in the alienation of the Church of England from
the Holy See, the movement is inaugurated
whose "predestined end" is reunion with the
same Holy See.

Strangely enough, this tallies with a remarkable
prophecy of King Edward the Confessor, who
foretold that the Church of England would be
cut away as a tree from its stock and carried
a distance of three acres, and then, by no human
power, would it be again united with the parent
root and flourish greatly. Interpret the three
acres as representing in time a distance of three
centuries, and you have a remarkable description
of England's breach with Rome, and the mighty
work of the Holy Ghost now going on to heal
that breach.

Writing to the Salesian Bulletin from
Ctizco (Peru), the ancient capital of the
Incas, Father SantinelH dwells with
pleasure on the majestic edifices erected
in that city during its first years of
Christianity. After a somewhat detailed
description of the magnificent cathedral,
in the style of the Renaissance, he says :

The riches of the churches of Cuzco would take
a long time to describe. A short notice must
suffice. It is said that at the opening of the
cathedral, the Bishop officiating, Mgr. Ortega
Soto Mayor had the pavement covered with
plates of silver, each of which weighed two
hundred golden marks. The vestments of the
church are of great value. The thuribles and
numljers of chalices are all of gold and silver. A
car for the Corpus Christi procession is made
entirely of silver ; on this is placed a monstrance,
over three feet in height, of solid gold, so heavy
that a strong man can only with difficulty lift
the pedestal. There is also a precious ivory
crucifix and a staff of silver gilt. I do not speak
of the numerous altars of cedar, artistically
carved, and gilded %vith fine gold, the brightness
of which the lapse of centuries has not tarnished.
Many altars, like that of the cathedral, are of
silver.

In conquering for the Church and
for civilization the nations of South
America, Catholic Spain left an imper-
ishable record in monumental religious
edifices. A century ago such lavish

ornamentation as is quoted above

would have excited the denunciation

of all Protestant sects; nowadays

they are beginning to understand that

nothing can be too splendid for a

church.

» ■ »

The last page of Les Missions
Catholiques presents, week after week,
an object-lesson which we habitually
con with mingled admiration and regret.
The lesson is the list of contributions
to the Propagation of the Faith; our
admiration is evoked by the unfailing
generosity of which it is the concrete
evidence; and our regret centres upon
the fact that similar liberality does
not characterize American Catholics,
or, for that matter, English-speaking
Catholics anywhere. We have footed
up the items in the latest list published
by our Lyonese contemporary, and
find that the amount for the week is
about $1225. In view of the present
distressing state of religious affairs in
France, and of the burdens which its
people will in all probability be speedily
called upon to bear for the support
of their pastors, this, we submit, is a
notable sum, and one which may well
stir the indifference of better-to-do Cath-
olics in more favored lands than the
Freemason dominated republic.

•
• «

We have often wished that the gen-
erosity of the many thousand readers
of our own magazine would necessitate
the weekly appearance of "Our Contri-
bution Box," add that the list of items
might demand a full page; and we
certainly think that a little reflection
on that charity toward God's works
which is only congruous in those
whom God has abundantly blessed with
worldly goods, would enable us to
relieve many a necessitous missionary,
encourage many a worried band of
Sisters in foreign climes, and cheer
many a group of lepers and others
of God's afflicted ones. In an era of

600

THE AYE MARIA.

unprecedented prosperity, it behooves
us all to remember, and act upon, the
text: "Those who give to the poor
lend to the Lord."

Urgent appeals for help to sustain
two promising missions in China are
before us as we write. Even a small
alms from every reader of The Ave
Maria would render these missions
flourishing, and promote more than
can be told the glory of God in vast
heathen districts, where the natives
have already abandoned their idols and
eagerly await the Catholic missionary.
Ignorance is the only explanation of
the seeming indifference of American
Catholics to the needs and prospects
of foreign missions. We feel sure that
if the faithful in this country could be
made to realize that it is in their power,
at a trifling sacrifice, to win countless
souls to Christ, our self-sacrificing
missionaries in pagan lands, priests
and Sisters, would have no cause to
complain of lack of co-operation.

The National Secretary of the Ameri-
can Federation of Catholic Societies is
in receipt of gratifying communications
from the German Centre and the Chris-
tian Democracy of Italy. Both bodies
express the most kindly sympathy with
the work that is being accomplished by
the American organization ; and the
similarity of aims and purposes animat-
ing all three, as well as Catholic Unions
of other lands, would seem to render
quite possible the realization of a
project already mooted— a grand federa-
tion of Catholic societies throughout
the world.

Apropos of our recent note on the
fruitfulness, as to religious vocations,
of the Biet family in France, M. Pierre
Georges Roy, editor of the Bulletin
des Recherches Historiques ( Levis,
P. 0., Canada), kindly sends us several
instances of similar fruitfulness in the
Prof ince of Quebec. Mgr. Tetu, -procu-

rator of the Archdiocese of Quebec,
is one of five brothers raised to the
priesthood ; Mr. and Mrs. Alexandre
Roy, of Berthier, P. Q., have five sons
in the priesthood and one daughter a
nun; and finally, most notable of all,
Bishop Cloutier, of Three Rivers, has
two brothers who are priests and seven
sisters who are nuns. Ten children of
one family consecrated to the service of
God ! That, we believe, beats any record
hitherto established. Our confrere of
the Bulletin explains that, as French-
Canadians do not believe in race suicide,
families of fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen
are very common {tres communes), and
it is accordingly only just that a good
number of the children should be given
to God. ^^

In confirmation of views often ex-
pressed in these pages, and as an
illustration of the good that always
results from the publication of the
reports of the Society for the Propaga-
tion of the Faith, w^e reproduce in part
a letter lately addressed to the editor
of the Catholic News by a subscriber in
Washington, D. C, who signs herself
N. W. She writes :

Of course, Catholics hear of the Society ; but
it is my own experience and my^ observation,
too, that foreign missions have a very small
place, if any, in the busy lives of even the devoted
children of Mother Church. Reading of them
in your pajjtr, nu' attention was arrested, my
interest and sympathy aroused, and then the
missionary love which should animate all true
Catholic hearts asserted itself, and I determined
to take an active part in so noble a work. In
less than a year's time I have given to the Society
fifty dollars — and I am only a workingworaan.
It has been given by personal sacrifices, but I
am more than repaid in spiritual joy and
thanksgiving. How many there may be, like
myself, thoughtless yet well disposed, only waiting
for the good seed to fall into a ready heart !

It is unquestionably in the power
of Catholic editors as well as the
clergy to enkindle the missionary spirit,
"which should animate all true Cath-
olic hearts." Lack of it is a sure sign
of weak faith or failing charity.

A Prayer.

BY SYLVIA HUNTING.

Q GOD, who holdeth all within Thy hand,

Living and dead,— Father, who knoweth best,
Lean to our loved ones in the silent land,
And give them rest!

We ask for them the sunshine of Thy love.

The peace and comfort of Thy sheltering breast ;
Lift them from darkness to the light above, —
Eternal rest!

The Little Artist.

TELL you, Signer Fran-
cisco Graciani, that my
young master, the Signor
Michaelangelo Buonarotti,
is not in."

The speaker was an old servant in
a suit of yellow livery trimmed with
blue; and he addressed a youth of
fifteen or sixteen, who, with a roll
of pasteboard under his arm, had pre-
sented himself; one morning in January,
1488, at the door of the chateau of
Caprese, in the district of Arezzo.

"Gone out?" inquired the youth.

"Gone out," answered the servant;
and then added, in a tone too low to
be heard by the other: "May the good
God pardon me for this necessary lie!"

"Can he be there already?" said
Graciani, as if speaking to himself.

" Where already?" asked old Urbino.

"That doesn't concern you," replied
Graciani, deliberating for a moment.
"But no: 'tis impossible. He's waiting
for me. Let me pass," he continued.

"1 thought I told you he isn't in!"
repeated the old man, without stirring.

"Well, I mean to make sure of the
matter for myself," said the youth.
" Michaelangelo can not have gone out
without having at least left word — "

"Oh, yes! He said — wait a minute
till I remember," rejoined the old man,
scratching his head. "Yes, he said that
you were to go — there — you know — to
the house of that signor — "

"I understand."

"This signor who lives at — wait a
minute, — wait. Master Graciani!"

" Oh, I know where he lives, all right !"

"Yes, and I would like to know, too,"
said Urbino, rubbing his ear.

"Why?" asked Graciani.

"Oh, for nothing, Signor ! "—with an
air of affected indiiference. "Just for
curiosity's sake, — and then, too, that
I might inform the Signor Podesta,
who is becoming much disturbed about
the doings of the signor, his son."

"Ah, ha!" laughed Signor Graciani.
"Pumping me, eh?"

"Well, yes, I — "

"Now, then, Urbino, listen. If the
podesta should ask you where his son
is, you will tell him — "

"Yes, yes, Signor Graciani, I'll tell
him that—"

"That you haven't the slightest idea,
and you won't be lying," said Francisco
Graciani, with a laugh.

"O Heavens!" murmured Urbino, in
despair. "Well, I'm sure 'tis not to
do wrong that you go there, the both
of you."

" And you may not be far astray,
old man; though I dare not say I
always do right. But I muj
to you" (here Graciani U
voice, and added gravely) "j
happened to us — there — yol
this signor's in that street,
some arms or some legs."

602

THE AYE MARIA

"What's that? Mutilate!" cried
Urbino, growing pale. " What trade
are you at, then?"

"One doesn't grow skilful all at once,
my poor Urbino!" answered Graciani,
with an indiflferent air. "And then,
again, I'm not very patient; so that
when the least thing doesn't please me —
goes wrong, you know — why, w^ithout
more ado I simply break everything —
head, arms, legs."

"Of all things! Why, you are a
band of assassins!" exclaimed the old
servant. "And my young master is
one of you?"

" Michaelangelo ? Oh, as for him, he
can demolish his man still more quickly
than I!"

"And you believe I'll allow him to be
your companion any longer?" cried the
old man, in pious horror. "Long ago I
told the Buonarotti family that you'd
ruin their son. Good-bye, Mr. Francisco
Graciani,— good-bye ! My young master
is not at home: he has gone out, and
won't be in again to-day. I'll be likely
to let you see him and talk to him,
you little destroyer of arms and legs,
you little breaker of heads!"

Watching Graciani depart, he turned
to enter the chateau.

"But what a horror, — dear Lord,
what a horror! 'Tis a good thing
'twas I who was at the door when that
abandoned little rascal came asking
for Michaelangelo ! Where would we
be, if it had been my son Urbino who
had answered ? He would have let him
in, he would, — children are so foolish!
Thank Heaven, I've rid my 3'oung
master of him for to-day ! And one
day gained is so much, anyway."

II.

Still talking to himself, anathema-

ytizing A'oung Graciani, and praising his

'.^p'Wn .prudence, Urbino mounted the

J great stone staircase of the Caprese

' chat'ieau, turned to the left into a large

^gallery, and, lifting a tapestry curtain

that hid the door of the library, stopped

a moment on the threshold, as he
directed an uneasy glance around the
interior of that apartment.

"Good! he's there," he muttered to
himself, and heaving the sigh of one
who feels relieved of a heavy burden.

Finishing his soliloquy, Urbino ap-
proached a table at which was seated
a boy of fourteen, his head bowed over
a great square of white paper. So
absorbed was the lad in what he was
doing that the servant was alongside
him before he had even noticed his
entrance. The old man having coughed,
the boy looked up.

"Is it you, Urbino? Has Graciani
come yet?"

The other hesitated. He was not used
to lying ; still, believing it to be for the
interest of his master's son that he
should do so, he replied :

"No, Signor Michaelangelo." And he
added to himself: "May the good God
forgive me this little lie, too!"

"It is strange!" said the boy, and
lowered his head again over his work.

"And I make bold to say that 'tis
a good thing for you, my young master,
that he hasn't come to look for you,"
observed Urbino, taking up a bunch
of feathers as if to dust the furniture;
but, instead of doing so, standing before
the boy, and continuing to talk. "That
Graciani is no fit company for the son
of the podesta of Caprese and Chiusi.
He's a good-for-nothing scamp."

"How? A good-for-nothing! Fran-
cisco Graciani will get himself talked
about some day."

"As what, young master, pray?"

"As a great painter, Urbino."

"As a great criminal, more likely,"
replied the old servant. "And, if I may
venture an opinion, 'tis only size that
he lacks for that; all the rest he has
even now. My dear young master,"
added the old man, in a tone that
betrayed both timidity and emotion,
"believe me, that young man will ruin
you ; and you — you will cause all your

THE AVE MARIA.

603

noble and illustrious family to die of
chagrin. But there's no use of my
talking: you don't listen to me, my
young master," he continued with a
sigh. "And still, I repeat it, you will
make us all die of chagrin, — not count-
ing myself; for, so far as I'm concerned,
'tis of course my duty to die in your
service ; whether from chagrin or other-
wise doesn't concern you, provided I
die,— that's the main thing. All the
Urbinos, my ancestors, servants from
father to son of the Buonarottis, did so.
I'll do the same, and my son will do
likewise — "

"Where is he, your son?" interrupted
the lad. "You know well enough that
'tis he I wish to wait on me."

"Yes: to contrive between you plots
that will ruin you ! No, no, my young
master! Urbino the younger is too
young to watch you. Twenty years
old as he is, he needs watching himself
instead of being appointed to watch
over others. Apropos," continued the old
man," where did you spend yesterday ? "

"What's the good of your watching,
if I have to tell you?" asked the boy.

"Master Michaelangelo Buonarotti,
you'll ruin yourself!" cried the old
servant pathetically, — "you'll ruin your-
self! There! what are you at now?
Instead of cultivating your 'humani-
ties,' as Signor Fabiano says — and
he's paid to show you that sort of
cultivation, — what are you at again,
if not those illuminated pictures? To
think of a descendant of the ancient
and illustrious house of the Counts of
Canossa, the son of Luigi Leonardo
Buonarotti-Simoni, podesta of Caprcse
and Chiusi, the nephew of the most
pious and Most Reverend Antonio
Buonarotti, Prior of the Church of the
Holy Ghost,— to think of his wanting
to be an artist, wanting to work with
his hands like a shoemaker, a macaroni
vender, ji lazzarone of Naples — "

"Come, come, have you finished
now?" said Michaelangelo.

Urbino, however, had started, and
refused to be stopped.

"Wanting to work with his hands
like my nephew, my sister's son. little
Biffi, who is nevertheless a painter, — a
sign-painter, which is a much more
sensible calling than painting pictures
that don't mean anything at all."

"Well!" said a voice behind him,
making Urbino jump.

"Signor Francisco Graciani," an-
nounced Urbino.

"You are very late in coming,
Graciani," said Michaelangelo, giving
his hand to his young friend.

"Ask your venerable servant the
reason," replied Graciani, shaking his
finger at Urbino.

" He told me that you hadn't come,"
said Michaelangelo.

" He told me that you had gone out,"
returned Graciani.

"Yes, I told you so," said Urbino. "I
don't repent of it."

"Bravo, Urbino, — bravo!" laughed
Graciani. "Well, you see why I won't
believe you any more when you tell
me that Michaelangelo is not in. But
I'll love you all the same."

"Thanks for your friendship, Signor
Francisco Graciani!" answered the old
man. "But I don't like artists."

"And why not?" demanded the lads
simultaneously.

"Why, what would you have, Signor
Michaelangelo?" said Urbino, pretend-
ing to answer only his young master.
"One has one's pride even if one is
but a valet. One was not bom in the
castle of the Canossa Counts only to
mix lip with all sorts of people, and
shake hands with everybody. I am
I^roud, Master Michaelangelo, — 'tis true
I'm proud; but I'm the oldest servant
of your illustrious house, and you'll
admit that I have some reason for it."

"For what?" asked a grave voice,
which at once silenced I^rbino.

At the (juestion, Michaelangelo hastily
arose, and Graciani became serious.

604

THE AVE MARIA.

III.

The personage who had entered the
library, and whose appearance had
imposed the sudden silence, was a man
still young, of austere countenance
and glacial manner. Looking upon his
broad and wrinkled brow, his large
blue eyes that were cold and dull, his
elegantly fashioned but bowed figure,
his leisurely walk that wanted neither
grace nor nobility, one could readily
guess that griefs rather than years had
bent his body and furrowed his brow.
Following this gentleman came another,
whose costume proclaimed him a priest,
and who, unlike his companion, was
short, straight, portly and smiling.

" Good - morning, father ! " exclaimed
Michaelangelo, bringing forward a chair
for the first of the personages, while
Urbino carried one to the priest.

"I have something to say to you, my
son," began the podesta, as he seated
himself. " You may remain, Signor
Graciani; you are not de trop," he
added to his son's friend, who, at the
first word, had bowed and moved
toward the door.

As for Urbino, affecting the insensi-
bility of an automaton, he betook
himself, feathers in hand, to dusting one
by one the books on the library shelves.

"Yes, nephew, we have something to
say to you," remarked the Abbe in his
turn, making a sign of encouragement
to the boj', who was always a little
afraid of his father's severe aspect.

The two men seated themselves, the
lads remained standing in respectful
attention, and Urbino went on with
his work as if he were quite alone.
Then the podesta began, in a tone which
betrayed an emotional quality hitherto
unknown to Michaelangelo.

"My son," said he, "you are the sole
heir to mj^ name, to my fortune, and
I dare hope to the rigid and religious
virtues which from time immemorial
have guided and regdlated the conduct
of our ancient family. Your mother

died while you were still in the cradle;
and, although yet very young, I did
not remarry, not wishing to give you
either a stepmother who might rob
you of a portion of my affection, or
brothers who might rob you of a part
of my fortune. Altogether devoted as
I have been to your education, judge
you what must be my sorrow in seeing
you deviate from the course I had
traced for you. Wealthy people, my
son, should not give themselves up to
the arts, but encourage them. Cultivate
literature, my son, — well and good.
And I know that you are already a
poet, — I congratulate you thereon. If
your country needs your arm, take up
the sword and fight, — well and good
again. But I confess that I am grieved
to see the hand of a Canossa, a hand
that should wield only the sword, take
up nothing but a brush."

"Good, — very good!" murmured old
Urbino, as he bent down to pick up a
book that had slipped from his grasp.

"What have you to say to all this,
Michaelangelo ? "concluded the podesta.

"With your permission, father, and
that of my uncle, I shall take the liberty
of telling you a little story which Signor
Angelo Poliziano — "

"The greatest litterateur of our
epoch," interjected the priest.

Michaelangelo bowed to his uncle
and went on:

"Which Signor Angelo Poliziano nar-
rated yesterday at the palace of Lorenzo
de' Medici, where his son Pietro kept
me for dinner."

"Give us the storj'," said both the
podesta and his brother.

" Albert Ditrer, painter, engraver^"

"Is he of noble birth?" interrupted
the podesta.

" He is the son of a Nuremberg gold-
smith," answered the boy. "If he were
a noble, my story would have no point.
Well, the Emperor Maximilian, having
heard of his talent, recently sent for
him to paint in fresco some walls in

THE .AYE MARIA.

605

his palace. Diirer set instantly to work.
He was designing on a wall t^at was
quite high, the Emperor and all his
court looking on ; and as he was not
tall enough to finish his sketch, and
was looking around for a ladder on
which to stand while completing it, the
Emperor told one of the gentlemen of
his court to stoop down, so that Diirer
might stand on his shoulders and thus
finish his design. The gentleman, whom
the order naturally displeased, told the
prince that he was ready to obey, but
that nevertheless he must take the
liberty of humbly representing that it
was lowering the nobility to make
them thus serve as a footstool for an
artist. 'This painter,' replied Maxi-
milian, 'has the finer nobility — that of
genius. I can make seven nobles out of
seven peasants, but I can't make seven
artists out of seven nobles.' And, in
proof, he has ennobled Albert Diirer."

"I am precisely of the opinion of the
Emperor Maximilian," observed the
podesta^ "and the moral of 3'our story
is — go on, my son: speak out."

"The moral is, father," said Mkhael-
angelo, joining his hands, "that I love
painting so much, the sight of a fine
picture excites in me such a sentiment,
that I believe— don't mock me, father! —
but I believe I was born a painter."

"Let us understand each other, my
son," said the podesta, with a smile.
"Yesterday, Signor Poliziano, of whom
you have just now spoken, having
stated that some odes of yours were
not too bad, you declared your belief
that you were born a poet."

"Both statements may be true,"
replied Michaelangelo ; "the arts and
])oetry should be brother and sister.
They go hand in hand."

"Didn't I say that there arc no more
children nowadays?" whispered Urbino
to the bookshelves. "Where in , the
world did he get that notion?" .

"The lad may be right, after all,
lirothcr,'' said the priest.

"I am quite of his opinion as to
the relationship between painting and
poesy," rejoined the podesta. "Still
I beg him to give up his painting.
Observe, brother, that if it were shown
to me that he would one day become
a great painter, I should not speak
in this wa}'. In the meanwhile, how-
ever"—and the podesta turned toward
his son, — "as this fancy for painting
takes you from your studies, I beg
you, Michaelangelo, to think of it no
more, — that is to give up drawing and
painting except in your moments of
leisure. Where are you going, by the
way, — Signor Graciani and you?"

"Going to take a walk, father, if you

don't object," replied Michaelangelo,

'giving his friend, whom the question

had apparently disconcerted, a glance

of encouragement.

"I see nothing to prevent you," said
the podesta. "Go on, my sons."

( Conclusion next week. )

Nature's Storybook.

nV MARY KELLEV DU.N'N

\

And Nature, the old nurse, took

The child upon her knee.
Saying, "Here is a storybook

Thy Father has written for thee.

"Come, wander with me," she said,
*' Into regions yet untrod.
And read what is still unread
In the manuscripts of God."

Autumn is the special time for the
yoimg people who want to make
acquaintances in woodland. The bright
days of this season, when the air is
crystal clear, and the ozone makes
your I ulses thrill and your eyes sparkle,
ar^ the days when Nature opens her
storybook at its most interesting pages.

There are so many things worth
seeing, right under our noses, if only
we have the right kind of eyes to
find them. You remember the story of
the man who sought the four -leaf
shamrock, and the luck it is supposed

606

THE AVE MARIA.

to carry in its extra leaf. He searched
the country over; and when he could
not find it at home he crossed the
ocean and searched on the other side
of the world. Failing there too, tired
out and old, he concluded to return
to his native land. And— would you
believe it ? — the first thing he saw
near his own door was a clump of
four -leaf clovers! A good many of us
follow his bad example.

Few of us ever take a good look at
a burdock. No doubt if it were called
by a fancy Japanese name and intro-
duced by a high-priced nurseryman, we
should easily recognize it for the really
handsome plant it is. (By the way,
did you know that in vegetarian Japan
they have discovered that the roots
of the wayside burdock make a very
palatable dish for the dinner table?)
We say impatient things when the
seed -cups lodge in our clothes, and
hastily throw the prickers one side ; but
we rarely notice their dainty, graceful
shape, or the fine needle points to which
the tiny hooks at the end of each blade .
have been sharpened. We do not realize
that these hooks have been pointed
and curved for the express purpose of
giving the burdock children a start
in the world. Can't you imagine
Mother Burdock saying to the little
burr children, "Persistence is the thing
that counts, my boy, — persistence and
sticking to the first opportunity that
presents itself " ? Competition is prettj^
fierce in the home burdock field, so
Mother Burdock is anxious to send her
children as far afield as possible. That
is why she has equipped them with
tiny hooks, which enable them to take
passage on all sorts of queer craft and
travel to all sorts of curious places.

Human parents do not seem to be
the only ones concerned about the
future of their children. Indeed, if all
human fathers and mothers were as
anxious about their children as are the
burdock and milkweed and witch-hazel,

and a good many other weeds, we
should not hear so much about child
labor laws and compulsory education
laws. Weeds are wonderfully^ human,
too, in believing that far-off fields are
green. There are a great many of these
plants equipped with wings or hooks,
and several have regular catapult
arrangements for firing their seeds
considerable distances.

The common milkweeds are very
entertaining, once you get acquainted
with them. Thousands of seeds are
packed snugly together in their delicate
velvet pods, until some bright day in
early autumn, when a breeze is stirring,
the pod cracks and a cloud of silvery
white fairies raise their tiny umbrellas
and soar away toward the sky. Alilk-
weed seeds are gathered by the million
to stuff sofa pillows ; and the milkweed
mothers would weep bitter tears, if they
could, over the fate of so many of their
children doomed to long imprisonment
in a close sack, and finally to make a
bonfire on the ash heap. Some day
perhaps a genius will come along with
a process for turning the silky milkweed
wings into some sheer and delicate
fabric, as has been done with the seed
wings of the cotton plant.

1 have mentioned only three or four
of the commoner weeds to be observed
along any suburban road. There are
hundreds of them quite as entertaining ;
and once you get your eyes opened to
Nature's storybook, you will never
have time enough to see and enjoy all
the pictures. At first you may need
book spectacles to sharpen your vision.
"How to Know the Wild Flowers" and
"According to Season," by Mrs. Parsons,
will help you to see keenl}', if you are
notreally "outdoors" and beauty blind.

Clear Star of the morning,

In beauty enshrined,
O Lady, make speed

To the help of mankind !

—The Littlt OiEce.

THb AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

607

— A new and complete edition of the "Poems
of J. H. Newman " is announced by John Lane.

— The death, in his ninety -fourth year, is
announced of the distinguished Westphaliau
painter, Seibertz, well known for his excellent
illustrations to "Faust."

— Mr. Elliot Stock publishes "The Story of the
Ghair of St. Peter in the Basilica of St. Peter at
Rome," by Mr. H. Forbes-Witherby. The record
of the Chair is traced from the earliest times, and
much interesting information is presented.

— A new quarterly magazine, of peculiar interest
to Catholic choirmasters, organists and Church
singers generally, is announced by the Dolphin
Press. The periodical is called Church Music
and is to appear this month.

—The Catholic Truth Society of Chicago has
issued in pamphlet form the thoughtful paper
on "Church E.xtension" contributed to the
American Ecclesiastical Review by the Rev.
Francis C. Kelly. This paper should have
interest for a host of readers among the clergy
and laity of the United States.

— Notwithstanding the reiterated refutation of
preposterous non- Catholic charges against the
doctrine of indulgences, that doctrine is still
sometimes falsified in current literature; and,
when not falsified, is very often quite misunder-
stood. The publication, therefore, by the London
C. T. Society, of " Indulgences," by the Very Rev.
John Procter, O. P., is something to be thankful
for. The booklet is readable and convincing.

— "The Household of Sir Thomas More," by
Anne Manning, an imaginary diary of Margaret
Roper, founded upon authentic documents and
records, was first published some fifty years ago.
The new edition brought out by B. Herder will
attract a host of readers. Tlie lips of the Blessed
More distilled their sweetest honey within the
walls of his prison cell. There he spoke to his
daughter Margaret of " Him who is Life and
Love"; there he whispered to her one evening:
" Keep dry eyes and a hojieful heart, and reflect
that naught but unpardoned sin shall make us
weep forever."

— While we can not commend part first of
"Duties of the Married," by a Catholic Professor,
we are able to praise the second part, which
treats of the duties of parents toward their
children. Certain obligations of husbands and
wives toward each other have been sufficiently
explained by Saint Francis de Sales in his well-
known book, " Pliilothea"; and he writes with a
delicacy and reserve which direct questions and

answers do not admit of. We can not help think-
ing, and have often observed in noticing books
like "Duties of the Married," that much of what
they contain is altogether needless, not to say
noxious.

— Brief biographies of St. Thomas of Canter-
bury, St. Genevieve, and St. Francis, by Lady
Amabel Kerr; and a short Life of Cardinal
Howard, by the Rev. Bede Jarrett, O. P., have
been added to its Biographical Series by the
English Catholic Truth Society.

— An English publisher is bringing out an
idition de luxe "Of the Imitation of Christ,"
with fifteenth-century initial letters, printed in
red and black on hand-made paper, with illumi-
nated title-page. The binding is velvet Persian or
lamb vellum. This edition is limited to five
hundred copies for England and America.

— The Downside Masses, representing composers
of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, bear
the approbation of R. R. Terry, musical director
of Westminster Cathedral, and are published by
Cary & Co., London. The series includes Masses
by Heredia, Hasler, Lotti, Casciolini, Viadana,
and Orlando di Lasso. Fischer Brothers are
the American agents.

— From the Guidon Publishing Co. we have
received a handsome volume, "The Life of Denis
M. Bradley, First Bishop of Manchester." In a
sympathetic preface to the work. Bishop Delany,
Mgr. Bradley's successor, states that he himself
had contemplated writing the New England
prelate's biography, but his accession to the
bishopric rendered such a task impracticable.
The work has been well done by another hand,
M. H. D.; and the book is replete with interest,
instruction and edification.

— From the Dolphin Press, Philadelphia, there
has come to us an excellent " Manual of Church
Music," for choirmasters and organists. It has
been prepared by Father Finn, C. S. P., and
Professors Wells and O'Brien, and deals in a
thoroughgoing as well as interesting fashion
with the multifarious topics suggested by its
title. Father Henry, of Ovcrbrook, furnishes a
preface to the volume; and a thoughtful intro-
duction is contributed by the Apostolic Delegate.
Mgr. Falconio. The "Manual" should have a
large sale, not only among those for whom it is
si>ccifically designed, but among the clergy as well.

— The modern Detcrminist will find a doughty
opponent in the Kcv. A. B. Sharjje, M. A. His
lecture on "The Freedom of the Will" (Sands
& Co., B. Herder), is a fair specimen of crush-

608

THE AVE MARIA.

ing logic. The reverend author first justifies
the ways of God to man, and then proceeds to
expose the hollowness of the Deterniinist's argu-
ment against freewill. " Nature, we are told,"
says the writer, "has played a trick upon man-
kind, something like that which conjurers call
' forcing ' a card. . . . The difference, however,
between the two cases is this: the conjurer can
and does tell how his trick is performed, —in
fact, we only believe in the trick because we are
shown 'how it's done' : whereas the Deterniinist's
argument fails at precisely this point." Dry
scholastic formulje are vivified by strikingly
concrete illustrations.

— Commenting upon the unwritten law of
English pronunciation, that in course of time,
so soon as a word becomes naturalized and at
home in the language, the accent is invariably,
or almost invariably, thrown back to the first
syllable, a correspondent of the Atbenseum
remarks that "a curious illustration is furnished
by the words ref&tory (the dining-room of a
religious house), confessor, confession, which are
pronounced by my brethren of the Roman
Catholic religion, because they are much more
familiar with those terms than the rest of us,
refectory, c6nfessor, c6nfession." Whatever may
be the best usage of the best Catholics in Eng-
land, confession with the accent on the first
syllable is altogether unfamiliar to us.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning- important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
appear at the bead, older ones being dropped oat
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may be sent to onr Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign hooks not on sale in the United
States will he imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad.
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"Manual of Church Music." 75 cts., net.

"The Freedom of the Will." Rev. A. B. Sharpe,

M. A. 30 cts., net.
"The Household of Sir Thomas More." Anne

Manning. 60 cts , net.
"Socialism and Christianity." Rt. Rev. Wm.

Stang, D. D. $1.10.
"English Monastic Life." Rt. Rev. Francis Aidan

Gasquet, O. S. B. $2, net.
"Health and Holiness." Francis Thompson. 55

cts.
«' Valiant and True." Joseph Spillman. $1.60, net.

'A Girl's Ideal." Rosa Mulholland. (Lady Gil-

l)ert.) $1 50, net.
'At the Sign of the Fox. A Romance." Barl)ara.

$1.50.
'Glenanaar" Very Rev. Canon P. A. Sheehan.

$1 50.
'The Resurrection of Christ— Is it a Fact?" 30

cts., net.
' The Spalding Year-Book." 75 ct*., net.
' The Epistles and Gospels." Very Rev. Richard

O'Gorman, O. S. A. 50 cts., net. •
'Life, Virtues and Miracles of St. Gerard Majella."

Very Rev. J. Magnier, C SS. R. 15 cts.
'Infallibility." Rev. Vincent McNabb, O. P. 36

cts... net.
'The Mystic Treasures of the Holy Sacrifice."

Rev. Chart's Coppens, S. J. 50 cts., net.
'George Eastmount: Wanderer." John Law.

$1.10, net.
' The Senior Lieutenant's Wager, and Other

Stories." $1.25.
' The Story of the Congo Free State : Social,

Political, and Economic Aspects of the Belgian

System of Government in Central Africa."

Henry Wellington Wack, F. R. G. S. $3.50,

net.
'Rex Mens." $1.25.
'The Angel of Syon." Dom Adam Hamilton,

O. S. B. $1.10, net.
'The Little Flowers of St. Francis." Illustrations

by Paul Woodrufi'e. $1.60, net.
'That Scamp, or the Days of Decatur in Tripoli."

John J. O'Shea. 60 cts.
'Bishop Gore and the Catholic Claims." Dom

John Chapman, O. S. B. 25 cts.
'Sir Thomas More. (The Blessed Thomas

More.)" Henri Bremond. $1, net.

Obituary.

Remembet them that are in bands. — Heb., xiii, 3,

Kt. Rev. Monsig. Francis Zabler, of the diocese
of Louisville; Rev. John Broderick, S. J. ; and
Rev. Edward Strubbe, C. SS. R.

Sister Lamberta, of the Sisters of the Poor of
St. Francis ; Sister Mary Brigittine, Sisters of St.
Joseph ; and Mother M. Francis, Sisters of Mercy.

Mr. William Caples, of St. Louis, Mo. ; Mr.
Edward Waters, Derby, Conn.; Miss Agnes Quinn,
Newton, Mass.; Mr. Charles Diemer, Pittsburg,
Pa.; Mr. Edward Dever, Philadelphia, Pa.; Mrs.
Elizabeth Wingerter, Wheeling, W. Va.; Mrs. W.J.
Lanigan, Duluth, Minn.; Mr. J. A. Willmorc, New-
London, Conn.; Mrs. Elizabeth Brown, Perry ville,
Mo.; and Mr. George Fisher, Crestline, Ohio.

Requicscant in oace.'

HENCEFORTH ALL GENEflATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLE86E0. ST. LUKE, t., 48.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, NOVEMBER 11, 1905.

NO. 20.

[Published every Sattuday. Copyright; Rev. D. E. Hudson, C.S.C.]

De Profundis. Rosslyn Chapel.

BY F. C.

(~) N LY last year we were there among ye,
Living thie lives ye are leading to-day, —
Cherished soft in the dear home circle,

Smiling, planning, happy and gay.
Far to-night in this mystic midland,

Gazing with eyes so wistful grown,
Waiting long for the promised comfort.

Forgot so soon by our very own.

The very silence that reigns in our places,

The vacant chair, the work undone,
The song we sang, the book we studied,

Speak to the heart of the absent one.
The dear God tells you your prayers will help us,

Shorten our sentence of woe and pain :
We who so Icved and sheltered your childhood,

Shall we, then, plead to your hearts in vain?

Wouldst thou forsake a living parent,

Deny him succor in illness dire.
Leave him lonely to strangers' solace?

Then what of us in this living fire?
Love we gave thee,— love and nurture,

Endless toil and anxious care;
All we ask is your intercession,

The Holy Mass, the v. hispered prayer.

Pray, then pray, at His sacred altar,

Beg of the Master to set us free,
Loosen these chains our sins have fastened,

Let us the light of His glory see!
Think ! Your prayers will lift us upward,—

Up to the land of rest and peace;
There, at the throne of our God Eternal,

Ours for thee will never cease.

A FRIENDSHIP which can be broken
was never a true one. — St. Jerome.

T has been difficult for her
enemies to blot out entirely
any traces impressed by the
Catholic Church. Whatever she
touches she seems to seal with that
character of immortality promised her
by her divine Founder, and preserved
with a fortitude which defies the
changes of time and the malice of men.
This power the Church displays in her
spiritual action upon the souls of her
children, infusing gifts which, alas ! are
too often lost, but which sometimes
abide with the undying vigor of their
source. It is more evident to the senses
in those monuments of art which the
Ages of Faith erected, and many of
which still survive, though transformed
and mutilated. They are the admiration
of the traveller on heathered hillside
and in grass3' vales of lands whose
people have long lost the faith which
alone could rear such shrines.

They are no longer what they were.
Their storied walls are bare, their
cloistered sanctuaries are desecrated,
their altars are demolished, their niches
are no longer peopled by hallowed
figure or sacred allegory. No morning
Sacrifice is offered in praise to God or
in prayer for the founder's soul. No
chant of Vesper hymn is heard from
the vacant stalls, to echo through the
aisles and over the land about. But
these ruins stand in silent eloquence,
the undying witnesses of the Church

610

THE AVE MARIA.

which built them, and of the icono-
clastic hatred shown by ungrateful
children. They abide in imperishable
beauty. Their square towers and grace-
ful spires, their chiselled fa9ades and
buttress walls add much, amidst the
groves surrounding them, to the charm-
ing scenery everywhere to be found
in England.

In smaller numbers, these ruins may
be seen in "Caledonia stem and wild."
The land of St. Margaret, once rich
with Catholic life and works, is still,
in spite of the ruthlessness of John
Knox, not without stone memories of
better times. One of the most graceful
and best preserved of these is Rosslyn
Chapel — "that proud chapelle,"

Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffin'd lie,
Each baron, for a sable shroud,
Sheathed in his iron panoply.*

Rosslyn Chapel is situated a short
distance from Edinburgh, on a ridge
which bounds the valley of the River
Esk. This height overlooks a wild yet
richly cultivated landscape, of which
the Pentland Hills form the foreground.
The intervening country is as full of
historical scenes as it is fair to the
eye. "Here," says Sir Walter, "the
lover of the past may rest under Ben
Jonson's sycamore, or wander by the
banks of the murmuring Esk to classic
Hawthornden. "

Here was the scene of a triple battle
in the war of Scottish independence.
The army of Edward I. moved in
three columns, of ten thousand men
each, with instructions to meet at
Rosslyn Moor. The neighborhood is
also famous for memories of Bruce and
Wallace, the unfortunate Queen Mary
Stuart, and Robert HI. and his Queen,
Annabella Drummond. But the real
maker of Rosslyn's history was Sir
William St. Clair, third Earl and Prince
of Orkney, who founded the chapel. It
was his original intention to make
it a collegiate church dedicated to St.

• Sir Walter Scott, "Lay of the Last Minstrel."

Matthew. There were to be on the
foundation a provost, six prebendaries,
and two choir boys. It was well
endowed not only by Sir William
but also by his wife's relatives. The
countess' father left, "for a priest to
sing perpetually for my soul in the said
college kirk, ten pounds of annual rent
yearly, as he will answer before God."

Father Hay, a prior of St. Pierremont,
connected with the family of the St.
Clairs, thus explains the starting of the
chapel: "The Earl's age creeping on
him made him consider how he had
spent his time past, and how to spend
that which was to come. Therefor,
to the end that he might not seem
altogither unthankful to God for the
benefices receaved from Him, it came
into his luinde to build a house for
God's service, of most curious woike,
the which that it might be done with
greater glory and splendor he caused
artificers to be brought from other
regions and forraigne kingdoms."

For the space of thirty-four years the
preparations were made by gathering
stone and framing wood patterns of all
parts of the work, and especially the
carvings. At length the foundations
were laid, in the year 1446. The build-
ing occupied thirty -six or, according
to others, forty years more. When Sir
William St. Clair died in 1484 it was
still unfinished. Nor did his son and
successor carry out his design. Nothing
more, in fact, was done except to finish
in an imperfect way the part now
standing. The foundations of the entire
collegiate church had been laid, but were
never built upon. Indeed, the founda-
tions of the nave, which extend some
ninety feet, have since been dug up.
All the work in the chapel from
floor to roof is stone. Reckoning at
the present rate of wages, the cost
would amount to nearly four hundred
thousand pounds sterling.

Rosslyn Chapel is, therefore, simply
the choir of a much larger church.

THE AYE MARIA.

611

As it stands, it consists of five bays
with three aisles, and a Lady Chapel
extending the whole width. The inside
dimensions, including aisles and Lady
Chapel, are : total length, 69 fc. 8 in. ;
breadth, 35 ft. ; height, to the apex of
the roof, 41 ft. 9 in.

The style of its architecture has been
much discussed. It really belongs to
no particular style : it is unique. There
are traces of both Spanish and French
methods. " It draws," remarks one
critic, "on the riches of almost every
phase of Gothic architecture except that
which was contemporaneously present
in England." Many others incline to
the opinion that it is built after the
manner of the time and country,
and is therefore strictly Scottish in
character. Indeed, Sir Daniel Wilson,
late president of the University oi
Toronto, is rather positive upon the
point. "It is almost a mistake," he
writes, " to regard this singularly inter-
esting Church of Rosslyn, which even
the critic enjoys while he condemns,
as an exotic produced by foreign skill.
Its counterpart \yill be more easily
found in Scotland than in any part
of Europe."

Varied as may be our impressions,
upon entering Rosslyn Chapel our ex-
pectations are more than fulfilled. The
aisle, with its pillars and their carved
capitals, presents to the eye a scene
not too extended to be at once appre-
ciated,— simple in its outline, rich and
ornate in its details. A soft, dim light
from the stained -glass windows per-
vades the building, and fills one with
increased awe; whilst over the arcade
a brighter stream pours in from the five
clerestory windows above. The Lady
Chapel runs the whole width of the
edifice. Its floor is one step above
that of the choir. The roof is groined
after a simple manner, but profusely
ornamented in detail ; and the diagonal
ribs meet in a ke3'stone which forms a
pendant. The roof of the choir, on the

other hand, is barrel- vaulted, the com-
partments being divided by elaborately
carved ribs of different designs, and
each compartment ornamented with
stars, roses and ferns.
5,There were originally four altars in the
Lady Chapel, dedicated to the Blessed
Virgin, St. Matthew, St. Peter, and St.
Andrew. That dedicated to the Blessed
Virgin was the principal altar, and
stood in front of the central pillar.
Then, between the clerestory windows
were double rows of brackets for
statues of Our Lord, the Blessed Virgin,
and the saints. But all these, altars
and statues, were destroyed by the
zealous satellites of Knox. In the
presbytery records of Dalkieth we find
that William, brother of John Knox,
was censured by the Presbytery for
baptizing the "Laird of Rosling's
baime." Again, a minister entering saw
six altars "standing haill undemol-
ishit," and some broken images. The
Lord of Rosslyn was exhorted to
demolish them, but refused. He was
lAierefore judged to be unsound in his
religion. At last, after being summoned
and warned several times, he was called
upon to appear before the General
Assembly, and threatened with excom-
munication. "Continual dropping wears
away the stone." The Lord at length
yielded: the altars were " haillie demol-
ishit, and yt the Acts of the Generall,
Provinciall and Presbyteriall Assemblies
were fully satisfiet."
J^Thus did persistent persecution gain
its end. Thus was the house of prayer
plundered of its real treasure and
stripped of its true majesty. Thence-
forth it was abandoned ; and for a
hundred years it fell into decay. At
length attention was attracted to its
artistic beauty. It was saved from
further ruin, and now remains the
fairest of Scottish chapels.

The charm of Rosslyn lies not so
much in its chaste outline as in the
intricate beauties and peculiarities of

612

THE AYE MARIA.

its architecture and the endless variety
of its carvings. It had been intended to
be "exceeding magnifical." Its prolific
ornamentation on roof and pillar and
window tracery, its canopied niches
and bracket pedestals, and most of all
the marvellous amount of its foliage
decorations, justify the founder's hopes.
The poet Wordsworth, who visited the
chapel in 1803, writes :

From what bank
Came those live herbs ? By what hand were

they sown
Where dew falls not, where raindrops seem

unknown ?
Yet in the Temple they a friendly niche
Share with their sculptured fellows, that, green-
grown,
Copy their beauty more and more, and preach,
Though mute, of all things blending into one.

Like all the other great chapels built
in Catholic times, the art of Rosslyn is
an untiring teacher of object-lessons.
Figures and groups cluster round each
pillar and to each compartment, with
sermons and mystic representations.
There may be seen "The Seven Acts
of Mercy," "The Seven Deadly Sins,"
"The Dance of Death," the latter includ-
ing twenty different groups and scenes.
Scriptural subjects from the Fall of
Man to the Resurrection of Christ told
their story, and taught the eye in an age
w^hen printing was not yet invented.

Amongst the many groups there is
one worthy of special mention. The
figures are upon one of the architraves.
On one side is a King, supposed to be
Darius ; in the opposite corner, a man
playing the bagpipes ; and immediately
underneath, a figure of the King asleep.
The neighboring architrave bears the
key to the figures of the King in the
inscription : Forte est vinum ; fortior
est Rex ; fortiores sunt mulieres ; super
omnia vincit Veritas, — "Wine is strong;
the King is stronger ; women stronger
still; but truth conquers above all."
These were the questions proposed by
Darius to some of his courtiers. The
Jew Zorobabel was amongst them.

When it came to his turn to answer, he
proved so eloquently the pre-eminent
strength of truth that the King prom-
ised to grant him any request he should
make. Accordingly Zorobabel besought
the King to carry out the decree of
Cyrus concerning the return of the
Jews from captivity and the rebuilding
of the Temple of Jerusalem.

The most remarkable pillar, differing
in a marked way from the others, is
known as the "'Prentice Pillar." It is
situated in the Lady Chapel, close to
the entrance to the crypt. It derives
its name from the following legend :
"The master -mason, having received
from the founder the model of a pillar
of exquisite workmanship and design,
hesitated to carry it out until he had
been to Rome or some foreign part
and seen the original. He went. In his
absence, an apprentice, having dreamed
that he had finished the pillar, at once
set to work and carried out the design
as it now stands, — a perfect marvel
of workmanship. The master on his
return, seeing the pillar completed,
instead of being delighted at his pupil's
success, was so stung with envy that
he asked who dared to do it in his
absence. On being told it was his
apprentice, he was so inflamed with
passion that he struck him with his
mallet and killed him on the spot."

At the base of this pillar are eight
dragons intertwined ; from their mouths
issue stems of four double spirals of
foliage, which twine round the column,
bound to it by cords at a distance of
eighteen inches from one another. The3'
terminate at the capital of the pillar,
on one side of which is a representation
of the sacrifice of Isaac.

At the southeast corner is the
stairway leading to a lower building
known as the Crypt. It is of older date
than the chapel. Whatever may have
been its original purpose, its subsequent
use has much varied. At one time a
vestry, at another a dwelling, it has also

THE AYE MARIA.

613

served as a mortuary chapel. It con-
tains one altar and one window. On a
corbel near the latter is a shield with
the Rosslyn arms — the engrailed cross.
Returning from the Crypt and passing
down the chapel aisle, the reading-desk
catches our gaze. How strangely out
of place it seems amidst the ruins which
its zealots have spread, but where even
still the Catholic Church preaches from
every arch and window ! Silence reigns
where once the walls vibrated with
morning Sacrifice and Vesper hymn.
The broken, dismantled altar is without
anointed priest or heavenly -Victim.
The empty niches no longer appeal to
devout worshipers. Their only substi-
tute is the cold reading-desk. Truly the
majesty of Rosslyn has departed, and
the only beauty lingering upon it is
that of Catholic art and Catholic ideals.

Rev.J. R. T.

The Story of an Old House.

BY MARY CATHERINE CROWLEY.

A F one would have a glimpse of an
T earthly paradise, one should see
Grosse Pointe Farms early on a
summer morning, when the dew glis-
tens on the wide lawns, the birds are
singing their first songs in the trees,
the Lake of St. Claire is a shimmering
sheet of silver, the breeze blows fresh
and cool, and over and above all is
the golden light, without the excessive
heat, of the sun.

Among the beautiful homes whose
grounds extend from the woods to the
shore of the lake, in this aristocratic
suburb of the old French city of Detroit,
none is more picturesque than the
Proven(;al house. Painted white, low-
studded, with its second story in the
sloping roofs, and lighted by quaint
dormer windows, it makes no pretence ;
and the veranda with its tangle of vines,
like a garlandwreathcd about an old

vase, only emphasizes the fact that in
its youth this was a genuine farmhouse.

But as even to-day the Proven9al
home "holds up its head," so to speak,
among its neighbors, so it and its
owner were prominent in the little
farming community of the old time, — a
settlement cut off from the town not
only by a distance of ten miles, but by
the marsh of the Grand Marais, now
largely filled in. The place has, of
course, its romance; and, strange to
say, although it has been inhabited
for nearly a hundred years, no human
being has ever died within these walls.
Of the other curious circumstances
connected with it, this is the story.

It was a pleasant summer afternoon
of the year 1819. Pierre Provengal,
a young, sturdy, good-looking French-
Canadian, stood on the corduroy
road that extended across the land he
had recently bought, and gazed with
satisfaction at his new house. Beside
him lingered Parent the carpenter, who,
having, like Pierre himself, fought the
British in the War of 1812, had come
back to Le Detroit and taken up his
trade again.

"There it is, finished from foundation
to roof-tree!" exclaimed Parent, with a
craftsman's pride in his own skill, and
his ability to command good results
from those who worked for him. " There
is no better house in all the Northwest."

"Were the Northwest not in great
part a wilderness, there might be more
in your boast, neighbor," laughed
Provencal, a twinkle in his grey eyes.
"But, n'importe, it is a good house. I
am more than content; and, as I have
promised, I will make the last payment
upqn it on St. Martin's Day."

"I know you are a man of your
word," replied Parent, easily. "Since
all is well, it is time I was starting, if
I wish to reach the town by daylight."

He walked toward the rough-coated
pony tied to a tree near by, loosed the
hor.se and mounted.

614

THE AYE MARIA.

" Au reroir until Monday next, when
I shall expect you as chief guest at
the gala supper for the builders!" said
Pierre, jovially.

" Bien ! A long life to you in the
new house!" answered Parent, with
heartiness. "May you soon bring a
bride to its hearthstone!"

With this wish and a gay laugh, he
rode aw^ay.

"Truly my comrade was generous
in providing me with company,"
soliloquized Provencal, the independent
bachelor, as he entered at his own door.
"For myself only have I built this house
amid the woods of the Grosse Pointe."

But if Pierre thought to occupy his
capacious quarters in' single blessedness,
cared for only by an old Pani woman,
the bright-eyed demoiselles and match-
making dames of Le Detroit were of
a different mind. To escape from the
matrimonial plans laid for him, when
he rode to the town he was wont
to take refiige with his friend, Louis
St. Aubin. Thus it happened that the
luckless or lucky Pierre promptly
plunged into the snare he had sought
to avoid. For who could often see
St. Aubin's handsome sister Euphemie
without loving her ? She had indeed so
many lovers that they were a constant
challenge to Provengal to win her if he
could. Moreover, he began to reflect
upon the folk-saying, "a man who has
a house and a fire burning should have
also a wife."

Euphemie was not only pleased with
the good-looking farmer from the
Grosse Pointe, but she also greatly
admired his house. So it came about
that one day in September the bells
of St. Anne's rang merril}^ and Pierre
Proven9al and Euphemie St. Aubin were
married by the cure, Father Richard,
in the presence of their relatives and
friends, — which means, of all the parish.

From the time of Comte Frontenac,
the French - Canadians have always
dearly loved a wedding. Now, accord-

ingly, the festivities were kept up for
days. At the end of the week, Pierre,
Euphemie, and all the guests, embarking
in canoes, paddled up the river and
beyond, to the American shore of the
lake. Thus Provengal brought his wife
home to Grosse Pointe.

As the party landed on the pebbly
beach and climbed the steep bluff, they
made a pretty picture, — the girls in
their gay jupes and bodices, and their
beribboned bonnets of home -woven
straw which rivalled the brightness of
the gardens along the cote; the men
gorgeous in flowered waistcoats, claw-
hammered coats with brass buttons,
rufiied shirt bosoms, and long-napped
silk hats.

Of all the young men, the bridegroom
was the grandest, in his ruby -colored,
peach -tinted vest, and grey trousers
that hung in folds to his silver-buckled
shoes; while among the demoiselles no
other was so charming as the bride, for
not only did her satin frock of bright
blue suit her well, but happiness became
her still better.

As Pierre led her up the bank she
laughed joyously, and presently ran on
alone. The mirthful party gave chase,
but Pierre caught her soon; and, as
rosy and with sparkling eyes she paused
breathless at the palisade of his farm, he
thought he had never seen a prettier girl.

The others with their swains came
up, panting. Then the bridegroom,
taking his bride by the hand, led her
through the gate and up the straight
path, bordered on each side by a glory
of autumnal flowers. The gay proces-
sion followed, but stopped anon, and
a liush fell over all, as, with the naive
piety of their French-Canadian ancestry,
Pierre and Euphemie sank on their
knees at the doorstone. It was as if
they two were alone ; for, oblivious of
all but his young wife, Provencal,
looking up to the blue skies, uttered
the prayer that like a canticle of glad-
ness welled from his heart:

THE AVE MARIA.

615

"Obon Dieu, bless us in this house, and
we will share with the houseless and
friendless the joy Thou dost give us!"

Knotting together their wedding
favors of long white ribbons, the com-
jjany encircled the couple as they
entered the house, crying :

"Long live Pierre and Euph^mie!
May every day of their lives be a
happy one! "

The home-coming supper w^as served,
and afterward there was dancing — the
pavane and the allemande and the
gigue h deux.

It was very late — why, jilmost ten
by the clock! — when the dancers grew
weary. Thereupon there was a hasty
gathering up of belongings, and the
happy host and hostess accompanied
their guests to the canoes upon the
beach and exchanged with them a
gay Au revoir ! High in the heavens a
golden half- moon, like the great canoe
of the Manitou of the Inland Oceans,
rode majestically as through a lumi-
nous sea. The little fleet of pleasure
craft put out upon the rippling waters;
and as Pierre Proven9al and his wife
returned to the new house to take up
their life together, they heard the voices
of the departing wedding guests lightly
singing an old French boat song.

There were other farms at Grosse
Pointe, but Pierre's land was bordered
on three sides by the pine woods, while
bcj'ond the rude roadwa3' in front of
the house swirled the waters of the lake.
" What will you do here, my
Euphemie?" said Pierre, now aghast
at his boldness in bringing her to so
lonely a place.

But Euphemie only laughed at his
fears.

"I will become the best hou.sekeeper
at the Strait," she answered, — "like
my grandmother who went even to
the camp of Pontiac to buy deer's
meat, and thus was able to report at
the fort that the Indians had shortened
their gun-barrels, so that carrying the

weapons beneath their blankets they
might attack the garrison."

"Ah, like your grandmother, you
have a brave heart, m'amie!" Provencal
exclaimed, satisfied again. "Yes, you
will be happy here, and we shall be
all the world to each other."

Once a week, however, they went
into the town, at first by canoe. When
the marsh was frozen and the river
a mass of ice almost to mid -stream,
the journey by cariole was pleasanter
still. Moreover, the sleighing parties
to the Grand Marais seldom failed to
continue on to the Provencal farm ; so
it was only when the storms came
that the young couple were cut off
from their friends.

Tranquilly the seasons passed until
several years had rolled away. Through
the sale of his timber, crops, and stock,
Pierre Proven9al was growing rich;
and, unlike some of his neighbors whose
thrift was more notable than their
generosity, he grew kinder to others as
his wealth increased. Only one regret
clouded the sunshine of his prosperity :
no little child came to gladden the
Provencal home.

But if le bon Dieu had not given
offspring to Pierre and Euphemie, there
were homeless little ones even at Grosse
Pointe. One day when Provencal
returned from Le Detroit he found his
wife seated before the hearth-fire with
an infant in her arms.

" It is the baby of the Widow Becquct,
a little giri, Pierre," she said. "The
mother died this morning, and has left
four other children."

The farmer knit his brows. Becquet
had been a worthless fellow, who met
his death in a tavern brawl at the
breaking up of the ice the previous
spring.

Had Pierre reasoned upon the influ-
ences of heredity, perhaps his impulse
to a good action would have been
stifled. Yet, if heredity was to be taken
into account, why should not the

616

THE AYE MARIA.

mother's patient endurance of a hard
lot, her love for her children, and her
brave struggle for their support, be
considered also?

Pierre drew nearer to the hearth,
and Euphemie turned back the blanket
in which she had wrapped her charge.
The child, not yet a week old, lay
asleep. Pierre thought of the breath
of the flowers in his garden-plot
when the wind blew over them. Half
timidly, he touched the tiny hand that
was like a petal fallen from one of
his roses. The baby opened its eyes,
puckered up its face most comically,
and finally, grasping at one of the big
man's fingers, clung to it like a bird.
Pierre laughed and stood motionless
until the delicate clasp relaxed ; and,
after a faint cry, the child slept again.

" Mon ami, I should like to keep it!"
whispered Euphemie, wistfully.

A tear stole down Pierre's brown
cheek, in which the smiles of forty
odd years had begun to make a few
wrinkles.

"Keep it, of course!" he echoed,
drawing a hand across his eyes. "We
will keep them all, this little family of
orphans."

Euphemie's delight changed to an
exclamation of dismay.

"The baby, yes, — but five children
in the house so unexpectedly ! What
would I do with them?"

"I have a thought! I will build
another house beside this one, and
here any orphan children of Grosse
Pointe or Le Detroit who are without
friends shall have a home," said Pierre.
"Soulange, your good servant, will help
with the work; and you, my Euphemie,
will not mind keeping an eye to the
management of it all, when the neatness
of your tninage and the brightness
of your home -woven carpets are not
endangered. Am I not right?"

Euphemie, looking up from the sleeping
babe upon her knee, stretched forth a
hand and caught her husband's sleeve.

He bent his face to hers, and she kissed
him with simple affection.

"Pierre Proven9al," she said, "you
are the best man to be found on the
banks of the Detroit, from here to the
home of le bon Pere Richard !"

So Pierre built and furnished another
house adjoining his own; and, from
first to last, twenty -four orphans of
known families were reared and in-
structed at the old farm. Every one of
these not only lived to maturity but
turned out well.

While this charity was still in its
infancy, it brought a reward. One
Christmas morning a daughter was
bom to Euphemie and Pierre. They
named her Catherine, and she grew up
with the little orphans for her play-
mates, until she was of an age to be
sent to a convent school in Le Detroit.

In those days there was no church
at Grosse Pointe. But sometimes, in
summer, Pere Richard came out from
the town and there was Mass at the
Provengals'. Then the farmers and their
wives and children came from miles
around ; and those who could not
crowd into the house would kneel upon
the gallery ; while to the voice of chant
and prayer, the wind-swept waters of
the lake and the sighing pines of the
groves murmured a majestic accompani-
ment, grander than the tones of any
cathedral organ.

Everyone in the neighborhood came
to know that the door of the Provencal
house stood open from sunrise to dark
in summer, — that, figuratively speaking,
it was always open. Everyone in need
of kindness or sympathy came hither,
and no one went away without heljj
or consolation. i

The child Catherine married early
and went with her husband to live in
the city. As the orphans grew up and
left the farm, Pierre gave to each boy
a sum of monej' to start him in life,
and to each girl a marriage portion.

At last the worthy couple were, save

THE AYE MARIA.

617

for the servants, again alone in the
house, which, like themselves, was
growing old. Pierre's countenance, how-
ever, was still round and wholesome-
looking as a russet apple ; and Euphemie
retained something of her comeliness,
with an added sweetness left by the
sunshine of gentle deeds.

One winter day Pierre set off in his
cariole to drive to the town.

" Au revoir, m'amie .' " he called to his
wife, who had followed him to the door.
"Au revoir, mon ami!" she answered
as cheerily; and stood watching while
his swift ponies, Lombreur and L'Etoile,
bore him away across the snow.

The farms of Grosse Pointe were no
longer subject to visitations from the
Indians, fnendly or otherwise, as they
had been when Pierre first settled here.
No palisade now obstructed the view
from the gallery. Lingering there, with
the shawl Pierre had folded about her
drawn closer, the silver-haired wife of
fifty years kept her eyes fixed upon
the receding sleigh until it disappeared
down the road. Then, turning, she
re-entered the house, murmuring to
herself:

"A sadness is upon my heart. Though
a snowstorm is coming on, I wish I
had gone with him!"

"Soulange, I saw a strange cloud in
the sky last night. It made me think
of the Chasse Galerie," said Madame
Euphemie in the afternoon, as her
trusted assistant of man3'- years sat
with her by the fire in the hearth-room,
sewing on the fine linen shirts they
were making for M'sieur Provencal.

"Madame, have you not often told
me it is foolishness to take note of
omens?" replied Soulange, seeking to
cheer her loneliness. "But if this were
not so, and you needed a good sign,
why, the lords of the barnyard crowed
finely this morning, and the cows gave
down their milk."

An hour [)assed. Suddenly the anxious
wife started to her feet.

"Do you hear the bells?" she cried.

Mistress and maid hastened to the
house -door. But, although the gallery
commanded a view far down the
Grand Marais, they saw no sign of an
approaching cariole; neither had one
passed, for there was no track on the
snow that now covered the ground.

"The sound was only the soughing
of the wind through the dry branches
of the trees," hazarded Soulange.

Madame Euphemie shook her head.

"The cloud canoe, the phantom
bells, — these mean misfortune!" she
faltered. "Tell Toussaint to put La
Folic the mare into the glass carriage.
I will drive to the town and meet
M'sieur Provencal."

"Madame, consider! The night is
coming on and the wind is rising.
What can happen but that M'sieur
will come home presently, speeding the
ponies along the good stretch of road
below the farm?"

The face of the mistress brightened.

"Truly, what can happen, as you
say ? " she repeated. " And my husband
might be vexed if I should' go. I will
try to wait patiently."

Soon the dusk fell, shutting out
Grosse Pointe from the rest of the
world. The falling snow turned to hail,
a hurricane swept over the Lake of
St. Claire and shrieked through the
pines of the Provenijal farm.

"Ah, how well it is that Madame
did not set out for Le Detroit!" said
Soulange, complacently. " Even M'sieur
will not be able to return to-night.
Will not Madame lie down and sleep?"

"No, no! But do you go to your
rest, my good Soulange," replied Dame
Euphemie. "I will wait a while longer,
in order to make ready a cup of mulled
cider for M'sieur if he should come, and
to hear the news. Is it not worth
sitting up half the night for, when one
has heard nothing from the town for
three weeks and more?"

Thus, with an attempt at pleasantry,

(318

THE AYE MARIA.

she dismissed her companion, and con-
tinued her watch alone.

It was indeed probable that Pierre
had concluded to remain overnight in
the town rather than risk being stalled
by the snow somewhere on the prairie.
The homestead was so quiet, the glow
of the fire so soothing now, that at
last the watcher's eyelids closed.

It might have been for an hour or
more that Madame Euphemie dozed in
her chair by the hearth. Suddenly she
started up. Surely a voice had called
to her in her sleep ! And what was the
light shining across the marsh even
through the veil of sleet ? Mon Dieu,
was it le feu foUet, — the warning of
disaster? No, no, it could not be!
Madame Euphemie crossed herself.

"May le bon Dieu forgive my foolish
superstition!" she said to herself. "Le
feu follet ? Of course not ! Why, what
can it be but the light of the lantern
Pierre always hangs on the cariole
when he drives at night ? After all, the
storm can not be so bad as it seems
here at the farm, since he has made
his way over the road — Soulange,
Toussaint, M'sieur is arrived!"

At her call, lights flashed through the
house; and when the cariole upon the
road (for a cariole it was) reached the
door-stone, Soulange threw open the
door. Toussaint, swinging his own
lantern, ran to the horses' heads to
take charge of the weary animals ; and
Madame Euphemie stood just inside
the hall, impatient to welcome her
husband home.

A man unwound himself from the
blankets and buffalo robes of the sleigh
and came into the house. His hair and
beard bristled with icicles, his moleskin
gloves were frozen stiff, and his hands
and arms benumbed. But this man
was not Pierre Proven9al: it was
Euphemie's brother, the still hale and
hearty' Louis St. Aubin. When Madame
Provencal saw him, the friend and
comrade of Pierre's youth, she swayed

to and fro like an oak sapling shaken
by the wind.

"My husband?" she ejaculated.

St. Aubin led her back to the living
room, and her accustomed chair.

Madame Euphemie, as if she had
already received a blow, endured the
moment of suspense.

"Where is Pierre?" she demanded,
brokenly.

"At my house," replied St. Aubin.

But as Euphemie's eyes transfixed him
with their anxious inquiry, his fortitude
broke down. He threw his arms about
her and kissed her with an abandon of
affection he had not shown since they
were children in the old St. Aubin home.

"Pierre is ill?" she asked, strangely
contained. But it was the calm before
the storm.

He nodded and caught his breath.

"My God, Pierre is dead!" she cried
out wildly.

"It was apoplex3^ He was with us.
Be thankful, my sister, that he had not
started for home. Le bon Pere Richard
came to him. The hand of God touched
Pierre Provengal, and his soul obeyed
the summons."

The phantoms seen and heard by
Euphemie during the long interval of
her watching and waiting were indeed
but the imagery of her own brooding
thoughts; and jirobably it was some
word or look of Pierre's as he took
leave of her in the morning that,
unknown to her, had aroused her
anxiety. Be this as it may, her wifely
love had followed him to the last.

It was lonely now at the farm for
Pierre's widow. Before winter came
again, she went to live with her
daughter in the town, where she spent
the closing days of her life. So it
happens there has never been a death in
the white house; also that, although
many children have been reared at the
old place, only one child was born
within its walls. Sorrows, indeed, have

THE AVE MARIA.

619

come to those who have lived here, but
never save this' once while they were
tinder its sloping eaves. Except for the
shadows of this day and night, only
tender and happy memories, like the
rose-vines of the gallery, are wreathed
about the home to which Pierre
Provencal brought his young wife at a
time when the Lake Country was still
almost a wilderness.

Chrysostom's End.

BY MARION MUIR.

DARE foot and hand, and worn with seventy

years,
I stand in desolation, with the tears
Of my forsaVcen flock to blind my eyes, —
Old, faded eyes, sad orbs, that saw the prize
Of Empire shaken like a fruited tree,
To please some madcap's childish revelry!
Yet here, beneath the blinding, brazen sky,
I bless Thee, God, Thy sacrifice to die.
All mortal man can do is done, the seal
Is on my power to minister and heal.
She meant me wrong, Eudoxia ; but her slaves
Were but the instruments of Him who saves.
Poor soul, to drive redemption from her side.
And dwell the prey of wickedness and pride!
To the light, courtly fancies I am strange :
The words of Christ I can not mince and change.
Long have I served and won the heathen's blame;
I knew but Love, and Love's immortal aim,
Since first that mother kissed me, whose dear face
Returns in *-eams, restored to girlish grace.

The heat-haze swims about me, and the hands

Of long-dead Christians walk the winnowed sands.

Darkness creeps nearer; but at last the Light,

The Star of Jacob, rises, heavenly bright.

I feel my struggling spirit loose her wings.

Yearning for kinship with celestial things;

IWy one regret that 1 no more can be

Accounted worthy to toil on for Thee.

1 bless Thee for the pain, the want, the foes.

That taught me all the meaning of Thy woes.

It is so great a glory to have worn.

E'en for an hour. Thy livery of scorn.

Lift up thy gates, O City of Delight;

For I have done for evermore with night!

With my last breath I bless Thee, Friend Divine,

Whose hand doth make the palm of martyrs mine.

The Memory of Mentana.

BY MRS. BARTLE TEELING.
( CONCLU8IOK. )

WHEN Garibaldi was known to
have started, at the head of his
10,000 men, for a march on Rome, it
became evident that an important, and
probably final, encounter between his
invading forces and the devoted band
of Pontifical defenders was at hand.
The road to Rome lay through a small
walled town, garrisoned by Pontifical
troops, — some 323 men only, princi-
pally French and Swiss,— called Monte
Rotondo; and it was this outlying
stronghold which the Garibaldians now
attacked.

Three columns, under the command of
Menotti Garibaldi ( his father remain-
ing prudently among the reserves, in
the rear), took up positions round the
city, and proceeded to an assault in
due form. But after eight hours' hard
fighting they were unable to effect
an entrance; and it was not until a
defence of some twenty -seven hours
had exhausted their resources that the
gallant little band found themselves
forced to capitulate, having in the
meantime placed some 500 Garibaldians
hors de combat.

The news now came that Napoleon
III. had, after much hesitation, dis-
patched a small force of French soldiers
to aid in the defence of Rome. In point
of fact, we are told that "the admiral,
having the troops on board, and weary
of Napoleon's contradictory orders,
gaye the signal of departure for Rome."
This detachment entered Rome on
the 30th of October; and all outlying
garrisons were now recalled, to fortify
the Pontifical city to the uttermost.
Garibaldi, on his side, first retreated to
Monte Rotondo, which he intended to
make his base of operations ; and then.

620

THE AVE MARIA,

considering the mountainous country
about Tivoli a more suitable centre
than the plains for the guerilla warfare
in which his troops chiefly distinguished
themselves, he ordered his army to
proceed thither on the morning of
November 3.

Meanwhile the commander-in-chief of
the Pontifical Army, General Kanzler,
wisely proposed to intercept this move
toward the rocky and mountainous
fastnesses, which would afford so
dangerously suitable a shelter for the
enemy; and he promptly led out an
opposing force, comprising 2900 men
( 1500 of whom were Zouaves) under
the Swiss General de Courten ; and
about 2000 French soldiers, under
General de Polhes.

It was a dark and gloomy morn-
ing, with pouring rain, when this little
army of some 5000 men filed out
of the Porta Pia, De Courten's men
leading, and the French contingent
bringing up the rear. But after some
hours' march, and a halt for food and
w^armth, the sun shone out brightly,
and the serried ranks of grey-and-scarlet
Zouaves and of blue-and-crims'on French
pushed forward with light hearts and
eager glances, to meet at last, in open
field, the foe they had long wished to
engage.

Soon after midday their advance
guard came upon the Garibaldian out-
posts, strongly ensconced among the
woods on either side of the road ; and
four companies of Zouaves, under Cap-
tains d'Albiousse, Thomale, le Gonidec,
and Alain de Charette (brother to the
well-known Colonel of that name), were
extended in light skirmishing order,
and speedily cleared the woods of their
red-shirted denizens. Captains de Mon-
cuit and de Veaux soon joined them ;
and presently the gallant and dashing
Colonel de Charette came up, with a
furious bayonet charge which drove all
before it, pursuing the Garibaldians
from one place of refuge to another,

until they reached a walled and fortified
enclosure called the Santucci Vineyard.

After a brief but desperate encounter,
this vineyard and its accompanying
farmhouse were taken. Colonel de
Charette's horse being killed under him,
and Captain de Veaux slain. It is said
that the bullet which killed this gallant
captain actually drove down into his
heart the cross of valor he had won
during the earlier campaign, of 1860,
at Castelfidardo.

There was a brief pause to pick up
and carry away the wounded ; then
General Kanzler prepared to attack
the castle of Mentana, which, a feudal
fortress belonging to the Borghese
family, was held, with the neighboring
village, by a Hungarian commander.
Lieutenant Colonel Frigyesi. The sur-
rounding heights, and the road leading
to Monte Rotondo, were all occupied
by battalions of the invading army
(Garibaldians) ; and their numbers in
all were at least 10,000 men as against
the 5000 Papal troops.

After placing some half dozen guns
in such position as would best coun-
teract the fire from the castle and the
Garibaldian artillery. General Kanzler
sent out a company of Zouaves in
skirmishing order, to dislodge the enemy
from a building called II Conventino
(probably a disused convent), which
seemed an advantageous position to
secure; and five companies of Swiss
carabineers supported them as they
advanced. But the impetuosity of his
youthful volunteers had well - nigh
proved their destruction. One of their
number, then in garrison in Rome, thus
describes it:

"On arriving in sight of the position
held by the Garibaldians, the Zouaves,
instead of waiting till the fire of the
artillery had thrown the ranks of the
enemy into disorder, broke away madly
from their officers and charged. Heed-
less of the voice of their colonel or of
the sound of the bugles, they pressed oa,

THE AYE MARIA.

621

driving the Garibaldians from every
hedge or clump of trees which they
sought to defend, and flinging them
back into the houses. There the charge
was stopped by a hail of bullets from
the loopholed walls; but the Zouaves
held their ground, sheltered by the
haystacks, from behind which they
returned the fire of the Garibaldians. A
desperate sortie of the enemy dislodged
them; but three companies, led by
Major de Lambilly, came to their relief.
They regained their positions; and at
this spot, which wa-s alternately lost
and retaken, the greatest amount of
slaughter took place; and the struggle
lasted till nightfall."

While this front attack was proceed-
ing, with all the dash and verve with
which the very name of Zouave seems
synonymous, it was led by the dashing
commander,

The bravest chief where all were brave
And true, our own Charette! —

who has added to the already historic
glories of his name new titles to im-
mortalitj' by his own ceaseless daring
and chivalrous valor, not only as
Colonel of Zouaves, but later on at
Patay, and with the patriot Army
of the West in 1870, and who had
won everywhere the most enthusiastic
devotion from those under his com-
mand. Garibaldi, on his side, was mar-
shalling and sending forth two strong
columns, in the hope of being able to
turn the flanks of the Pontifical Army.
He had almost succeeded in capturing,
with one of them, two companies of
Swiss carabineers, who, with the solid
bravery so typical of their race, were
slowly falling back in good order, firing
as they went, when an unexpected
reinforcement of some of their com-
patriots enabled them, in their turn,
to take the offensive. Dashing forward
with renewed energy, they broke through
and scattered the attacking column, and
pursued it for soi-.r: distance toward
Monte Rotondo.

Garibaldi's second column met with
a like fate, and was forced, by the
French Legion d'Antibes, to retire into
the village of Mentana; while their
general, perceiving that the day was
lost, retreated somewhat precipitately
from the scene of action, at about
three o'clock in the afternoon, leaving
his staff" to cover his retreat as best
they could.

Reluctant still to own themselves
worsted, the Garibaldian leaders now
mustered all their available forces for a
last attack; and the twofold column
which presently came pouring forth
from the village presented so threaten-
ing an aspect that General Kanzler at
length requested his French confrere.
General de Polhes, whose infantry had
hitherto taken no part in the conflict,
and were chafing under their enforced
inaction — the Zouaves being ambi-
tiously desirous of sustaining the whole
brunt of the battle, — to lend his aid.

But envious grew the clamor,
And murmurs loud and long
Rose from the ranks where Polhfe rode
The French reserve among.
"Give us our share of peril due,

Of glory!" was the cry.
"Shall Zouave steel full harvest reap
While France stands idle by ?"

So — and it was a momentous epoch
in modern warfare — the newly invented
"chassepot" with which General Polhes'
troops were armed, showed the world,
for the first time, what deadly execution
it could do.

"The fight ceased for a moment over
all the line of battle, as the soldiers
on both sides paused to listen to that
deadly fire, rapid and ceaseless as the
rolling of a drum, before which the
hostile battalions disbanded and fled
back into Mentana or Monte Rotondo,
in sjiite of all the eff"orts of Menotti
Gariljaldi and his officers to rally them.
The column on the right wing met
with the same fate; attacked by Lieu-
tenant Colonel Saussier with a French
battalion and the Zouaves of Major

622

THE AYE MARIA.

de Troussures, it broke and dispersed
in various directions."*

Still Mcntana was not taken ; though
a double attack — of Zouaves on the one
side, and French soldiers on the other —
rendered its capture merely a question
of time. And it was here, as night
began to fall, that one of the youngest
of the Zouaves, Julian Watts Russell, a
gallant boy whose memory is enshrined
in the hearts of his comrades, fell while
taking part in the assault. One of the
most graceful of our Catholic English
poetesses has thus crystallized into
song the motto which was young
Julian's chosen one:

Anima niia, anima mia,
Ama Dio, e tira via.

We come from the blue shores of England,

From the mountains of Scotia we come;
From the green, faithful island of Erin,

Far, far from our wild Northern home.
Place St. Andrew's red cross in your bonnets,

St. Patrick's green shamrock display, —
Love God, O my soul, — love Him only.

And then with light heart go thy way!

Dishonor our swords shall not tarnish:

We draw them for Rome and the Pope ;
Victors still, whether living or dying,

For the martyr's bright crown is our hope.
If 'tis sweet for our country to perish,

Sweeter far for the cause of to-day, —
Love God, O my soul, — love Him only.

And then with light heart go thy way!t

Although it would have been unwise,
in view of the well-known guerilla
tactics of the enemy, to pursue the
attack through the interior of the
village after nightfall, it was felt that
the end was not far off; and after a
watchful and strongly guarded night,
surrounded by camp fires and vigilant
sentinels, the Papal troops were on
foot with the first dawn of day. And
to the French columns, in recognition
of their timely aid the day before,
w^as accorded the privilege of being
the first to enter Mentana, when the
entire force inhabiting both village

• "Garibaldi's Defeat at Mentana." By Donat Sampson^
t "SoDg.s in the Night." Bj^'Mother Raphael Drane.

and castle, numbering several hundreds,
quickly capitulated, and were permitted
to lay down their arms and depart
across the frontier which still — nomi-
nally— marked the Papal States.

Their chief had already "retreated"
to Correse the day before, and he now
continued his backward march with
5000 men ; while those who were left —
besides the 600 dead and 500 wounded
who lay on the field of battle — escaped
in detached bands, with or without
leaders, into the mountains of the
Abruzzi or other places of refuge, and
their place knew them no more.

As a group of staff and field officers
stood round their camp fire that night,
one of them remarked: "It is as well
that I had not to order the Zouaves
to retire to-day; for if I had, they
would not have obeyed me." The
speaker was Colonel de Charette.

The day after the battle! Ah, what
those words may mean ! As one whom
we have already quoted expresses it:

Have you ever kept a night watch.
Comrades dear, on tented plain,

When the moon's wan light shines paler
On the faces of the slain ?

Have you heard the voice of wailing,

Praying aid where aid was none,
Where the longed-for cup of water

Kingly ransom had not won ?
Then you know how fared the sleepless,

How the awful night hours sped
On the field 'twixt mirk and morning,

'Mid the dying and the dead.

It is seldom that the world's workers
are also its poets; but we can not
quote the foregoing lines without one
further word. The hand which wrote
of the wounded on that battlefield was
no oLlier than the selfsame hand which
had succored them in their hour of
need. And it was the hand of a w^oman,
of an Englishwoman — Mrs. Stone, or,
as the Zouaves quaintly called her,
"Madam Stone."

She was one of the prominent figures

THE AVE MARIA.

623

in the Roman society of that winter;
and she had followed her beloved
Zouaves to the field on that fateful 3d
of November, to play her part among
them. So, while the battle raged on
hill and plain, this courageous woman
moved quietly to and fro, bringing aid
to the wounded, till her ver\' clothes
were riddled with the bullets which
•whistled round her, and a pitcher of
w^ater which she was carrying up the
hill was broken to pieces in her hand
by one of them.

When the survivors of this campaign
were decorated with the well-known
"Mentana Cross," Mrs. Stone received
one too, and well indeed did she deserve
it. She was the onh' woman who has
ever been entitled to wear that simple
yet proud decoration — a Maltese cross
with Papal arms in the centre, and on
the reverse the Cross of Constantine
with the words, Hanc Victoriam. Of
this victory Mother Dranc sang:

There — it is over now,

God's be the glory!
Ye who have heard it

Forget not their story.
Lay them to rest

In the lonely Campagna,
But first kneel and kiss

The red soil of Mentana.

We must watch continually over
ourselves, that we may not do or say
or think anything that may displease
God. When our minds are thus em-
ployed about Him, suffering will become
full of unction and consolation. I
know that to arrive at this state the
beginning is very difficult, for we must
act purely in faith. But, though it is
difficult, we know also that we can do
all things with the grace of God, which
He never refuses to them who ask it
earnestly. Knock, persevere in knock-
ing, and I answer for it that He will
open to you in His due time, and
grant you all at once what He has
deferred during many jears.

—Brother Lawrence.

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BT ANNA T. SADLIBB.

XLL — Brought to Bay.

^1% HEN Bretherton bent his steps
vjy toward the mill, he was possessed
by that one fixed purpose of compelling
Eben Knox to give all possible infor-
mation, and to aid him and his father
in righting the wrongs of years. For
the first time in his life, he felt a certain
reluctance to encounter the people of
Millbrook, who would be so soon,
perhaps, gossiping about his family's
affairs.

The events of the preceding night, and
the knowledge which had come to him,
had aged him perceptibly, bringing new
lines into his face, and separating him,
as it were by a milestone, from that
past in which he had loved Leonora,
and told her of his love upon the
moonlit lawn of the Manor. The touch
of gravity and of resolution rather
improved his face than otherwise. It
lent to it a new meaning and a new
strength.

He glanced toward Rose Cottage. It
lay calm and still in the morning light.
He jclt no desire to enter there, nor even
to see Leonora again until these wrongs
had been made right, the mysteries
made clear as day. He passed on un-
falteringly to the mill. The machinery
there was in full swing, and gave forth
a monotonous, whirring sound, as of
an army of locusts in battle-array. The
sound disturbed the still brightness of
the frosty sunshine, but Bretherton
did not heed the discordant note. He
pressed on, glancing up abstractedly at
the mill windows, near each of which
he could perceive workers intent upon
the grim struggle of daily existence.

Dave Morse, craning his neck for a
better view, beheld Jim Bretherton
approaching. Something in the latter's
aspect suggested combativeness to the

624

THE AYE MARIA.

stripling's mind ; and the rumors that
had been going round about Leonora,
as well as the antagonistic attitude of
the two men in her regard, seemed cause
sufficient in Dave's mind for hostilities.

" I guess young Mr. Bretherton's come
to lick the boss," Dave reflected, filled
with an anticipatory enjoyment in the
hope that the functionary so designated
might get his due at last.

Morse had never forgiven the man-
ager for the stripes which had rankled
in his soul ever since. Moreover, he
shared in the popular admiration and
liking for "young Mr. Bretherton"
w^hich was universal in Millbrook. He
had secret hopes, too, of an excitingfray,
and a consequent interruption to work.

Jim Bretherton, quite unconscious of
Dave's bellicose reflections, reached the
mill's open door, — a sliding contrivance,
to which led a slippery wooden plank,
arranged for the admission of bales of
goods. Looking up thence, Bretherton
beheld Eben Knox gazing at him
from that identical desk, near an open
window, which commanded a view of
Rose Cottage. Their eyes met, and
Bretherton made a slight movement to
indicate that he was entering. The man-
ager remained grimly standing where
he was, wondering whether his visitor
had come to settle some personal score,
or if, indeed, the papers had reached
his hands.

Eben Knox was not, in the ordinary
acceptation of the word, a coward. He
was courageous enough physically;
and it was not the fear of personal
violaice on the part of Jim Bretherton
that blanched his cheek to a more than
usually livid whiteness, and caused him
doggedly to set his teeth. It was the
sense borne in upon him that the crisis
of his fate was approaching, and that
all the days and all the years in which
he had struggled with a mighty pur-
pose, and rendered numberless obstacles
subservient to his will, were now
possibly to be nullified and rendered

vain. The feet mounting the stairs,
young, elastic, vigorous, seemed as the
steps of destiny.

The desk was placed in a retired part
of the upper loft, away from the noise
and whir of the machinery and from
the centre of activity, so that it ensured
comparative quiet and privacy to the
manager when he chose to work there.
From the ulterior motive of keeping
an eye upon the Cottage, he often
preferred it to his office. At no very
great distance stood an open hatchway
through which goods were frequently
conveyed upstairs, and by the medium
whereof the manager sometimes com-
municated with those below.

Jim Bretherton, who had been more
or less conversant since his boyhood
with the mill precincts, passed directly
up the main staircase to where Knox
was standing at the desk. The latter
did not turn his head until the visitor
was within a few paces of him. Then
the two confronted each other grimly
enough.

Upon the visitor's face was plainly
written the contemptuous aversion
which an honest man feels for a rogue.
Generous, high-minded, and incapable
of the smallest meanness himself, he
regarded the other's conduct with all
the intolerance of youth ; not being
yet old enough to make allowance for
those complex springs of action which
regulate, and in many instances lessen,
the enormity of human deeds.

The manager, on the other hand, was
roused to bitterest resentment bj' the
sight of the handsome countenance and
fine proportions of the rival whom
he hated. After the slightest possible
salutation, there was a moment of
profound silence, in which each man
regarded the other intently.

Meanwhile there had been introduced
into the situation a new element, of
which both were altogether ignorant.
Jesse Craft had perceived young Mr.
Bretherton hastening toward the mill

THE AVE MARIA.

625

with an expression of countenance such
as he had never remarked before. It
immediately occurred to him that a
general settling up of accounts was
imminent, although he was, of course,
unaware of the particular circumstances
which had led to this result.

"Jerusha Jane!" he exclaimed, "I'd
like to see the sarpent after the Gover-
nor's son has handled him! I wonder
he didn't undertake the job long ago."

He reflected more soberly, however,
with a doubtful shake of the head :

"It wouldn't do, though. No! Them
natural inclinations has got to be kept
down. Kicks and such like luxuries has
got to be paid for in courts of law;
and it's a pesky matter to have deal-
ings with a sarpent, unless witnesses
is present. The war on pizon snakes
can't be conducted on the lines of
honest warfare. So I'll jest step down
to the mill, in case I might be wanted."

He saw, as he went, Miss Tabitha in
the garden, looking old and haggard,
with a strained expression about her
eyes. He waved her a cheery greeting.

" Good-mornin' to you. Miss Tabithy !
'Pears to me you're lookin' a bit down-
hearted of late. But cheer up ! The sun's
/shinin' and the sky's blue, anyhow."

He did not stop for a more extended
parley, but, grasping a stout stick in
his hand, pressed on.

Not a dozen paces away he encoun-
tered Lord Ay 1 ward, who was indulg-
ing in a surreptitious glance at Rose
Cottage, and displayed some signs of
confusion in being so detected.

"Good-day to you, Lord Aylward ! "
cried Craft. "You're the very man I
wanted so see. I'd be glad of your
company on a little expedition."

" An expedition ? Where to ? Not
fishing on this frosty day?"

"Neither fishin' nor shootin', but jest-
makin' a move in our war on pizon
snakes."

"Oh, what's up?" queried Aylward,
laconically, turning and accommodat-

ing his pace to that of the old man.

"The Governor's son is gone to the
mill lookin' like blue blazes. There's
bound to be a conflagration down
yonder. I guess you and me might
be wanted, if only to call the dustman
to pick up the sarpent's remains."

Lord Aylward laughed ; but the next
moment he looked grave again, as
he gathered from Craft's somewhat
involved speech that Jim Bretherton
had gone to visit the manager, presum-
ably with hostile intent. Like Jesse
Craft, he foresaw possible consequences
of an unpleasant nature from a meeting
between the two, and without the
presence of witnesses. He was, of
course, ignorant of the special business
which had occasioned Jim's action, and
concluded that he had simply lost
patience and determined to demand an
account of Eben Knox with regard
to his proceedings at Rose Cottage.
Concerning the physical part of the
encounter, he had no fears. He even
laughed at the notion of Eben Knox
engaged in a contest with th: champion
athlete, murmuring to himself:

"Jimmy's a first-rate boxer. I pity
the other chap if he tackles him."

Jesse's eyes twinkled sympathetically.
He had caught the drift of this solilo-
quy, and agreed therewith heartily.

"Mr. Bretherton," observed Lord
Aylward aloud, "can probably give a
good account of himself, if it comes to
violence. I fancy he can deal with Mr.
Knox and one or two others besides."

"You can't deal with a sarpent by
any fair means," declared Jesse Craft,
emphatically; "and there's no knowin'
what ugly charges he may bring
against a man. There should be wit-
nesses,— yes, siree, witnesses, — unbe-
knownst, if you like, to the parties;
but witnesses there should be to yonder
piece of business."

"I believe you are right," assented
Lord Aylward; "and I'm quite willing
to go with you to the mill."

626

THE AVE MARIA.

"Let us get there for tlie overture,
before the dance begins," said Craft.

Scarcely, therefore, had Jim Bretherton
confronted Eben Knox, when Lord
Aylward and Craft entered the mill —
though not by the same door, — and
passed upstairs by a different flight of
steps. Craft was well aware of the
manager's predilection for the desk near
the window, and he surmised that he
would be much more likely to receive
his visitor there than behind closed
doors in the office. Guided by the sound
of voices, he led the young Englishman
to a post of observation behind a
veritable barrier of bales of cloth.
This point of vantage enabled the two
to see and, if necessary, to hear what-
ever transpired between the chief actors
in the drama.

Jesse Craft availed himself frankly of
both these privileges. He was only too
anxious to see and hear whatsoever
passed. Lord Aylward, on the contrary,
very soon realized that the conversation
was likely to be of a private nature,
and took up his station near the outer
edge of the barrier, where he might
remain out of earshot and yet.keep an
eye upon the contestants, — a circum-
stance that later proved serviceable.

Meanwhile there were no civilities
wasted between the unwelcome visitor
and the sinister figure at the desk. The
latter did not so much as offer a chair ;
and the former remained standing, ap-
parently heedless of the open hatchway
at a short distance behind him.

"I have come to see you," began
Bretherton, "upon a matter sufficiently
important to us both."

"If," observed Knox, rudely, "it is
anything about Miss Chandler — "

Jim Bretherton, the indignant blood
rushing to his face, interrupted in a
stem tone:

"It is nothing whatever about that
lady or any other, and I will not permit
her name to be mentioned between us."

Eben Knox drew his lip over his teeth

in a manner peculiar to himself when
enraged, as he answered fiercely:

"Your permission will be scarcely
required to regulate either my words or
actions, and I warn you that I will not
tolerate browbeating from any one."

"Let us get to business!" retorted
Bretherton, curtly. "My reason for
coming here is that I have been put
in possession of certain documents."

The whiteness of Knox's face turned
to a livid pallor at this confirmation
of his worst fears. Despite his previous
apprehensions, this declaration affected
him like a sudden blow. He tried,
however, to assume an aif of bravado^

"What documents are you talking
about, and how do they concern me?"
he inquired.

"That is a very idle question, since
I learn that they have been in your
keeping for the past twenty years."

"I have had a good many documents
in my keeping during the course of
twenty years," declared Knox.

"These papers," Bretherton went on,
ignoring the evasion, "relate to my
family, and particularly to nn' late
uncle, Mr. Reverdy Bretherton, and his
deplorable accident . "

"Accident!" echoed Knox, and the
sneer that curled his lip was full of
malignity.

"Yes," repeated Bretherton, firmly,
"the occurrence to which I refer was
in my belief an accident."

"A very convenient accident, consid-
ering that Mr. Reverdy Bretherton was
the heir!"

The young man took a step forward,
with a movement of indignation, w^hich
he presently controlled, saying coldly:

"I must beg of you to limit your
remarks to the actual facts."

"From what you say," answered
Knox, suddenly changing his ground of
attack, "I judge that the papers you're
talking about have been stolen from
my premises."

The word stolen had an uglv sound.

THE AVE MARIA.

627

Bretherton had not thought of the
matter in that Hght, and for an instant
he was startled. Then he reflected that
the mill-manager had possessed himself
of the papers in an illicit manner, and
retained them criminally for a terra of
years. Hence there was no room for
delicacy in treating of the affair.

"Stolen, I repeat!" roared Eben
Knox, striking the desk before him
with his clinched fist to emphasize his
words. "And I demand an account of
you, Mr. James Cortlandt Bretherton,
for having in your possession documents
which were under lock and key on my
premises."
Bretherton eyed the manager steadily.
"Even supposing that the papers
under discussion are the identical docu-
ments to which you refer, I think the
less you say about them the better.
They chiefly concern my family, and I
may as well say at once that they
disclose a very network of rascality."
" Which had for its centre Mr. Reverdy
Bretherton," Eben Knox retorted, with
a cold malignity which suggested the
venom of a snake. "You maj' try the
virtuous respectability dodge as much
as you please, but the contents of those
papers will make an ugly story for the
newspapers, and a tough morsel for the
immaculate Brethertons to swallow."
He looked full at the young man
before him; but the latter gave no
sign ; and after a moment's pause Knox
continued :

" I suppose you have come here to

arrange about the price of my silence."

"Mr. Knox," sard Jim Bretherton,

deliberately, "you are an unmitigated

villain!"

Jesse Craft, who had been devouring
the conversation between the two with
the utmost relish, now murmured softly
to himself:

"The football will soon be beginning
now. The Governor's son is jest about
gettin' waked up."

( To be continued. )

Portuguese Sketches.
I.— Where the Dead are Remembered.

N*esta fl6rida terra

Leda, fresca e serena,

Lcda e contente pera mi vivia.

— Camoens.

SO the great Camoens speaks of his
"formosa Lusitania,"— a beautiful,
fresh, serene land of flowers and sun-
shine,— a land also that is too little
known; for if better known it would
be more appreciated. To the tourist,
it is a country of delights. The beau-
tiful quintas along the Douro, the
diversified mountain scenery of the
Minho, and the southern richness and
splendor of Algarve, — all make Portugal
the equal in scenic grandeur of any
country in Europe. It may be said,
indeed, that the Serra de Cintra, with
its palaces and ruined castles, has no
equal in the world, the view from the
top of the Castello dos Mouros being
sublimely impressive.

The first thing that strikes one on
crossing the Portuguese frontier from
Spain is the difference in the languages.
The Spanish is guttural and sonorous,
with clear, musical vowels; the Portu-
guese is soft, sweet, and liquid, like the
sound of a woman's voice. Not less
interesting than their language are the
manners and customs of the peasantry.
Their address is dignified and courteous,
and they are most genial and hospitable
toward strangers. Though apparently
happy and merry, there is a tinge of
melancholy in their joy, — a character-
istic easily noted in their songs. They
sing from morning till night — in the
field, on the street, or going in bands
to some romeria, or pilgrimage.

The Portuguese are intensely religious,
and are very proud of the fact that
the national flag bears on its shield
As Quinas — the Five Wounds of the
Saviour, — which, as Camoens sings in
the Lusiadas, Christ left them for their
coat of arms.

628

THE AYE MARIA

The reverence and devotion of ttis
people toward the souls of the departed
is shown in every act of their daily life.
In the cities and towns, shrines of the
Souls in Purgatory, with an alms -box
attached, are frequently met with. On
passing a cemetery, the peasant drops
on his knees for a few moments' prayer.
Even the beggar is sure of an alms if
asked in the name of the " Poor Souls."

When a departing soul's last moments
have arrived, the church bell tolls the
agony ; and, immediately, from every
home, arid from every listener on street
or square, supplication for its happ^^
departure goes up to the throne of the
Most High. The funeral procession is
always attended by at least one of the
confraternities, the members dressed in
their distinctive robes. Carrying lighted
wax torches, they walk in two rows,
twelve or fourteen feet apart. The
priest, vested in surplice and stole,
comes next, followed by the bier, which
is either carried or wheeled. Then come
the friends of the deceased, followed by
a band playing suitable music.

The feast of All Souls is observed
by the Portuguese with the . greatest
devotion. Priests have the privilege
of saying three Masses of Requiem on
that morning. No expense is spared in
embellishing the graves and mauso-
leums, or jazigos, which are of costly
marble and of beautiful designs. The
preceding week is spent in decorating
the cemetery. The evening before the
feast, the whole town flocks to the
City of the Dead. The public bodies
and societies vie with one another in
beautifj'ing their plots with flowers
and candles ; but the members of the
fire brigade generally surpass all others,
artistically arranging their hooks and
ladders into a monument, while two or
more stand on guard in full uniform.

At the fall of night, the scene is
one of the most beautiful that can be
conceived. The cemetery is ablaze with
lights, and the air is redolent of the

fragrance of many flowers; while the
hushed murmur of the crowd, the half-
suppressed sobs and low-toned prayers
of friends and relatives, make the
commemoration a most touching one.

Pathetic incidents are met with at
every step. At an humble grave, the only
ornament of which consists of a picture
entwined with cypress branches, may
be seen a poor mother with her little
ones close around her, weeping bitterly ;
at another, a man of middle age stands
solitary amid the crowd, with his head
bowed upon his breast, lost in memories
of the past. In fine, every grave reveals
a secret of love and sorrow.

Prayer goes on unceasingly, both on
the vigil and on the feast ; Masses- are
crowded ; and in the cemetery, where
the Stations are erected, many follow
the priest making the Way of the Cross.

Answered with a Story.

IT was at a dinner in the presbyten,^
and toward the end the conver-
sation turned on Negroes. A bishop
among the guests, who once had charge
of a colored congregation, in answer
to the question, "Can converts among
them be trusted to persevere longer
than a month?" told a little story,
"right fair and sweet," as Caxton
in "The Golden Legend" frequently
describes such narratives. The bishop
is not one of those who imagine that
the action of divine grace is restricted
in the case of people whose skin is not
w^hite ; and he prefaced his story with
the remark that he would cheerfully
exchange his diocese for the little
colored parish which he organized, —
"the soil was so good, the labor so
consoling, the harvest promised to be
so abundant." That little congrega-
tion, by the way, began with two
persons and had increased to two
hundred, — converts every one. Not all
were so saintlike as Mrs. T. ; but, as

THE AVE MARIA.

629

a whole, they were faithful and fervent,
well instructed in their religion, and
eager that others should share in its
blessings and consolations.

Mrs. T. had a pew under the gallery,
which at one of the Masses was occu-
pied exclusively by the boys of the
parish school. There was a scapegrace
among them, — perhaps more than one;
however, no complaint of misconduct on
their part reached the ears of the pastor
until Mrs. T.. came to the sacristy one
morning and expressed the fear that all
the little boys in the gallery were not
hearing Mass. " I thought you might
want to say a word to them some
time. Father, if you knew about it."

Remembering the situation of the old
lady's pew, the pastor wondered how
she could be cognizant of any disorder
in the gallery, and pressed her for an
explanation.

"Well, it's this way. Father. Where
I kneel is just underneath, and all
through Mass — that is most of the
time — they keep spitting down on my
head. Of course that ain't nothing. Our
Blessed Lord was spit upon, and I'm
only a poor old colored woman. But it
was right in the church and the Holy
Mass going on. I don't know who they
are; and if I did, it wouldn't be right
for me to tell the faults of my neigh-
bor. You see, I was just afraid some
of those little fellows might be missing
Mass, along with misbehaving in the
presence of the Blessed Sacrament."

Much of the point as well as of the
tender charm of this story is lost in the
retelling ; but, as related by the bishop,
it served, not only to remove prejudice
against the black race, but to show
the heights of holiness to which grace
has sometimes elevated Negro converts.
The incident was impressive enough to
produce silence on all who heard it, and
in the eyes of more than one listener
there was a suspicion of tears. The
spell was broken when the questioner
was reminded of the cigars.

Notes and Remarks.

Events are moving with such rapidity
in Russia at present that it is difficult
to predict just what will be the out-
come of the Czar's recent concessions.
At this writing, it is not at all certain
that the concessions in question were
granted soon enough to preserve the
Empire from all the horrors of a
general revolution scarcely less bloody
than that which devastated France at
the end of the eighteenth century. The
one fact which seems to stand out
most prominently in dispatches from
the East is that, whether or not Prime
Minister Witte is successful in bringing
about a constitutional government, Rus-
sian autocracy is at an end. Having
granted to his subjects the primary
civil rights — freedom of conscience, free-
dom of speech, freedom of the press,
and freedom of association, — Nicholas
and his Grand Dukes will inevitably
discover that they can nevermore hopj
to set back the hands on the dial-plate
of time. The old order of things in
Russia has passed forever. Inasmuch
as the interests of Catholicity in partic-
ular will be notably benefited by the
change, we rejoice in it, and trust that
threatened revolution may be averted.

Persons whose faith in Christianity —
how weak it must be! — has been dis-
turbed by what the newspapers have
been telling about "radiobes," and
the very positive assertion of so-called
scientists that consciousness exists in
matter, will be comforted for the time
being by Mr. Butler Burke's declaration
that, even if the theory, as old as
Aristotle, that life can be produced from
the non-living were established, it need
offer no reasonable apprehensions to
religious orthodoxy. We say ' com-
forted for the time being,' because next
week the discovery of the missing

630

THE AVE MARIA

link may be reported again; or the
announcement may be made that some
professor of something or other, some-
where or other, has demonstrated the
habitability of Mars. Artemus Ward's
assertion that he had seen the man in
the moon in a beastly state of intoxi-
cation has been matched many a time
by men who desired to be taken very
seriously, whereas the genial show-
man was only making fun. He once
remarked, apropos of some wonderful
newspaper report that turned out to
be a hoax: "There is one good thing
about all such yarns: you needn't
believe 'em unless you want to."

President Roosevelt's Thanksgiving
proclamation deserves attentive reading
by every man and woman in the United
States ; and, for reasons which need not
be explained, we hope it will receive
due notice in all other countries. Our
personal gratitude to Almighty God on
Thanksgiving Day shall comprehend
this proclamation, and the blessing of a
President who on all fitting occasions
pays public homage to the Ruler of
the Universe, and does not hesitate to
address the nation in this wise :

We live in easier and more j^entiful

times than our forefathers, the men who with
rugged strength faced the rugged days; and yet
the dangers to national life are quite as great
now as at anj- previous time in our history.

It is eminently fitting that once a year our
people should set apart a day for praise and
thanksgiving to the Giver of Good ; and, at the
same time that they express their thankfulness
for the abundant mercies received, should man-
fully acknowledge their shortcomings and pledge
themselves solemnly and in good faith to strive
to overcome them.

During the past year we have been blessed with
bountiful crops. Our business prosperity has been
great. No other people has ever stood on as high
a level of material well-being as that on which we
now stand. We are not threatened by foes from
without. The foes from whom we should pray
to be delivered are our own passions, appetites
and follies; and against these there is always
need that we should war.

Therefore I now set apart Thursday, the 30th

day of this November, as a day of thanksgiving
for the past and of prayer for the future ; and
on that day I ask that throughout the land
the people gather in their homes and places of
worship, and, in rendering thanks unto the Most
High for the manifold blessings of the past year,
consecrate themselves to a life of cleanliness,
honor and wisdom, so that this nation may
do its allotted work on the earth in a manner
worthy of those who founded it and of those
who preserved it.

An interesting discovery at Pompeii,
which, though buried under a pall of
lava by Vesuvius over eighteen hundred
years ago, continues to encourage
excavators, is reported by the Rome
correspondent of the London Tablet.
The find consists of a small terra-cotta
lamp, bearing the figure of a cross.
"As Pompeii vt^as destroyed in the year
79 A. D., the presence of a Christian
lamp among the ruins is taken to prove
the existence of Christians in the place
at that early date. The only indication
previously discovered of the same fact
was a rude inscription drawn in
charcoal on one of the walls near the
Stabian Baths, in which the word Chris-
tianas was barely distinguishable. . . .
But this Pompeiian lamp possesses a
still greater interest from the fact that
it is probably the very oldest represen-
tation of a Christian cross known to
exist. Even in the Roman catacombs
of the first and second centuries, the
early Christians were careful to disguise
the Signum Christi under the form of a
trident, an anchor, a hammer turned
upward, a letter T, and so on."

From the same correspondent we
learn that Vesuvius is again in a state
of activity, and offers a brilliant
spectacle by night from Naples and
the neighboring towns.

The Christian Herald, of New York,
recently published a S3'raposium on the
question of Capital Punishment, and,
in an editorial with the caption "Killing
by Statute," stated that the opponents

THE AVE MARIA.

631

of such punishment "are in a large
majority." Thereupon the secretary of
the Civic Committee, of Boston, wrote
to the Herald, criticising that paper's
stand on the matter. The following
excerpts from the letter will interest
our readers:

Will you allow me to remind you that in
tests of public opinion made elsewhere — as, for
example, in the last Legislatures of Vermont and
of Massachusetts — on roll-call the opponents of
capital punishment were in a large minority ? . . .

Only Christ can bring in a millennium of peace
wherein killing may cease. Law never can.
What, then, is the end sought by the capital
punishment law ? It is to lessen the crime of
murder to a minimum. And this end is gained,
not, as you saj' we claim, "by killing"; but it
is gained bj' the promulgation of law. The
announcement of the penalty of death for murder
by the lawgiver is a warning to every vicious
person of certain death if he disobeys and takes
human life.

You say that " the modern tendency in all laws
dealing with crime is reformative rather than
punitive." Such is not the principle of American
law. The principle of American law is preventive.

The merits and demerits of capital
punishment will doubtless for many
years to come be subjects for discussion
among sane sociologists as well as
perfervid sentimentalists; but it is
interesting to note that in Switzerland,
where capital punishment was totally
abolished in 1874, it was reintroduced
into a number of the cantons in 1879,
because of a marked increase in the
number of murders during the interven-
ing five years.

For the third time in a period of
twenty years the bishops of Australasia
have met in Plenary Council ; and the
pastoral letter which, at the close of
their deliberations they issued to the
clergy and laity of their charge, is a
highly interesting, as well as in many
respects a distinctly gratifying, eccle-
siastical document. In perusing this
letter, we marked a number of notable
passages, some of which we promise
ourselves the pleasure of reproducing,
from time to time, as occasion serves.

For the nonce let us quote this summary
of Catholic conditions in Australasia:

Our Catholic population has grown to some-
thing over a million (1,011,550). The clergy
number over 1300 ; the teaching Brothers, over
600; the nuns over 5500. We maintain 33
colleges for boys, and 169 boarding-schools for
girls; 215 superior day-schools; 1087 primary
schools; 94 charitable institutions; and the
children in Catholic schools number over 127,000.
From these figures it can be seen that, although
ours is a land which has developed and grown
with the rapidity of adolescence, the Church has
progressed also, even so as to keep well to the
front among the most progressive institutions of
the country.

Intelligent readers will make liberal,
allowance for exaggeration and sup-
pression in newspaper reports of the
present situation in Russia. It is a
delusion to suppose that foreign news
is not "doctored" to suit those who
control public affairs in Europe. The
American press, we are assured, prints
what the English Foreign Office and
the Exchange are pleased to give out, —
that only. As in the New World so in
the Old, money is the real power. The
control of European politics is in the
hands of great financiers, and not a
few well-informed persons hold that the '
Anglo -German syndicate is interested
in the destruction of Russia. Be this
as it may, the author of " Diplomatic
Mysteries" wrote many months ago:
"Egypt, Turkey, Portugal, China, and
Greece are living witnesses of the
humiliating subjection to which nations
sink when they become the debtors of
the great money -power. They show,
too, how easy it is to confiscate by
financial artifices the independence —
economic, industrial and intellectual —
of a country, giving it the while the
ribbons and parade of liberty. And
Russia's turn has come."

This reads like a prediction now. It
has been asserted, we know, that Mr.
Vance Thompson could not possibly, by
himself, have acquired inside knowledge
of European politics. He seems to have
been on intimate terms with the late

632

THE AYE MARIA

M. De Blowitz, though ; and no one can
doubt that De Blowitz was thoroughly
informed as to what was going on
between the rulers of Europe. He was
a man of discretion as well as probity —
an earnest Catholic, — and it is probable
that certain state secrets were buried
with him ; others, it is easy to believe,
he may have confided to his friend.

We notice that the editor of the
Oregonian, which is among the bright-
est and best of our far Western journals,
is accused by one of its readers of being
hostile to Christianity and of sneering
at the word "orthodox." The editor
man has the reputation, we believe, of
being an agnostic, but he is evidentl3^
not one of the I-don't-know-and-I-
don't- care kind; for he says, replying
to his critic: "The Oregonian wants
definitions. It desires to know what
Christianity is, and what orthodox
opinion is." Our contemporary is
already well informed as to Protestant-
ism, we should judge from the following
extracts :

Through the Roman Catholic Church only do
you get these definitions — without question or
dissent. You may not, yourself, agree with them
when you get them; but there are noNothers
upon which any large body of Christians is
agreed. Variation of opinion as to orthodox
Christianity and its meaning is observed among
adherents of each and every Protestant denomi-
nation. Opinion shades off from rigorous
Presbyterianism to widest Unitarianism. Hence
it is that outside the Roman Catholic Church
everything is merely a matter of opinion. Through
the Roman Catholic Church you get apostolical
and historical authority, — nowhere else; and the
history of the doctrine and of its descent to the
present time from the same source.

Protestantism is dissent. Some phases of it
take the name of Orthodoxy. Yet, again, there
are as many phases of Orthodoxy as there are
pro-testant denominations. . . . Knowledge of the
historical grounds of doctrine and of historical
bases of belief is indispensable to any consider-
ation of this great subject. No one person can
define Christianity or orthodoxy for another.
The Roman Catholic Church does — for those
who adhere to it. All else is but the welter of
individual or sectarian opinion.

The editor of the Oregonian is not
hostile to Christianity. His opposition
is to sectarianism, which he finds to
be destitute of authority in matters of
faith ; and to sec< arian opinions, which,
as every one knows, change oftener than
the wind. He belongs to the large and
increasing class of persons — call them
what you will — who, while not accept-
ing the claims of the Church, nevertheless
recognize the fact so admirably stated
by Cardinal Newman: "Either the
Catholic religion is verily the coming
of the unseen world into this, or there
is nothing positive, nothing dogmatic,
nothing real in any of our notions
as to whence we come and whither

we go."

« *
The Oregonian's recognition of the
Church as an authoritative teacher is
one of those glimpses of truth on the
part of non-Catholics which our great
American convert. Dr. Brownson had
in mind when he wrote:

The Catholic Church is attractive to all men
of all classes who would have faith, — who feel
thej' are poor, helpless sinners, and would have
the sure means of salvation ; to the weary and
heavy laden, w^ho seek rest, and find it nowhere
in the world ; to those who would have confi-
dence in their principles, and free scope and full
employment for their intellectual powers; to
those who are tired of endless jarring, and
disgusted with shallow innovators, pert philo-
sophers, unfledged divines, — cobweb theories,
spun from the brain of vanity and conceit, vanish-
ing as the sun exhales the morning dew which
alone rendered them visible ; and who would have
something older than yesterday, solid, durable ;
carrying them back, and connecting them with
all that has been ; and forward, and connecting
them with all that is to be ; admitting them
into the goodly fellowship of the saints of all
ages; making them feel that they have part
and lot in all that over which has coursed the
stream of Divine Providance, been consecrated by
the blood of martyts, and hallowed by the ebb
and flow of sanctified affection, and permitting
them to love, venerate and adore to their hearts'
content, or their hearts' capacity; — to all these, of
whatever ,age or nation, sex, rank, or condition,
the glorious, sublime, God-inspired, guided, and
defended Catholic Church is full of attraction —
even fascination.

O-u-g-h.

BY FATHER CHEERHEART,

(~)F all the crazy endings found
'Mid English words dispersed,
Most folks will tell you, I'll be bound,
"O-u-g-h" is worst.

'Tis rather hard, you must allow,

To rhyme it always true;
At times 'tis sounded as in "bough,"

At others as in "through."

Still other sounds it has, we know —

If we are up to snuff, —
And one of these is as in "though,"

Another as in "tough."

Oh, well may foreign learners scoff.

And at our English mock.
When, after these, they come to "cough";

And then, once more, to "lough"!

They surely have their work cut out
Who for our language stick up,—

But some may still be found, no doubt,
Who'll argue e'en for "hiccough."

The Little Artist.

IV.
S he waved them a parting
salute, Father Antonio, who
had been watching the old
servant, exclaimed :
"Why, what's the matter
with Brbino? Look at him, brother!"
"Your Excellency, terrible things arc
happening here ; and I should be guilty,
a thousand times guilty, if I left you
any longer in ignorance of what I
know."

"You alarm me, Urbino," said his
master, growing serious. "What do
you know ?"

"Oh, nothing,— absolutely nothing!"
replied Urbino, lugubriously.

The Abb€ burst out laughing; the
podesta shrugged his shoulders and pre-
pared to rise, when Urbino continued :

"But, all the same, I'm going to tell
your Excellencies what I have seen."

"Explain yourself without any more
verbiage," said the podesta, impatiently.

" 'Tis this way, Excellency. There
are no longer any children. The Signor
Michaelangelo does just as your Excel-
lencies, no more and no less. He goes
out and comes in without saying, as
he used to do, ' Urbino, do you want
to come with me?' — without saying
where he's going — ah, no : I forgot ! He
tells me : ' If Signor Francisco Graciani
calls for me, tell him I am where he
knows. And then they have secrets
between them, — secrets to make your
hair stand on end, Excellency. Young
Graciani arrives, carrying something
under his mantle. What is it? That's
mystery number one. Then Signor
Michaelangelo says, 'Have you got
it?' — 'Yes.' — 'How good you are,
Graciani, to rob the' — I've never been
able to make out what — ' of your
master!' Another mystery, and that's
two. As for the master, he makes
three, —this master, who is he ? A high-
way robber. Excellency, — an assassin,
a cutthroat; and the proof is that
young Graciani told me, speaking to
myself, that he spends his time in
breaking heads, cutting off arms, and
mutilating legs. But that's not all. It
seems the both of them — my young
master and he — win enormous sums at
this game; for listen, Excellencies, to
the tale of the three ducats — and the
fourth mystery."

The brothers were just about bidding
the old servant be silent, as they did
hot understand a word of his gossip,
when this last word, the reference to the

634

THE AYE MARIA

ducats, caught their attention again.

"Tell us this story of the three
ducats," said the podesta.

"And without any of your own com-
mentaries," added the priest.

"Alas, Excellency, everyone relates as
best he can!" rejoined Urbino. "I'll
try, however, to tell only what I've
seen, and will endeavor to say no
more than I know."

The podesta and the priest stretched
themselves in their great armchairs;
and, Urbino, his feather duster in his
hand, began :

"In the first place, I must tell your
Excellencies that three days ago — that
is, last Thursday — Signor Michaelangelo
didn't have a single copper maravedi.
The proof is that he made me give a
half loaf of bread to his beggar client.
I say his client, for he always gives
alms, himself, to this beggar, and the
latter is called in consequence the client
of young Michaelangelo. So he made
me give the bread, as he hadn't a
solitary maravedi. This much being
said, I begin.

"Your Excellencies know that I have
a sister named Sterina, married to a
painter — but a sign-painter, be it under-
stood — named Biffi. They have six
children and are in a misery — such
misery as your Excellencies could form
no idea of, because one must be poor
to understand wretchedness. They all
live in a garret behind the Church of
Holy Cross, — my brother-in-law paying
six ducats as rent. I don't know
whether I'm making it plain — "

"Quite plain," said his auditors.
"Go on!"

"My brother-in-law, then, pays six
ducats as rent. He owes for six months,
which makes three ducats; and, as he
isn't able to pay them, his landlord
sent him word by the sheriff to get out
right away ; and Biffi gave him a note,
which if he didn't redeem on Thursday
morning — that is, the Thursdaj' three
days ago, — he would go to prison on

Friday. How simple it all was! You
understand that. Excellencies ? Well,
behold them all in lamentation — Biffi,
Sterina, and the children. Night came
on — always this same Thursday, — and
none of them thought to make a light,
in the first place, for this reason : there
was nothing in the garret to light, —
no wick, no oil, — nothing whatever.
Seven o'clock was striking in the
tower of Holy Cross when Biffi heard
his name called from the street. He
opened the window to see who it was,
but all was as dark as the inside of a
wolf, — impossible to see anything. At
the same time he heard, 'Take care!'
and a little package fell in the room.
It sounded as though it might be silver.
'It is money,' said Sterina. — 'Some
scoundrels amusing themselves,' said
Biffi. — 'I tell you 'tis money,' said
Sterina. One of the children picked up
the package and brought it to his
mother, who opened it and exclaimed :
' What did I tell you, Biffi ? ' They didn't
know just what amount there was ;
but in the morning, when it grew light
enough, they found it to be just three
ducats. There, now ! Where did Signor
Michaelangelo get them?"

"In the first place, what proof have
you that it was my son at all?"

"Who does your Excellency suppose
it was, if it wasn't him?" naively
demanded Urbino.

" He is not the only person in Arezzo,"
said the priest.

"Especially to give three ducats
without possessing them," added the
podesta, smiling.

"And that's just the fifth mystery,"
observed Urbino.

"Once again, Urbino," rejoined the
podesta, "what makes you think the
donor was Michaelangelo?"

"Oh, many things. Excellency! And,
then, Biffi thought he recognized his
voice in that which told him to take
care."

"That is no proof," said the priest.

THE AYE MARIA.

635

"Finally, there is this much to it,
Excellency," concluded Urbinc. "There
are no more children nowadays. One
sees them bom; one sees them little,
very little; one turns one's head and —
crack! they are men. Look at Signor
Michaelangelo, for example! Is your
Excellency not frightened?"

"No, my faithful Urbino," said the
podesta, very kindly. Rising, he asked
his brother: "Do you dine at the
Medici Palace?"

"Yes. Do you?"

"I also."

"Then 'tis time we were on the way."

" So you haven't enough proofs yet ? "
soliloquized Urbino, as the brothers left
the library. "Very well; then I'll find
others. I won't take an hour's rest until
I have exposed all these mysteries."

Lorenzo de' Medici, surnamed the
Magnificent, owned among other pal-
aces one in the Arezzo district. There,
whenever he lodged in it, he gathered
together all the scholars and artists
of the whole country. That day,
toward the end of the meal, which
was always prolonged until pretty
late, he made a sign to his son Pietro,
who rose at once from the table and
carried his young friends off to the
gardens.

It had been snowing for several days ;
and the gardens, filled with statues and
antique fragments of all kinds, pre-
sented, in its coating of white, a very
odd picture.

"Oh, here's a charming idea, boys!"
cried Michaelangelo. "Our fathers will
keep on talking for two hours yet
with their feet under the table. Let us
adorn with impromptu and improvised
statues the open gallery they'll have to
cross when they repair to the apart-
ments of the duchess."

"And where will you get your statues,
Michaelangelo?" said Pietro de' Medici.

"In^the" snow, my' friend."

"'Tisagood idea," answered the son
of the Marquis of Mantua. "'Twill
warm us up and amuse us at the same
time."

That settled it. The young nobles,
disregarding the effect on the velvets
and laces of their rich dresses, set to
work at once. Some of them fashioned
the moist snow into various shapes,
others carried the results to that part of
the gardens that adjoined the gallery;
and in the course of an hour a number
of counterfeit blocks of marble, without
any marked resemblance to human
beings, arose here and there along the
route the diners were to take.

Suddenly Michaelangelo noticed a
marble faun, eaten by time and lacking
the head, but the bust of which, admi-
rably chiselled, represented the propor-
tions of an old man still robust.

"I must make a head for that faun,"
said he; and, collecting some moist
snow, he began to model one. His
companions gathered about him to
watch him work; and he put into the
task so much action and verve and
gaiety that his spirit was communicated
to the whole throng of young people.

"A faun should have a sardonic
expression," he observed; and he ele-
vated a comer of the lip. "The eyebrow
should take the same direction," he
continued as he worked; "and then,
^tyiih open mouth, a faun should always
DC laughing. Bravo!" he cried, as he
stepped back to see the full effect.
"Bravo! That's not at all bad. Look
here, Pietro, Graciani, Mantua, Valen-
tino,— look here! See how true is the
saying that one does well what he loves
to do. Now, I adore sculpture. My first
nurse's husband was a sculptor, and — "

"Take care there, boy!"

Walking backward, to admire his
workmanship the better, he had stepped
on somebody's foot. And it was not
a boy's voice that called him to his
senses. He turned round, and to his
astonishment saw that the person who

636

THE AVE MARIA.

was rubbing his foot was Lorenzo de'
Medici. Behind him were all his guests,
among them being Michaelangelo's
father and uncle.

Ashamed and confused, the lad began
to stammer out excuses, when Lorenzo
pinched his ear playfully, and, address-
ing his company, said :

"Gentlemen, this bit of work is less
the first attempt of a beginner than
the work of a master. All the same,"
he continued, turning to the youthful
sculptor, " since criticism must have its
say about even the greatest master-
pieces, I must tell you that this faun is
old, yet you have left him all his teeth.
Don't you know that the old always
have a few teeth missing?"

" That's true, Monseigneur," said
Michaelangelo ; and he at once ex-
tracted one of the faun's teeth, by
hollowing out the gum so as to make
it appear that the tooth had fallen out.

This intelligent act excited to the
highest degree the admiration of the
whole artistic circle. Young Buonarotti
was greeted with reiterated applause;
and that night as he returned to Caprese
v^rith his father and uncle, he-was spared
the usual denunciation of his love for
the arts.

As the Buonarotti carriage drew up
to the entrance of the chateau, the
podesta remarked Urbino among the
servants who held lighted torches.
There was something strange and elated
about the old man's look ; and his
master was not much surprised to hear
him say as he let down the carriage
step:

"Excellency', all is discovered. Can
your Excellency grant me a few minutes'
audience?"

At a sign from the podesta, Urbino
took a torch from one of the footmen,
and, preceding his master, lighted him
to his bedroom, w^here a good fire
awaited him.

As the podesta was about to seat
himself in his great armchair, he saw

at the chamber door the Smiling coun-
tenance of the priest.

"If I didn't love my nephew so well,"
he said, coming forward, "I might
believe 'twas curiosity that has led me
to follow your footsteps, brother. In
any case, curiosity or interest, I confess
I'll not be sorry to hear of Urbino's
discoveries. Judging from his frightened
physiognomy, they should be rather
tragic."

" Sit down, brother," said the podesta,
who then turned to Urbino. "Now, my
old friend," he went on, with kindness,
"speak out. Mj^ brother and I are
impatient to hear your news. But tell
us only what you know."

"Alas, Excellency!" replied the old
man, standing respectfully before his
master, — "alas, if I told you only what
I know, I'd tell you nothing at all!"

"Then what's the meaning of your
great discoveries, Urbino?" questioned
the priest.

"The meaning is that there's good
reason for saying that sooner or later
murder will out; that the good God
doesn't leave any crime unpunished ;
that he who does evil and thinks he
has taken all precautions against being
found out, is found out at last through
those very precautions he took for
his safety."

"Well, come to the point, Urbino,
about my son," said the podesta.

"Yes, Excellency; and you'll give him
a round scolding, and banish that little
devil of a Graciani, and hang a certain
Ghirlandaio. Do you know, Excellency,
what that young wretch, Graciani,
carried to our young heir of the
Canossas, hidden under his mantle
with such care that if the servant of
that other wretch, Ghirlandaio, hadn't
told me to-night at Vespers, I'd never
have known it ? Do you know ? Can
you form any idea ? No ? Then deign
to hear me. Excellency.

"After your departure for the Medici
Palace, I had an idea: 'twas to go

THE AVE MARIA.

637

see my sister. The story of the three
ducats was galloping through my head.
I arrived, and found the family at
dinner. ' And the ducats ? ' I said to my
brother-in-law. — 'Well, they paid the
landlord,' he replied. — 'And you don't
know where they came from?' — 'Not
the slightest idea.' — 'Yet you thought
you recognized Michaelangelo's voice?'
— 'Yes, I did think it was something
like his; but my wife says I was mis-
taken, that his voice is a greater deal
sweeter than the one we heard. Any-
way,' continued Biffi, 'may the good
God reward him!' — 'Him and his,'
added my sister. ' I had to give away
the ducats, but I'll keep the paper in
which they w^ere wrapped up as a
souvenir.' — ' Let us see the paper,' said I
to my sister. She had .it under a glass ;
she took it out and gave it to me. Here
it is. Excellency. Sterina confided it to
my care until to-morrow. Look, your
Excellency. Isn't that the writing of
Michaelangelo ? "

"Why, yes!" said the podesta, who,
after examining the paper, passed it to
his brother.

"That is truly my nephew's writing,"
agreed the priest.

"As your Excellencies can see," said
Urbino, "there's only one name on this
paper — that of Ghirlandaio."

" 'Tis the name of a painter of some
renown," replied the podesta. "But go
on, Urbino."

"This name was not unknown to
me," proceeded the old man. "After
considerable reflection, I remembered
that I knew it, because an old comrade
of mine was the man's valet. But I
didn't know his address. Well, I might
meet him at Vespers at Holy Cross ;
and, sure enough, I did. And the first
thing he said to me was : ' Well, your
young master is one of ours.' — 'How
one of yours?' replied I. — 'Yes,' was
his answer; 'he has Ghirlandaio for
master.' — 'You had better understand,'
I promptly informed him, 'that my

young master, the heir of the counts of
Canossa, recognizes no other master
than God, and is nobody's servant.'

"I thought I had clinched the nail,
but not at all. Paola burst out laugh-
ing. 'The servant, no; but the pupil
of Ghirlandaio, yes. Ah, little Graciani
had a time of it to get him there ! ' At
the mention of Graciani I became all
ears, and I immediately said to myself,
' That's where they cripple folk, break
heads, and so on.' — 'Just fancy, Urbino,'
went on Paola, 'young Graciani had
the patience secretly to copy the \vorks
of our master, and then carry them to
your young Signer, who thus learned
the great art of painting ; and learned
it so well that last week Ghirlandaio
received Signor Michaelangelo into his
studio, and he pays him I don't know
how many florins a year. That's fine, —
a young fellow of fourteen to be earning
florins already ! '

"You understand. Excellency? Here
were my ducats and my donor of ducats
found. 'Tis Michaelangelo. No more
doubt: the mystery was clear; and I
ran back here, but you hadn't returned
from the Medici Palace. At last you
are here, and my story is told."

" My son can't have retired yet,"
said the podesta. " Go, Urbino, and bid
him come to me."

"I'm going. Excellency, — I'm going,"
said the old servant, as he left the room
with considerable alacrity.

He found Michaelangelo in the library,
sitting at a table and working at the
design he had begun that morning.

"Ah, well," said Urbino, "there'll
soon be an end of the arts and artists,
and artists' apprentices! The podeSta
wants you, Signor. He wants you to
give you a good scolding, I hope.
Everything is discovered, all is known."

"All what?" asked the boy as he
arose and followed the old man.

"Everything, Signor. The plot is
discovered, the guilty are known, and,
I repeat, we are going to say good-bye

638

THE AYE MARIA.

to paintings and painters and Signer
Graciani. Henceforth we are going to
live like the great lords we are, with
nothing to do from morning till night, —
sleep late, go to bed early, and have a
siesta two hours' long every day."

"Well, if that isn't a sleepy-head's
life, I'd like to hear of one!" laughed
Michaelangelo.

"Laugh away, laugh away, Signor!
You don't expect what's awaiting you.
And the one who gets the worst of it
won't be old Urbino, but rather you
and Graciani and his young friend, and
Ghirlandaio, chief of a school where, it
appears, people's arms and legs and
heads are broken. Now for it!"

And Urbino, drawing aside the
curtain, announced in a loud voice:
" Signor Michaelangelo ! "

Then, instead of retiring, the good
old servant glided furtively to a corner
of the large room, and, rubbing his
hands, impatiently awaited the issue of
an interview which was to vindicate
all his prevision and prophecies. But
what was his astonishment when,
instead of scolding Michaelangelo, the
podesta caught the boy to his breast
and in his tenderest tones exclaimed :

"Come to my arms, my dear child!
You are a true and worthy descendant
of our ancient and honorable house.
You will one day be the pride of your
father and the joy of the Canossas.
Since such is your vocation, be an
artist, my son; and since you make
so good a use of your money, continue
to earn it. So Ghirlandaio, instead of
being- paid by you as by his other
pupils, actually pays you! And how
much does he give you a year?"

"Six, eight, or ten florins, according
to circumstances, father; and, I confess,
I wouldn't have taken the money if it
hadn't been for poor Bifii."

"There is no shame in taking money
that has been well earned, nephew,"
said the priest; "and that money did
you honor."

"To-morrow, Michaelangelo," said
the podesta, "you will tell Graciani
that hereafter he will always find his
place prepared at my table every day.
And now go to bed, dear boy, and
sleep in peace, with the blessing of the
happiest of fathers."

"And of uncles," added the priest, as
he in turn embraced his nephew.

"Well, now, Urbino," said Michael-
angelo, as the old man lighted him
to his chamber, — "well, who got the
worst of it ?"

"'Twas I, Signor," confessed the old
servant, his recent elation vanished, —
"'twas I; but I hadn't the least idea
that great lords could mix themselves
up with the arts."

(The End.)

Weather Signs.

Farmers, trappers, and others much
out of doors, learn to read the weather
signs from all things about them, and
there are very many interesting sayings
in regard to the behavior of various
animals before a storm.

New England people say : When a
storm threatens, if cattle go under the
trees it vv^ill be but a shower; but if
they continue to feed greedily it will
be a continuous rain.

Others of these sayings are:
When the donkey blows his horn,
'Tis time to house your hay and corn.

When a cat or a dog eats grass in
the morning, it will rain before night.

When a mule throws up the earth,
rain follows soon.

Bats flying late in the evening indi-
cate ^fair weather.

Crows flying alone bring foul
weather; flying in pairs, they bring
fair weather.

When chimney swallows circle and
call, they speak of rain.

When the peacock loudly bawls,
We shall have both rain and squalls.

THE AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

639

—"Verdi," by A. Visetti, has just appeared in
Bell's " Miniature Series of Musicians."

—The Dolphin Press announces "The Writings
of St. Francis of Assisi," newly translated into
English by the Rev. Paschal Robinson, O. F. M.
This will be the only authorized rendering of the
critical Latin text edited at Quaracchi.

— Cadieux & Derome, of Montreal, are publish-
ing an " Historic Gallerj-," a series of portraits
relating to Canadian history, from the early days
of French domination and English rule to the
present period. The pictures, judging from the
specimen portraits which we have received, are
very good, and the "Gallery" merits Canadian
and other patronage.

— The latest sixpenny booklet of the London
C. T. S.,"The Crisis in the Church in France,"
is an eminently timely and valuable contribution
to contemporaneous Church history. The various
phases of the whole question are luminously dis-
cussed by Viscount Llandeff, Abbot Gasquet,
Father John Gerard, and the Rev. Dr. Barry. In
view of the tremendous amount of misinformation
that has been disseminated by the English and
American press concerning the religious troubles
in France, it is to be hoped that this little volume
will have a very extensive sale on both sides of the
Atlantic.

— We regret exceedingly to learn that in the
recent fire which destroyed " the Priests' Building "
at ■ Nazareth, North Carolina, the Rev. Thomas
F. Price was a heavy loser. As he states in a cir-
cular letter, " books, documents, papers of every
description, furniture, clothing, eatables, library,
the whole outfit for our magazine work for Truth
and Our Lady's Orphan Boy, accounts of every
kind, mailing lists, etc. — the accumulations of a
lifetime, — all have gone to complete destruction."
In protVering our condolence to the afflicted
editor of Truth, we must express the confident
hope that the publishing of that sterling little
monthly may not long be intermitted.

— While Theosophy connotes nowadays the cult
established by the Russian, Mfidame Blavatsky,
and while it does not possess any considerable
numtier of adherents in this country, certain of
its hypotheses are adopted by a good many
followers of such systems of belief as the New
Thought and the like novelties. There is, accord-
ingly, an element of timeliness in the volume
"Theosophy and Christianity," which is a re-
print of sundry papers written for the Bombay
Examiner by its scliolarly editor. Rev. Ernest
R. Hull, S.J. As H lucid exposition of the tcJnets
of theosophists, and a triumphant exposure of

their errors, the book is one to be heartily com-
mended to scholars interested in such questions.
London Catholic Truth Society.

— The long promised Life of the Rev. T. E.
Bridgett, C. SS. R., by his brother Redemptorist,
Father Cyril Ryder, is among forthcoming books
by Bums & Gates. It will have an introduction
from the pen of Dom Gasquet.

— A new book by Martin Hume, whose fondness
for the love affairs of English queens will be
remembered, is on "The Wives of Henry the
Eighth." The work is complete in a single
volume; however, it is a demy 8vo.

— Some radical errors in the system of Free-
thought are ably exposed in a lecture by the Rev.
J.Gerard, S. J., entitled "Modern Freethought"
(Sands & Co.; B. Herder). Abundant proof is
given of perfect familiarity with the contentions
ot such Freethinkers as Karl Pearson, W. King-
don Clifford, Sir Leslie Stephen, John Morley, and
others. Father Gerard is a keen logician, and he
reduces the popular systems of modern free-
thought to a heap of contradictory statements.

— "Forget- Me -Nots from Many Gardens" is
a neat little volume of 200 pages, consisting of
a scries of thirty readings for the Month of the
Holy Souls. We are glad to see among the
selections presented here fewer translations from
the French than appear in most such " Months";
and glad, too, to notice that the Ursuline Sister
who has compiled the book has the literary hon-
esty to indicate the different sources from which
its material is drawn, — this magazine among the
number. The eight -line stanza which serves as
the appropriate foreword of the volume should
also have been credited to The Ave Maria.
The book is one to secure for spiritual reading
this month. Publishers: R. and T. Washbourne,
Benziger Brothers.

— The Ave Maria has sometimes made fun
of the University of Chicago and other univer-
sities on account of queer sayings and doings on
the part of members of their faculty. But we
take it all back in view of a recent highly im-
portant discovery by Prof Walter D. Scott, of
Northwestern Universit}'. He has found out that
riding on railroad trains is conducive to the writ-
ing of poetry. The clicks of the wheels on the
rails, it seems, not only fire the imagination, but
promote continuity of thought and ease of ex-
pression. "The mind is compelled to break the
steadv click of the wheels on the rails Into spans
of two and three, and the thoughts unconsciously
are timed into metrical feet." The result is "that
the production of verses is greatly facilitated by

640

THE AYE MARIA.

riding on a train and giving one's self to the
influence of the sounds of the wheels." The only
thing that makes us sceptical about this dis-
covery is that the professor doesn't state how
long the would-be poet must ride, or whether
frequent stops would be any drawback. It will
probably turn out that a trip across the conti-
nent in a through train will be required for
ordinary verses, with hot boxes and other minor
mishaps for elegies, threnodies, etc. The require-
ments for an epic we shudder to contemplate.

— We rejoice to learn of the success of a work
in defence of Christianit}' by Lt. Col. W. H. Turton,
D.S.O., R. E., published by Wells Gardner, Darton
& Co., London. This is another instance of dis-
tinguished service adequately rewarded. "The
Truth of Christianity ( Compiled from Various
Sources)" has just reached its fifth edition (seventh
thousand). It is an excellent book, ably and
attractively written. "Compiled from various
sources" is Col. Turton's modest way of stating
that he has read industriously ; for the volume
has the stamp of his winning personality. He is
keen yet kindly, always frank but never unfair.
We have all the more pleasure in recommending
his work because we know of nothing on quite
the same lines by a Catholic writer.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
coneerning important nc-n' puhlieations of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest hooks will
ajipear at the head, older ones being dropped out
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional hooks, pamphlets and oevr
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may he sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will be imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad.
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

" Modern Freethought." Rev. J. Gerard, S. J. 30

cts., net; paper, 15 cts., net.
"Theosophy and Christianity." Rev. Ernest Hull,

S. J. 45 cts., net.
"The Crisis in the Church in France." 25 cts.,

net.
"Forget- Me -Nots from Many Gardens." 43 cts.,

net.
"Manual of Church Music." 75 cts., net.
"The Freedom of the Will." Rev. A. B. Sharpe,

M. A. 30 cts., net.
"The Household of Sir Thomas More." Anne

Manning. 60 cts., net.
"Socialism and Christianity." Rt. Rev. Wm.

Stang, D. D. $1.10.

"English Monastic Life." Rt. Rev. Francis Aidan

Gasquet, O. S. B. $2, net.
"Health and Holiness." Francis Thompson. 55

cts.
"A Girl's Ideal." Rosa Mulholland. (Lady Gil-
bert.) $1.50, net.
"At the Sign of the Fox. A Romance." Barbara.

$1.50.
"Valiant and True." Joseph Spillman. $1.60, net.
"Glenanaar" Very Rev. Canon P. A. Sheehan.

$1.50.
"The Resurrection of Christ — Is it a Fact?" 30

cts., net.
"The Spalding Year-Book." 75 cts., net.
"The Epistles and Gospels." Very Rev. Richard

O'Gorman, O. S. A. 50 cts., net.
"Life, Virtues and Miracles of St. Gerard Majella."

Very Rev. J. Magnier, C SS. R. 15 cts.
"Infallibility." Rev. Vincent McNabb, O. P. 36

cts., net.
"The Mystic Treasures of the Holy Sacrifice.'

Rev. Charles Coppens, S. J. 50 cts., net.
"George Eastraount: Wanderer." John Law.

$1.10, net.
"The Senior Lieutenant's Wager, and Other

Stories." $1.25.
"The Angel of Syon." Dora Adam Hamilton,

O. S. B. $1.10, net.

Obituary.

Remember tbem that are ia bands. — Heb., xiii.

Rev. George Locb, of the diocese of Dallas ; and
Rev. P. J. Cosgrove, diocese of Erie.

Sister Judith, of the Daughters of Charity;
Sister M. Cyrille, Sisters of the Holy Names; and
Sister M. Vitalis, Poor Handmaids of Christ.

Mr. J. F. Font, Sr., of New Orleans, La.; Idaline
C. Spang and Mrs. Johanna Dee, Syracuse, N. Y. ;
Mr. Arthur Short, Napa, Cal. ; Mr. Daniel Scott,
Mr. Peter Lawless, Mr. J. E. McGettigan, and
Mrs. Elizabeth Gallagher, Philadelphia, Pa.; Mr.
John Heckmann and Mrs. Mary Engert, Cleveland,
Ohio ; Mr. Charles Sullivan, Portland, Oregon ;
Mr. Joseph Meeting, Massillon, Ohio ; Mr. John
Whalen, Milwaukee, Wis. ; Miss Nellie Donahue,
Providence, R. L; Mr. Arthur Smith, Toledo, Ohio ;
M.-. F. X. Becherer, St. Louis, Mo. ; Mrs. Mary
Kevlin, New Haven, Conn. ; Mr. T. M. Ryan,
Minneapolis, Minn. ; Mr. George Gardner, Sr.,
Allegheny, Pa. ; Mrs. M. J. Malone, Long Beach,
Cal. ; Mr. J. Burtlier, Indianapolis, Ind. ; Mr.
Martin McCarthy, Huntington, Ind.; Mr. Bryan
Sherry, Dayton, Ohio; and Mr. John Smith,
Pleasant Valley, N. S., Canada.

Requiescant in pace !

HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUK€, I., 48.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, NOVEMBER 18, 1905.

NO. 21.

[PabltshedcTciy Salutday. Copyright: Kev. D. E. Hudson, C.S.C.]

After Confession.

BT BENJAMIN COCKER.

r^OD, what am I that Thou shouldst deign

To take me to Thy heart again,
And whisper: "All is not in vain, —
1 hear thy prayer!"

Why shouidst Thou stoop to such as I,
And bid my bitter tears be dry,
And plead in answer to my cry:
"Thy guilt I bear.

"Go forth: thy sins have been forgiven!
The saints before My throne in heaven
Have wept for thee as thou wert shriven:
Canst thou despair.'"

Something about Purgatory.

BY THE REV. EDMUND HILL, C.P.

OVEMBER being the Month
of the Holy Souls, we natu-
rally think of them now more
than at other times : especially
of any who are endeared to us by ties of
blood or of affection. And perhaps our
hearts echo the poet's cry in " Maud " :

O Christ, that it were possible

For one brief hour to .see
The forms we lov'd, that they might tell us

What and where they lie!

Yes, where is a peculiarly interesting
question. Our imagination does not
help us much, and ma3' easily lead
us astray. We may picture our dear
ones as confined on one of the planets,
though we know that human life in
its mortal state could not exist on

any of them. But there is good reason
for believing that departed souls never
quit this earth until they pass to
heaven. Shakspeare, with far greater
probability, conceives "the de-lighted
spirit"— that is, the soul deprived of
light in its purgatorial existence —

To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling region of thick-ribbid ice:
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
Acd blown with restless violence round about
The pendent world.*

Now, that many a soul from purga-
tory has appeared, from time to time,
to make known some want or to give
some warning, is certain beyond rea-
sonable doubt. And some must have
told of their whereabout ; since Father
Faber, in "All for Jesus," says that
some souls make their purgatory in
the houses they have lived in, or in the
churches where they have worshipped,
or by the graves which hold their
bodies; and he got his information
from trustworthy sources. Again, the
eminent French bishop, Monseigneur
Charles Gay, quotes, in his "Christian
Virtues," a revelation made by souls
in purgatory to Madame Dubourg, the
saintly foundress of the Sisters of the
Saviour. This religious had an extraor-
dinary devotion to the Holy Souls, and
they came to her in large numbers,
and told her many things, — even
travelling with her when she journeyed
to Rome. And a priest once informed
me of another foundress, a German,
whose Life he had seen in that lan-

' Measure for Measure.'

642

THE AVE MARIA

guage, and who had a no less extraor-
dinary devotion to the departed : that
whenever she went to Mass, a number
of souls would meet her at the church
door; some being allowed to go in to
Mass, others not allowed ; and that
some were souls of priests.

It appears, then, that these "prisoners
of the King" are not all confined in
places under the earth, though proba-
bly the majority are. The language of
Holy Scripture clearly indicates this
subterranean confinement; and where
did the Greeks and Romans get their
belief in "the Shades," if not from
primitive tradition? It would seem,
however, that the term place in relation
to purgatory does not necessarily mean
w^hat we understand by it. It rather
signifies state than locality; or, per-
haps, more accurately, division. Thus,
in a very important communication
made by a deceased Visitandine nun at
Annecy, the mother-house of the Order,
we learn that there are "three places"
in purgatory. "In the first, the punish-
ment is comparatively light," said the
nun; "in the second, it is very severe, —
and I am there ; in the third, they hear
the groans of the damned," — because
it is close to hell. But she gave as an
instance of the lighter kind of purgatory
the penalty inflicted on the mother of
one of the nuns, who had kept her
daughter back a whole year from enter-
ing that very convent. She had to lie
prostrate on the altar steps in the
chapel, adoring Our Lord for a year.
This soul, then, was in the first "place,"
I presume. The dead nun herself, who
was in " the second place," was punished
by fire, it appeared ; for when her living
friend asked a proof of her identity, she
answered, "Hold out your hand," and
touched the Sister's forefinger with ner
own; and instantly a bit of charred
flesh fell off the bone.

The purgatory of fire is probably the
shortest as well as "very severe." No
doubt, many a soul who is enduring

some other kind of punishment, such
as darkness, would gladly exchange it
for one of fire. I know of two striking
instances of other punishment, — one a
purgatory of darkness, the other of cold.

The first w^as made known to me
through a dear friend whom I received
into the Church many years ago, and
who has now a son a priest and
a daughter a nun, she herself being
a Tertiary Dominican. This lady had
counted among her special friends a
Catholic gentleman, whom, I suppose,
she would have married had he lived.
She herself had scarcely any religion
then; while he had the reputation of
being a "careless" Catholic, though
good-hearted and charitable. When he
died, she understood that he received
the Sacraments ; and when, some years
later, she had become a High -Church
Episcopalian, she used to pray for him
a good deal. At the time of her recep-
tion into the Church, however, she
imagined him in heaven, and seldom
thought of praying for him.

Well, on a certain Sunday in summer,
during a brief holiday she was taking
in the country, she returned from Mass
rather tired, having had to walk a
mile each way, and lay down in her.
room to rest awhile before dinner. She
was not asleep, for she heard her
little girl (now the nun) playing down-
stairs ; but her eyes were closed : when,
suddenly, she was made aware that
her dead friend of long ago stood
beside her. No audible word passed
between them. Soul spoke to soul. He
reminded her that this very day was
the twenty - second anniversary of his
death. "And," said he, "I am still in
purgatory." She was horrified. "Oh!
They tell us that a day there is like
a year in this life!" she answered.
" How dreadful ! But you are happy?"
she asked. — "I have lost all sense," he
replied, "of either happiness or unhappi-
ness; for I am in total darkness." She
felt very like fainting, but managed to

THE AYE MARIA.

643

blurt out: "But you will soon be in
heaven?" — "I see no prospect of it as
yet," he rejoined. Then, begging her
not to forget him again, he went away.
She got up immediately and wrote
to me. I was then in South America.
What did I think of the aflfair ? I replied
that she ought to be very thankful that
her friend's soul was saved. "He is
bound to reach heaven some day," said
I; "and let his punishment warn you
and me not to be careless Catholics."

The other case — the purgatory of
cold — was related to me by one who
had it directly from the son of the
woman concerned. This woman had
died ; and a day or two after the
funeral, the young man saw some one
very like his mother sitting in the
room she had occupied, and pulling
in yarn. He was too scared to speak ;
and the apparition came three or
four times Ijefore he went to a priest
and told him about it. The priest
answered that most probably it was
his mother, and advised him to take
holy water and sprinkle it around
him as he went into the room, and
to ask in the name of God who the
mysterious visitor was. He did as
directed, and at once heard his mother's
voice. "I am your mother," she said.
" I am saved from hell, but am suffering
greatly. You know that I was employed
in making woollen garments. Well, I
stole some of the yam, and am punished
hy a purgatory of cold. I have to face
all the storms." The young man had
.several Masses offered for his mother's
soul ; but it was not till a year later
that she appeared to him on her way
to heaven.

Here it is quite in order to observe
that these revelations go to show that
the disembodied soul retains the body's
sensibility to pain. The pain of the
soul, or mental suffering, is, we know, of
a higher order than corporal anguish;
but we are apt to forget that it is the
soul that suffers when the body is

afflicted. When, then, we are assured
that the pains of purgatory are, or may
be, greater than any sufferings of this
life, let us not hastily scorn such an
idea. Our mortal body can not stand
more than a certain degree of pain :
anything beyond that degree will stop
the heart and cause instant death. But
in purgatory the mortal nature is gone ;
and since the soul is indestructible, it
may be made to suffer far more intensely
than was possible while it wore "this
muddy vesture of decay."

Lastly, there is a tendency among
many Catholics to make light of pur-
gatory because it is not hell. This is
very foolish. Purgatory is to be feared.
"Agree with thine adversary quickly,"
says Our Lord, "whilst thou art in
the way with him; lest perhaps the
adversary deliver thee to the judge,
and the judge deliver thee to the officer,
and thou be cast into prison. Amen,
amen, I say unto thee, thou shaft in no
case come out thence until thou hast
paid the last farthing." That is: Agree,
and lose no time about it, with the
justice of God accusing thee through
thy conscience, whilst thou art in the
way of this life ; lest perhaps the accuser
deliver thee to the judge, and the judge
deliver thee to the officer, St. Michael,
who has charge of souls that are saved,
and thou be cast into the prison of
purgatory. Verily, verily, thou shalt in
no case come out of that prison until
the last farthing of thy debt to the
Divine Justice shall have been paid.

But it will be asked, Is it not of
faith that the souls detained in pur-
gatory are "helped by the suffrages
of the faithful" (here on earth), "and
especially by the Sacrifice of the
Mass"? Will not our debt be paid for
us in great measure? Yes; but it is
not of faith that individual souls will
be sure to receive all those helps which
are offered for them. On the contrary,
some souls, beyond doubt, are punished
by getting no relief at all, while others

644

THE AVE MARIA

have to wait a very long time for it.
And Our Lord told a holy person that
He sometimes applies for the salvation
of the soul in this life the fruit of all
the Masses and prayers which vpill be
offered for it after death; and in that
case the poor soul has to pay its
debt alone.

Let us, then, while thinking of pur-
gatory, not dare to be presumptuous,
but fear the adorable exactions of God's
justice. Then we shall be moved to a
great charity toward the "prisoners
of the King"; remembering that 'as
we mete it shall be measured to us
again.' And if we are wise, we shall
particularly succor the souls for whom
our Blessed Lady and St. Joseph wish
us especially to pray.

Better than He Planned.

BY ELLIS SCHREIBER.

XT was in the month of August —
and a very hot August, too, —
when I was at "Klosterli" with my
friend Charles. While the sun's scorch-
ing rays beat mercilessly on the weary
dwellers in the plain below, the heat
was tempered for us on the Rigi by
a refreshing, invigorating breeze. Over
the green mountain meadows, from
which the tinkle of the bells of the
Alpine cows reached our ear, stretched
the deep blue vault of heaven, with
promise of fair weather for some time
to come. In order to escape from the
unrest of tourists and summer visitors
coming and going, I betook myself
every day to a shady spot in a plan-
tation of young firs, where the delicious
stillness was broken only by the murmur
of a stream hard by. There I was
w^ont to lie for hours in dreamy medita-
tion, "the world forgetting, by the
world forgot."

We had been for about a week amid
these delightful scenes. While I revelled

in the joys of idleness, my companion,
a clever, promising young artist, w^as
not equally inactive. The greater part
of his time was spent in the little
chapel of Our Lady of the Snow, so
picturesquely situated on the Alpine
heights. It was no pious fervor that
took him there — since, I regret to say,
for some time past he had given up
the practice of his religion, — but devo-
tion to art. His fancy had been taken
by the simple beauty of the altar-
piece — a representation of Our Lady of
the Snow, the work of a Swiss painter
of bygone days. Nothing would do
but he must copy it.

Steps aroused me one afternoon from
my repose. It was Charles who came
up to my side.

"I have seen them again!" he said
in rather an excited manner. "They are
staying in the same hotel as ourselves." '^

"Whom do you mean?" I inquired
languidly.

"Why, the tv^o ladies, of course,
whom we met a week ago on the Lake
of Lucerne! Don't you remember it,
old man?"

Yes, to be sure. I had almost for-
gotten the incident in question. My .
friend evidently had a better memory
than I had. When reminded by him,
I remembered that one splendid but
rather stormy day we went on board
the little steamer Helvetia at Lucerne
to go to Fliielen, intending thence to
travel by the St. Gothard and Rigi
railway to " Klosterli," our destination.

Beside us, on the deck of the boat,
sat two ladies, their likeness to each
other proclaiming them to be sisters.
The elder of the two might have been
about thirty ; her pale features bore
the unmistakable trace of great trial
and suffering. On her knees she held
a vivacious youngster some five or six
years old, who apparently found great
satisfaction in trying to catch in his
chubby hands the spray that dashed
over the bulwarks. The younger lady,

THE AYE MARIA.

645

of slight build and pleasing appearance
sat somewhat aside.

Suddenly a gust of wind carried
away the restless urchin's straw hat;
my friend sprang up and contrived to
secure it before it was swept into the
w^aves. The boy's mother was profuse
in her thanks; the younger lady also
bowed politely, thus affording us an
opportunity of remarking what fine
eyes she had.

There was no time to engage in
conversation with our travelling com-
panions; for almost immediately the
Helvetia stopped at the landing-place
at Brunnen, where they went ashore.
My friend looked after them with
undisguised interest until they were
lost to sight in the crowd. I did not
suspect that any deeper feeling actuated
him than an artist's admiration of a
fair face.

It was not long before we renewed
our acquaintance, slight as it was, with
the ladies. The fact that we were all
inmates of the same hotel, where, as a
matter of course, we met frequently,
was naturall)' conducive to our friend-
ship; and very soon there sprang up
between us that pleasant intimacy
which often exists between persons
thrown together for a short time at a
distance from home. We learned many
particulars concerning the circum-
stances and family relationships of our
new^ acquaintances.

They hailed from a large town in the
south of German3', where their father,
long since dead, was a merchant. The
elder lady, Mrs. Lucy Helldorf, had been
a widow three years. On the death of
her husband, an architect in good
employ, she was left with the charge of
five young children. This was not her
only trouble. Her health had begun to
fail: a hard, dry cough revealed to a
practised ear the nature of her malady.
Fortunately for Mrs. Helldorf, she
had in her sister Marietta, who was
some eight years her junior, the kindest

companion and helper. Short as was
our acquaintance with them, we soon
perceived that with self-sacrificing
generosity she devoted her life to her
sorely -tried sister, caring tenderly for
her, reading to her, endeavoring to
divert her from melancholy thoughts
and alleviate her sufferings by conver-
sation. .\nd all these and other services,
great and small, were rendered with
such invariable kindness and cheerful-
ness that we could easily perceive that
she made it the one object of her life
to smooth her sister's path as much
as possible.

Charles' artistic training had made
him a close observer of men and things.
Attracted in the first instance by
Marietta's personal charms, his liking
for her was deepened into love when he
discovered that her charms were not
merely external. I could not fail to
remark his growing attachment to her,
enhanced as it w^as by her sympathetic
interest in his work, and her intelligent
appreciation of his sketches and studies.
Especially did she interest herself in
his copy of the Madonna in the little
sanctuary, whither, as a pious Catholic,
she often went to pray. She congratu-
lated him warmly on the fidelity where-
with he reproduced it on his canvas.

I, too, although in another way, felt
the beneficial influence of this girl's
society ; and when I noticed her height-
ened color and bright look when my
friend made his appearance, I could
not do otherwise than desire and pray
that these two fine characters might
be united. I also hoped that inter-
course with her might have a favorable
effect on Charles, and induce him to
return to the faith and practice of his
earlier days.

At the end of three weeks, my
furlough being out, I was obliged to
take leave of the friends whose society
I had so much enjoyed. On bidding
Charles good-bye, I said, in a marked
manner, that I wished him success.

646

THE AYE MARIA.

When I added jestingly that I wondered
at his choosing a " church-goer " for his
betrothed, he looked me full in the face
gravely, almost sternly, as he replied :

"You know as well as any one that
I never scoffed at any one's religious
beliefs. On the contrary, I have always
esteemed and respected those who are
able to pray with heart and soul. An
unchristian education deprived me of
that power. Perhaps I may regain it
some day."

Thus we bade each other farewell. A
iortnight later I received the following
telegram from Lucerne :

"This evening I go by the St. Gothard
railway to Rome. I will write from
there. Charles."

I shook my head as I read the
message. It boded no good. I had not
long to wait for further intelligence.
Unfortunately, my forebodings were
correct.

Shortly before the departure of the
two ladies, my friend availed himself
of a moment when he was alone with
Marietta to acquaint her with his feel-
ings and beg for her hand. With tears
in her eyes, she acknowledged that she
cherished toward him sentiments of
more than mere friendship, yet she
could not accept his offer. God required
of her complete self-renunciation, in
order that nothing might interfere
w^ith her devoting herself entirely to
her sister, now in failing health and
burdened with cares. She then told him
more explicitly the troubles which were
laid upon her sister. Mr. Helldorf had
speculated in rather a risky manner,
and lost large sums in that way, so
that at his death his widow^ found
herself in very straitened circumstances.

"Marietta," my friend concluded,
"told me plainly that were she to
abandon her sister now, it would be
her death. She considered it her voca-
tion, the business of her life, to nurse
the invalid and be a second mother to
her fatherless children. It grieved her

deeply, she said, to have, although
unwittingly and unwillingly, cast a
shadow on my path of happiness. She
hoped I would always think kindly of
her, but she must beg me to promise
never to make any further effort to see
her. Can I possibly be angry with her
for such heroic self-sacrifice? Would
that I could rise to so sublime a
height of virtue! At present I am far
from it. Do not think me unkind if
you do not hear again from me for a
long time. My wound must be healed
in solitude."

One year, two years passed without
my receiving more than the briefest
intelligence concerning my friend. He
was then living in Rome, quite alone,
avoiding all social intercourse, even
the companionship of the German,
artists residing there. Nor had I of late
heard anything of Mrs. Helldorf and
Marietta, although for some months
after our parting we had now and
again exchanged some words of greet-
ing on a picture card. I mj'self had
been somewhat of a wanderer, moving
from place to place for the completion
of my studies ; consequently my corre-
spondence even with old friends had
been almost at a standstill. On this
account I was all the more glad when,
my studies being ended, I could again
set my face in the direction of my
childhood's home.

As my way led me through St. Gallen
and Zurich, something prompted me to
break my journey there, and, for the
sake of reviving the pleasant memories
associated with that spot, allow myself
a brief holiday at pleasant "Klosterli."

On arriving, after a few hours' rest,
I betook myself to the beloved little
sanctuary of Our Lady of the Snow.
The chapel was almost dark ; there was
only one person there beside myself A
lady dressed in deep mourning was
kneeling before the altar, absorbed in
silent prayer. As she rose and turned
to leave the chapel, I caught sight of her

THE AVE MARIA.

647

face. It was Mrs. Helldorf, Marietta's
sister. A feeling of apprehension came
over me ; I longed, yet feared, to speak.
As soon as she had crossed the threshold
I addressed her. She grasped my hand
convulsively, and with streaming eyes
uttered the one word: "Marietta !"
That told me all. I knew for whom she
wore mourning. Marietta was dead.

Yes, so it was. Pneumonia, following
upon a severe attack of influenza, had
cut short her life of self-sacrifice, of devo-
tion to duty. Apprised of her danger,
she carefully prepared for death, and
yielded up her soul to God with touching
resignation. From the beginning of
her illness Charles' name never passed
her lips ; but oftentimes her eyes rested
wistfully, sorrowfully, on the magnifi-
cent copy of Our Lady of the Snow
which he had sent her, as a parting gift,
from Rome. On receiving the notice
of her death, Charles had sent a few
touching words in reply, expressing his
profound grief and sincere sympathy.

Of her own grief at the loss of one
who was to her more than a sister,
Mrs. H>illdorf said nothing. The interest
her tale had for me did not prevent me
from being struck with the improve-
ment in her appearance. When I asked
her how she was, she answered :

" Thank God, my health is very much
better! I can almost say that I am
well. The air of this place, where I have
been several times, and a long 'cure'
at Davos, have strengthened my lungs
wonderfully. The doctors promised me
complete restoration if I could but
reside permanently in a high latitude.
Fortunately for me, just at this juncture
a distant relative, the parish priest of
a village among the mountains, shel-
tered by forests, asked me to go and
keep house for him in the place of his
sister, who died recently. In return for
my services, he says he will willingly
superintend the education of my chil-
dren and assist me in placing theih out
in the world. Thus God in His mercy

has lifted this care from my shoulders,
owing, I fully believe, to the prayers of
my dear sister, who has not ceased,
when parted from me, to intercede on
my behalf."

After three days I proceeded on my
journey, but not before we had sent
some words of greeting to my friend —
our common friend — on the banks of
the Tiber. Soon after my return home
I received from him the following letter :

My dear Fellow: — Many thanks
for your kind sympathy! My heart
still bleeds, but I am not sorrowful
even as others who have no hope.
For on Marietta's grave a sweet flower
has sprung up for the solace of my
soul, — the flower of Christian faith.
You will, I am sure, rejoice with me
when I tell you that I have once more
learned to pray. The remembrance of
the unassuming piety, the unostenta-
tious heroism of the beloved one
who has gone from us, and doubtless
her intercession on my behalf, have
awakened in me the beliefs my mother
taught me, recalled to mind the prayers
I used to repeat with folded hands
kneeling beside her.

Last Easter, for the first time after
many, many years, I approached the
sacraments in the Church of Santa
Maria Maggiore, or as it is also called
Sancta Maria ad Nives. In that
splendid basilica is the original of the
altarpiece in the little chapel on the
Rigi, which an ancient tradition asserts
to be the work of St. Luke. I have
become very grave, dear old friend : my
former light-heartedness has forsaken
me. But I now take great pleasure in
my work, and my mind is at peace.

Next spring I shall most probably
leave Rome, and enter on my homeward
journey. I long to see the Alps once
more, and to visit Marietta's grave,
not to speak of the pleasure of seeing
you again. Farewell until we meet!
Yours ever,

Charles.

648

THE AVE MARIA

Missus Gabriel de Ccelis/

Mother Catherine Aurelie Caouette.*

/^ABRIEL, from the heavens descending,

On the faithful Word attending,
Is in holy converse blending

With the Virgin full of grace;
Good and sweet that word he plighteth
In the bosom where it lighteth.
And for Eva, Jive writeth.

Changing Eva's name and race.
n.
At the promise that he sendeth
God the Incarnate Word descendeth ;
Yet no carnal touch offendeth

Her, the undefiled One.
She, without a father, beareth.
She no bridal union shareth.
And a painless birth declareth

That she bare the Royal Son.
ni.
Tale that wondering search entices !
But believe, — and that suffices;
It is not for man's devices

Here to pry with gaze unmeet.
High the sign, its place assuming
In the bush, the unconsuming:
Mortal, veil thine eyes presuming,

Loose thy shoes from off thy feet.

IV.

As the rod, by wondrous power.
Moistened not by dew or shower,
Bare the almond and the flower.

Thus He came, the Virgin's Fruit.
Hail the Fruit, O world, with gladness I
Fruit of joy and not of sadness :
Adam had not lapsed to madness

Had he tasted of its shoot.

V.

Jesus, kind above all other.

Gentle Child of gentle Mother,

In the stable born our Brother,

Whom angelic hosts adore :

He, once cradled in a manger,

Heal our sin and calm our danger ;

For our life, to this world stranger.

Is in peril evermore.

Amen.

• A sequence by Adam of St. Victor, who, according;
to the famous English hymnologist, Dr. Neale, was the
greatest of Latin poets, not only of mediaeval, but of all
ages. This composition was not known to be the work
of Adam of St. Victor until M. Gautier established its
authorship. The translation is by' Dr. Neale, but it is
not contained in all editions of his "Mediaeval Hymns
and Sequences."

^■^ HEN, in his progress through
\\/ Italy, the Catholic tourist arrives
at Bologna, one of the first objects
of interests which attract his devout
attention is the convent founded by St.
Catherine, in which repose the mortal
remains of her who united the mind
of a man to the heart and soul of a
woman. It is the same at Siena, where
another St. Catherine commands the
love and reverence of the descendants
of the people among v^^hom she lived
and labored ; and in a lesser degree
at Alexandria, in whose ancient halls
once studied and expounded the noble
patroness of Christian philosophers.

And now comes another Catherine, a
claimant to devotional honors, and one
to whom they will, we doubt not, be
granted, whenever the wisdom of the
Church ratifies the claims to wonderful
sanctity which her friends and asso-
ciates have long accorded her, — Mother
Catherine Aurelie, foundress of the
Sisters Adorers of the Precious 'Blood,
of St. Hyacinthe, Canada. There, on the
11th of July, 1833, she was born; there
she dwelt all the daj'S of her life, save
when she was travelling from place to
place in the interests of the God whom
she served ; and there she died on the
6th of July of the present year.

God is slow with His saints ; it is to
His greater glory and theirs that the
sanctity of their lives should be proven
by the lapse of time, which brings things
to their proper focus; and in this case
there will be no exception. Nevertheless,
it mav be confidently predicted that,
at. the proper time, detached from
the legends already surrounding it, the
Life of the holy foundress of the
Adorers of the Precious Blood will add
another — perhaps more wonderful than
any that have gone before — to the list

* L,R Semaine Kelighuse ( Montreal )
Hyacinthe), and other sources.

Le Rosaire (St.

THE AVE MARIA.

649

of the saints of North America. The
purpose of this article is simply to trace
the outlines of Mother Catherine's life;
to indicate what admirable virtues
adorned her soul ; but principally to
show how fruitful of salvation to others
have been the good works undertaken
and realized by her during the past
fifty years.

As has already been stated, Aurelie
Caouette was bom at St. Hyacinthe,
on the 11th of July, 1833. She was
baptized the same day by M. I'Abbe
E. Durochers, in the parish church of
Our Lady of the Rosary. She was still
very young when her parents placed
her in the convent in her native city,
at that time under the control of
the Con;; rogation de Notre -Dame de
Montreal.

Not long after her entrance there,
she made her First Communion. It is
a well-known fact that the vocation of
many saintly souls dates from that
important day. We have not been told
whether such was the case with Aurelie
Caouette; but we may presume to
believe that on that great occasion an
intimacy real and fervent was estab-
lished between the Creator and the
pure white soul which was to dedicate
itself entirely to Him in the future,
and especially in devotion to the
Eucharist. There can be no doubt
that the first reception of the Body
and Blood of Christ made an enduring
impression on the young heart.

Endowed with more than ordinary
intellect, Aurelie soon held first rank
among the pupils of the boarding-
school. Yet she took no pride in these
triumphs ; for her cheerfulness, unselfish-
ness, and amiability left no room for
that root of all evils. And, strange to
relate, her companions felt no jealousy
of the talents with which she had been
gifted ; they did not envy, but only
admired and loved her.

Her demeanor was characterized by
great modesty. Egotism and affecta-

tion were strangers to her. She had
an instinctive horror of everything
that might draw attention to herself.
Simplicity was always the keynote of
her temperament, — to such an extent
that those who did not know her were
apt to consider her a person of very
ordinary piety.

The years rolled by swiftly and
rapidly in her convent home, till at
last the day arrived when Aurelie was
obliged to bid adieu to her companions
and teachers. It was in the month of
July, 1850. She was just seventeen.

Gifted with an exquisite sensibility
and lively imagination, Aurelie very
soon divined that for her the world
was a stumbling-block, a source of
great danger. She therefore quietly
began to impose upon herself mortifi-
cations and privations, small in them-
selves, but sufficient to establish the
fact that her soul thirsted for penance
and self-immolation. But all this went
on silently. Outwardly nothing was
changed in her conduct: her com-
panions found her the same gay and
lively comrade as before.

The hand of the Lord, however, had
touched that brave, pure spirit, elevat-
ing it, transforming it ; destroying in it
naught that was natural and sensible,
only consecrating and spiritualizing it.
The less Aurelie grew to love the world,
the better she loved her parents. She
surrounded them with an atmosphere
of affection, assisting them in every
way ; always cheerful, always eager to
do her share, and more than her share,
of the household tasks.

Her piety grew with her growth and
strengthened with her strength. The
greatest happiness of her life w^as to
pass long hours before the Tabernacle.
Every morning, unless hindered by
indisposition or some imperative duty,
she betook herself to the parish church
to assist at the Holy Sacrifice. The
days on which she received Holy Com-
munion were to her veritable feasts.

650

THE AYE MARIA.

She was gradually ascending the heights
of sanctity and renunciation. In the
valleys of worldliness and selfishness
her soul would have been ill at ease.
Simple, sincere, happy, unobtrusive, her
days passed in kind service to those
about her, — she was still a soul apart.

The limits of this article will not
permit of the recapitulation of the
gradual progress of this favored soul in
the remarkable sanctity which was a
preparation for the work to which she
was destined. She had long discarded
all worldly vanities — such as amuse-
ments, associations, and modish dress, —
when, on August 30, 1854, the Feast
of St. Rose of Lima, in the church of
Our Lady of the Rosary, St. Hyacinthe,
she received the habit of the Third Order
of St. Dominic.

As she already had a great devo-
tion to the Precious Blood of Jesus,
and wished to see founded an institute
whose object would be to increase this
devotion among people in the w^orld, her
confessor, a Dominican, who received her
into the Order, gave her, as a Tertiary,
the name of the famous apostle of the
Precious Blood, St. Catherine of Siena.
After several years of delay, the
foundation of the Sisters of the Precious
Blood of Canada was made on the
Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy
Cross, September 14, 1861. Mother
Catherine Aurelie and three devoted
companions were the first members
of this Order of Reparation, engaging
themselves to spend their lives in
glorif3'ing the Precious Blood.

The late Monsignor Joseph Larocque,
Bishop of St. Hyacinthe, was devoted
heart and soul to the new founda-
tion, . which had its first home under
the paternal roof of Mother Catherine.
This house soon became too small
for the increasing numbers of the
community, and an abode more fitting
w^as found for these chosen daughters
of the Cross.

It will not be amiss at this point to

explain the object and mission of the
Order, for the benefit of those to whom
they are not familiar. To begin, it has
for its motto Sitio, — "I thirst," — words
that sank deep into the heart of Mother
Catherine, as she knelt day after day,
and night after night, before the altar
of her parish church, while God was
entering her soul to make the desire of
her heart the echo of that cry, "I
thirst!" Who thirsts? Almighty God,
for the souls of those who neglect
Him, who deny Him, who have aban-
doned Him. It is to atone for this
neglect, this contempt, this indifference,
this abandonment, that the Religious
Adorers of the Precious Blood give
their lives to adoration, reparation,
mortification, and abstinence.

Their food is of the simplest, their
privations many. They are cloistered,
as becomes those devoted to perpetual
prayer. It is their duty to make repara-
tion each night for the sins committed
every day throughout the world.
Therefore the community rise at mid-
night to spend an hour in prayer. They
maintain a perpetual adoration before
the Blessed Sacrament ; and the manual
labor, which is shared by all, is per-
formed with this intention. The Sisters
spend the time not employed in prayer
in making vestments and altar linens.
In this way they support themselves.

They are also instrumental in propa-
gating devotion to the Precious Blood
among persons outside the cloister,
through means of the Confraternity
established and affiliated with that
at Rome, and enriched with numerous
indulgences.

The religious tree planted by Mother
Catherine in 1861 has put forth many
branches, several in Canada and some
in the United States. This contem-
plative Order now brings peace and
benediction to the cities of Toronto,
Montreal, Ottawa, Three Rivers, Sher-
brooke, Nicolet, Portland (Oregon),
Manchester, Brooklyn, and even as far

THE AVE MARIA.

651

as Havana. It was approved by the
Holy See in 1895.

To return to Mother Catherine. As
early as 1868 her sanctity was spoken
of by P^re Chocarne, the author of
"The Inner Life of Lacordaire," himself
a holy and famous Dominican. At that
period he visited Canada, made her
acquaintance, and wrote subsequently
concerning her, in a letter, as follows:

"I shall not recount to you all that
has been said of the virtues of the
Mother Superior and the extraordinary
graces with which she has been favored,
because, in the first place, one can
never regard this kind of gifts with too
much discretion, above all when living
persons are concerned ; and because,
moreover, I do not wish to put myself
in bad odor with this true friend of
the good God."

Mother Catherine united in herself two
characters which are rarely combined,
besides possessing a temperament which
is not usually found among contem-
plative souls. Serene they may — nay,
must be, if their holiness is sincere, —
yet they are seldom of a lively disposi-
tion. Mother Catherine possessed the
virtue of cheerfulness in a degree which
amounted to vivacity. Her greatest joy
was to lose herself before the crucified
image of her God upon the altar, but
she was eminently practical in every
detail of daily life.

While the tone of her writings is
that of one absorbed, dissolved in God,
reminding one, of the mysticism of St.
Teresa, she did not hold herself aloof
from the little things which make up the
sum of existence in this world. Keen,
alert, matter-of-fact, kindly, generous,
sympathetic, she was endowed with
the faculty of making her own every
burthen that was brought to her, of
understanding and solacing every woe
and trial, of penetrating every decep-
tion, and reading, by the light of
heavenly illumination, the miserable
subterfuges of hypocrisy.

No one ever approached her without
feeling that, by her gentle attention, her
sympathy and her prayers, she had
lifted the cloud that had darkened the
troubled heart and soul. No one ever
sought to deceive or impose upon her
who did not leave her presence mortified
and ashamed, — let us hope with a good
seed ready to take root and grow in
soil long choked and stifled by the
tares of wickedness.

She had the zeal of an apostle united
with the rarest discretion. Opposition
never terrified her : she was gifted with
an indomitable perseverance. Her soul
seemed literally to radiate torrents
of love for the Almighty, illumining
and inspiring with that same love all
those with whom she came in contact.
Ungrateful and unworthy indeed would
be the daughters whose souls did not
respond to the holy ardor of such a
mother.

She had a most beautiful spirit of
Christian forgiveness. Sensitive to a
remarkable degree, and often the object
of misunderstanding and even persecu-
tion, she was always ready to pardon
injuries, and that without a particle
of bitterness.

Many instances are related of her
prophetic insight. We shall give only
a couple of examples.

A young girl, about to enter a
religious community, came to her for
her blessing. The eyes of Mother Cath-
erine, gazing thoughtfully in front of
her, as of one penetrating the future, at
length turned to the young girl await-
ing her benediction. "Poor child!" she
exclaimed. "You will have need of
graces and courage. Your cross will
be heavy ; your path to Calvary full
of thorns, brambles, and cruel stones.
My soul is oppressed for you. Abo>
things, when that day comes clir
to Jesus Crucified." The youn|
left the community she had
sought another, in which she
remain; and thereafter led a

652

THE AVE MARIA.

ful existence, full of misery and regrets.

A religious who .is now a valued
member of the Order of the Precious
Blood was, at the age of twelve, a pupil
in a convent, the teachers and scholars
of which had been invited by Mother
Catherine to attend the procession of
the Blessed Sacrament on the Feast of
the Precious Blood. After the proces-
sion they were asked to visit the garden
of the monastery where they laughed
and chatted until interrupted by the
Angelus bell. The pupil above men-
tioned, after the last prayer was
finished, observing some persons near
engaged in conversation, wandered,
with the natural curiosity of a lively
child, in their direction. They proved to
be Mother Catherine and the directress
of the visiting children.

"Well, Mother Catherine," said the
mistress, " do you see any future novices
for the Precious Blood among these
young girls?" — at the same time desig-
nating the circle of larger young ladies
by a wave of her hand.

Mother Catherine's penetrating eye
ran up and down the ra4iks, finally
resting outside of them on the lively
creature, who least of all there assem-
bled seemed likely to become a religious
of any kind, much less one of so austere
and contemplative an Order as that of
the Precious Blood.

"Yes: that one," she answered.

And as the words passed her lips, it is
safe to say her reputation for prophecy
was not increased among that bevy of
girls. The little girl herself must have
made a gesture of incredulity, judging
from what follows.

Like a child, she soon forgot all about
it; and it was recalled to her mind
only years afterward, when she had
made her choice, as predicted, and
entered the Order. When, it recurred
to her, she inquired of the venerable
foundress if she remembered the circum-
stance. "Yes, perfectly," was the reply, —
"even to the way in which you were

dressed, and the ridiculous gesture you
made when I said it."

After a pilgrimage of more than
seventy years, the latter portion of
which was still further sanctified by
an illness, borne most patiently and
heroically, Mother Catherine gave up
her pure soul to God on the 6th of
July of the present year, 1905.

During the last weeks of her life she
asked that the word Sitio should be
placed in large letters above her bed,
which was done. During one of the
visits of the chaplain, she pointed to this
motto which had been the keystone
of her saintly life. Thinking that the
venerable sufferer desired a drink, he
told the infirmarian to give her some-
thing to moisten her lips. But Mother
Catherine at once made him understand
that such was not her wish. Compre-
hending her real meaning, the chaplain
said: "Yes, I understand. You have
had a thirst for sacrifices all your life;
a thirst for self-immolation, for the
salvation of souls ; a thirst for justice ;
and now you thirst for the sight of
Our Lord." — "Onlj' for patience and
resignation," meekly i-eplied tne gentle
sufferer, once more relapsing into the
silence which was habitual to her.

When, at the beginning of her illness,
the Sisters expressed their ardent desire
that her life might be prolonged, she
had but one reply: "Whatever is
pleasing to God.- I am in His hands.
His will is my will." During the last
months of her life she observed an
almost continual silence, keeping her
hands joined. "Why, dear Mother,"
was said to her one day, — "why do you
remain in so fatiguing a position?" —
"I can do no more," she answered,
"for the glory of the Precious Blood;
but by this attitude I wish to tell Our
Lord that I am constantly adoring the
Precious Blood, that I wish constantly
to repair the outrages which It receives,
and that my intention is to pray un-
interruptedly for souls."

THE AVE MARIA.

653

She preserved her perfect clearness
of mind to the end, and died while
the chaplain and Sisters were saying,
"Through Thy Most Precious Blood,
0 Jesus, mercy ! " It is said that many
favors have already been granted
through her intercession. Her Life, in
its entirety, has yet to be written.
We are satisfied that when the day
comes, her memory will have stood
the test of time, and that the revela-
tions of the extraordinary sanctity
with which she has been credited will
be augmented a hundredfold.

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SADLIER.

XLL — (Continued.)

EBEN KNOX made a movement
as if he would have struck his
antagonist; but he restrained himself,
licking his lips with a tongue that felt
dry and parched, and fumbling at his
collar as if the passion which consumed
him bid fair to produce suffocation.

"You dare to speak in this way,"
he exclaimed at last in a voice which
was hoarse and unnatural, "because
you suppose yourself safe in possession
of the papers. But remember that I
am aware of their contents and of
the whole history of the events there
recorded. You can't muzzle my tongue;
and I can produce witnesses to testify
to the truth of my statements, unless
j'ou make it worth my while to main-
tain secrecy."

"You infernal scoundrel!" cried Jim
Bretherton, losing his temper. " How
dare you make .such a proposition to
me ? Do you suppose I have come here
to enter into collusion with you or
to have a share in your villainy?"

Eben Knox's jaw dropped, and he
stood staring at the speaker as if he
were striving to fathom his meaning;
while the younger man strove hard

to master his indignation and regain
the control of his temper which he
had momentarily lost. He resembled
nothing so much as a thoroughbred
mastiff held in leash, and chafing and
fretting that he could not spring at
an ignoble prey.

"I am trying to remember," observed
Bretherton at last, "that this is mainly
a matter of business, that what you
say is immaterial, and that your base
insinuations can only recoil upon your-
self. Apparently, you can not even
understand the feelings of an honest

man.

The rage and hatred in the eyes of
Knox as he gazed upon the man who
had in every respect so unquestioned an
advantage over him, were intensified
by every word that was spoken.

" How the law will regard your share
in this nefarious business, I do not
know, — nor do I very much care, since
I am no police officer. My sole business
with you is to obtain such additional
information as may enable my father
and myself to right the wrongs to which
we have been unwillingly a party."

"To right wrongs!" echoed Eben
Knox, in his amazement and conster-
nation. "Why, you don't mean to say
that you are going to rake up that
ugly affair which I and some others
have kept secret all these years out of
consideration for your family?"

"My family can take care of itself,"
answered Bretherton. " I am certainly
going to rake up, as j-ou say, this
affair in so far as will be necessary to
restore her inheritance to a woman
who has been defrauded, and his liberty
to an innocent man."

"But the man may be dead,'" Eben
Knox suggested, looking down with
an inscrutable expression at the desk
before him.

"He is living and you know it!"
said Bretherton, i)artly at a venture.

"Well, he's at liberty, anyhow. He
has served his twenty years."

654

THE AVE MARIA.

"Good heavens!" cried Bretherton.
"To think of the poor wretch suffering
all those years for another man's act!
It is infamous! "

"Your late uncle was of another
opinion," observed Eben "Knox, with
a sardonic laugh. "Twenty years of
another man's liberty seemed but a
small price to pay for his security."

That was, in truth, the bitter, galling
thought which for a moment reduced
the brave-hearted young man to silence.
It was his uncle, of the same name
which his father and generations before
him had borne so honorably, who had
done this thing, — his uncle, whom he
had loved and admired in boyhood!
Painful as was the test, however, the
principle of inflexible justice which was
so strong within him never permitted
him to swerve from the determination
to right every wrong.

"And as for the w^oman," remarked
Eben Knox, slowly, "it will be hard to
find her after all these years."

"I know where to find her," said
Bretherton, quietly.

"You know where to find Janet
Maxwell?"

" I do, and I will take immediate steps
to put her in possession of her rights."

Jesse Craft, who was following the
thread of the discourse with unabated
interest, here uttered an exclamation
under his breath :

"Janet Maxwell! Geewhillikins ! "

"As I have said," continued Brether-
ton, "I am only anxious to obtain the
fullest information possible, in order
that justice may be done."

"Better apply to your friend. Miss
Tabitha Brown. She had a finger in
the pie."

"Leave her out of the question!"
cried young Mr. Bretherton, sternly.
" That is another piece of your
rascality, — trying to frighten a woman,
and an old one at that. This matter
can be dealt with by men. The best
reparation 3'ou can make for the past

is to aid us in our endeavors. Should
you decline to do so, we shall proceed
without you, and have the matter
thoroughly sifted. For I warn you,
Mr. Knox, that this reparation must
be made at any cost."

The glare in Eben Knox's cavernous
eyes became almost that of madness.
The simple honesty of the man before
him disconcerted him as nothing else
could have done, and set his schemes
far more completely at naught than the
most intricate web pf falsehood. He
would like to have poured out a torrent
of invectives, to utter the fierce impre-
cations and maledictions which rushed
into his mind. Their very futility
infuriated him, as he looked into the
calm, strong countenance of his oppo-
nent, and marked the carelessness of his
attitude. His youth and strength, his
very integrity, rendered him absolutely
fearless.

A sudden, murderous instinct came
upon Eben Knox. It was his last
chance. They were alone, — there was
no one to say that young Mr. Brether-
ton's fall had not been accidental. The
fancied wrongs of years, the bitter
jealousy and hatred, his futile love for
Leonora, which he now realized was
hopeless forever, goaded him on to that
one act which might still leave grounds
for hope. He braced himself for a spring.
Robust, muscular, treacherous, and
with a frantic strength which seemed
like madness, he suddenly hurled himself
upon his unsuspecting rival, striving
to push him backward into the open
hatchway. Taken altogether by sur-
prise, even the young man's vigorous
frame was not proof against the shock.
He reeled, wavered, and, pressed by his
furious assailant, would have fallen
three stories into the cellar, but for the
prompt action of Lord Aylward.

With a view to keeping out of earshot
while still keeping an eye upon the
contending parties, the Englishman had
taken up a position at the outer edge

THE AYE MARIA.

655

of the bales. By a hurried rush, he was
therefore enabled to reach his friend
and catch him with one hand, while
with the other he dealt the manager
so powerful a blow that it was his
turn to stagger back.

At the same moment Jesse Craft raised
a shout of:

"Hooray for the Britisher! Down
with pizon snakes!" — while he hobbled
to the spot from his hiding-place behind
the bales as quickly as his rheumatic
joints would permit.

Jim Bretherton regained his equili-
brium in an instant, a shade paler —
as may well happen to a man . who
has barely escaped an almost certain
death,— but otherwise undisturbed. He
looked at Eben Knox as one might
observe a noxious reptile, wondering of
what species he might be; while he
strove to subdue the anger which arose
in him and urged him to chastise his
treacherous and malignant foe.

The manager, panting, glaring, stood
leaning against the desk, with the
strongest possible resemblance to a
foiled wild beast. His last card had been
playe^l. His attempt upon Bretherton's
life had failed like all the rest, artd, as
he now discovered, had been made in
the presence of hostile witnesses.

For some minutes there was dead
silence, broken only by the monotonous
whir of the machinery. It was a curious
silence, vibrant with intense emotion.
That act in the drama, so nearly tragic,
had passed apparently unnoticed by
the mill hands, who continued stolidly
at their work before the looms. Even
Dave Morse had been unable to absent
himself from his post sufficiently to
approach the scene of what he had
believed might be a contest.

Jim Bretherton won in those few
moments a hard-fought battle, and the
generosity of his nature permitted him
to feel something like pity for the
wretched being before him. When he
spoke it was to say:

"It is fortunate for you, Mr. Knox,
that there have been no other wit-
nesses to this affair than Lord Aylward
and Mr. Craft, who were here without
my knowledge, and who will, I am
sure, respect my desire for secrecy."

He looked pointedly at Jesse Craft
as he uttered the last words, and the
latter responded genially :

"If mum's the word consaming the
sarpent and his. doings, including an
attempt at murder, Jesse Craft can
hold his tongue with the best."

"Thanks!" replied Bretherton, turn-
ing again to address the manager, who
still remained rigid and motionless, his
cavernous eyes staring straight before
him, his breath coming short and sharp.

"I am willing to overlook your
rash attempt upon my life, and shall
certainly make no charge against
you," declared Bretherton. "But I
advise you to be more careful in
future, or you may not always escape
with impunity. As to the subject of
our conversation, make public what
you please, act as you think proper.
Whether you assist us or not, my
father and I will find means to com-
pensate, as far as we can, the unfort-
unate prisoner, and to do justice, to
Evrard Lennon's wife."

"That is a matter upon which 7 can
say a word or two," interposed Jesse
Craft, "and make it clear to all con-
sarned that Janet Maxwell has no
legal claim to Evrard Lennon's belong-
ings. But that story will keep for
another time."

Bretherton cast a look of astonished
inquiry at the old man, while this
utterance dealt the final blow to Eben
Knox. Even his desire to inflict financial
injury upon this Bretherton, whom he
hated most of all that hated race, bade
fair to be likewise foiled. If this old
man spoke the truth, Knox had been
nursing one more fallacious hope, — that
was all.

He stood still, in a stony stillness, as

656

THE AYE MARIA.

of one stricken by catalepsy, an awful
expression upon his face and in his
whole attitude. It was as if some one
had legibly written above his head,
"Vengeance is Mine, and I will repay."
The ruin of a life, with its plots and
counterplots, its hopes and aspirations,
its despairing love and its fierce hate,
was imaged there as by the work of
a sculptor.

There was something impressive and
awe-inspiring in the sight. It wrought
upon the three spectators, who silently,
with a touch of pity stirring in their
hearts, turned and went down the
stairs. Thej' left Eben Knox, with the
whir of the machinery sounding in his
heedless ears, and breaking the stillness
of the frosty sunshine. The radiance
of that sunshine stole in through the
window, encompassing that sinister,
solitary figure, even as God's mercy
encircles saint and sinner.

(To be continued.)

A Once Famous Shrine.

IN the beautiful days of Faith, when
men were not ashamed to ascribe
the blessings they received to the favor
of Heaven, and believed in God's will-
ingness to answer prayer, there arose
in the shire of Norfolk, near the sea, a
shrine to the Blessed Virgin, called Our
Lady of Walsingham. It was founded
in 1061 by a pious dame, the widow
of Sir Ricoldie de Faverched ; and was
an imitation of the Santa Casa at
Nazareth, the home of Christ's Mother.

After the Moslem conquest of Naz-
areth, the Crusaders transferred their
devotion to this shrine of Our Lady in
England, and it became a celebrated
place of pilgrimage. Many believed that
the Mohammedans had so desecrated
her shrine that Our Lady had deserted
her old home and come to regard the
English shrine with especial friendship.

Beside the chapel arose a magnifi-

cent priory founded by Geoffrey de
Faverched, and given to the monks of
the Order of St. Augustine ; and in 1420
a large church was added to this group
of buildings. Erasmus mentions this
church in his "Colloquy upon Pilgrim-
ages," saying that it is splendid and
beautiful ; and of Our Lady's shrine he
observes: "It is built of wood, and
pilgrims are admitted through a narrow
door at each side. There is little or no
light in it but what proceeds from wax
tapers, yielding a most pleasant and
odoriferous smell ; but if you look in,
you will say it is the seat of the gods,
so bright and shining as it is all over
with jewels, gold and silver."

Many were the gifts to Our Lady's
treasury, and votive ofierings were
received from those who vowed a
pilgrimage to her shrine in the hope of
gaining some dear wish of their hearts.
In 1369 one Lord Burghersh left money
in his last w^ill and testament for the
making of a silver statue of himself
(with truly masculine modesty) to be
offered to Our Lady of Walsingham.
King Henry HI. made a similar, offer-
ing,— an eftigy of himself kneeling upon
a table with "a brode border, and in
the same graven and written with large
letters, blake enameled, these wordes:
Santa Thoma, intercede pro me." Henry
III., Edward I. and Edward II. made
the pilgrimage to Walsingham. Henry
VIII. walked thither from Barsham
barefooted. Henry's most unhappy wife,
Catherine of Aragon, dying, committed
her soul to the "gentle hands of our
most sweet Lady of Walsingham " ; and
also left two hundred nobles to be given
in charity to pilgrims to the shrine.

One of the miracles related as having
been performed there was that of a
knight, a devotee of Our Lady, who
sought sanctuary at the shrine, his
enemies pursuing and overtaking him
just as he reached the door of the
chapel. This entrance was so low that
a man must stoop his head to enter;

THE AYE MARIA.

657

and the knight, mounted upon horse-
back, gave himself up for lost before
the wicket. He cried to Our Lady to
save him, as the pursuers rushed upon
him; and lo! in an instant he felt
himself transported through the air,
all mounted as he was, and set down
within the sanctuary.

At the quaint old "wishing wells,"
which suddenly gushed from the ground
during the ceremony of consecrating
the shrine, many miracles occurred.
The Blessed Virgin granted to pilgrims
the wishes made when quaffing this
deliciously cool water, which was
also considered efficacious for curing
headache and other disorders. The
common people considered that the
Milky Way pointed to the shrine, calling
it Walsingham Way; while the hare-
bells which grew in quantities against
the gray stones of the old walls were
called "Lady Bells." The broad and
footworn road which led by Norfolk
lanes to the priory was called Walsing-
ham Road, and in every town through
which the pilgrims passed a mighty
cross was erected. Some of these memo-
rial crosses are still standing.

These pilgrimages of the Middle Ages
were one of the most wonderful mani-
festations of the religious spirit of the
time, and their fame has been celebrated
in song and story. Sir Walter Raleigh
wrote :

Give me my scallop shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,

My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation,

My gown of glory, hope's true gage,

And then I'll take my pilgrimage.

And the pilgrims as they wended their
way through the lovely English vales
must have been curious and interesting.
Sir Walter Scott says:

With naked fc-ct and sackcloth vest,
And arms enfolded on his lireast,
Did every pilgrim go.

And the long russet cloaks and broad
hats, and surtouts embroidered with

scallop shell (from the shells used to
drink from in Palestine), contrasted
strangely with the fair brilliance of
England's verdant landscape. Upon
their hats the pilgrims wore tiny images
of the saints whose shrines they had
visited. In "Quentin Durward," Scott
speaks of the hat of Louis XL of
France as being stuck full of silver
images of the saints ; and Chaucer says :

Then as manere and custom is, signs there they

brought,
For men of contre shoulde knowe whome they

had sought;
Eche man set his silver in such thing as they liked,
, And in ye meenwhile ye miliar had y-picked
His bosom full of signs of Canterbury brochis ;
They set their signes upon their hedes, and some

upon their capp.
And sith to ye dinner ward they gan for to stapp.

The rosary upon the left arm, a water
flask at the back, and a food-pouch in
front, completed the costumes of the
pilgrims who thronged the shrine of
Our Lady of Walsingham.

It was a terrible blow to the good
people of Norfolk when the vandal and
apostate Henry VIII. despoiled this
beautiful shrine. Of this unhappy event
an old chronicler writes: "It would
have made a heart of flint to have
melted and wept to have seen the break-
ing up of the house and the sorrowful
departure of the monks." A poet of
the day wrote, under the title "The
Lament for Walsingham":

Bitter, bitter oh to behoulde,

The grasse to growe
Where the walls of Walsingham

So stately did shewe!

Oules do scrike where the sweetest himmes

Lately were songe,
Toades and serpents hold their dennes

Where palmers did throng.

Weepe, weepe, O Walsingham,

Where dayes are nightes,
Blessings turned to blasphemies,

Holy deedes to despites I

Sinne is where Our Ladye sate,

Heaven turned is to helle,
Sathan sitte where Our Lorde did swayc, —

Walsingham, O farewell!

658

THE AYE MARIA.

Of all the sins upon his evil conscience,
this one against Our Lady's shrine
seems to have sat most heavily on the
soul of the wanton King; and, dying,
he left his soul in the keeping of Our
Lady of Walsingham.

To-day there remains in the grounds
of the present owners, the Lee- Warner
family, only a portion of the east front
of the priory church and a bit of the
old refectory, — all that is left of the
lovely scenes of Our Lady's " Holy
Land of Blessed Walsingham."

M. F. N. R.

A Plea for the Religious Drama.

IN a paper contributed to the Fort-
nightly Review for October, Mr. B.W.
Findon makes a fairly strong plea for
the religious drama. He admits at the
outset that 'until recently he never
regarded Holy Writ as a hunting-
ground for the playwright; but expe-
rience has shown that the religious
drama is both a possible and, when
treated in a reverent spirit and handled
with artistic care, a valuable instru-
ment for good.' The following extracts
from Mr. Findon's paper will be sug-
gestive to some readers, informative to
others, and, as showing the trend of
twentieth-century dramatic thought, of
interest to all:

Performances such as the old morality - play
"Everyman," or "Ben Hur," point to the fact
that in the Bible and all that appertains to
it we have a field of literature which, properly
treated, could be made the means of winning
to the side of dramatic art those who are

now conscientiously opposed to the stage We

are living in an age of materialism. In spite of
churches and creeds, Indifference stalks with giant
tread through the land. There are those who
tacitly acknowledge a religious belief, but who
make little or no outward profession of faith ;
while there are others so spiritually inclined
that anything which is not associated with
religion is devoid of attraction. Could the
religious drama be made to appeal to these
two opposing elements ? . . .

In a rude, untutored manner the drama spread

itself among the people, and gradually the priest-
hood began to see in it a valuable medium for
the diffusion of religious knowledge. Indeed, it
appears from a MS. in the Harleian Library that
one of the Popes was so convinced that it was
a useful factor in instructing the people in the
mysteries of the Christian faith, that he granted
an indulgence of one thousand days to every
person who attended in serious spirit the Miracle
Plays at Chester during the Feast ot Corpus
Christi.

As to the extent to which he would
personally wish to see the Bible used
for dramatic purposes, and the safe-
guards he would advocate for the
preservation of due reverence, the
Fortnightly writer says :

The Passion Play of Oberammergau periodi-
cally attracts thousands of devout and curious
sightseers to the little Bavarian village, and the
Passion Play in Paris has been very fav.prably
received. I do not advocate the introduction of
the Trinity on our stage; and all I want to
see removed are the present restrictions which
forbid the dramatist to take from the pages of
Holy Writ characters belonging to the earth,
and scenes which, while compelling our pious
admiration, are not essentially divine in their
origin. Further, it might be made obligatory
that all plays dealing with Biblical subjects
should be written as poetical dramas, and that
the censor should be strictly enjoined to sjinction
none but those conceived in the most reverent
spirit; that it should be his duty to attend
the dress rehearsal, so that he might veto any
detail in the production which, in his opinion,
was in the least degree open to the accusation
of vulgarity or bad taste.

Doing one's duty by one's son too often
implies merely food, lodging, clothes,
and education supplied by the parents.
Why, a public institution would give
that! What the boy needed most was
deep draughts of love ; he needed to live
in an cttmosphere of sweet sympathy,
counsel and trust. The parents should
ever be an unfailing refuge, and constant
resource and inspiration, not a mere
larder or hotel or wardrobe, or school
that furnishes these necessities free. The
empty boast of mere parental duty is
one of the dangers of modern society.
— IF. G. Jordan.

THE AVE MARIA.

659

Notes and Remarks.

Much as the average American Cath-
olic resents any admixture of religion
and politics, and dislikes to see the
clergy unduly prominent in political
contests, we feel sure our people every-
where were gratified over the action
taken by the Archbishops of Cincinnati
and Philadelphia during the recent
municipal elections ; and we are equally
certain that it met with the cordial
approval of American citizens generally.
Mgr. Moeller's name figured promi-
nently among the organizers of an
association for the purpose of securing
honest elections. The systematic and
widespread violations of the election
laws in Cincinnati, etc., rendered such
action imperative, and the Archbishop
felt in duty bound to help on the
movement. An attempt to use religious
prejudice as an instrument in fighting a
political battle in Philadelphia was met
with a protest from Archbishop Ryan
so strong and so strikingly phrased
that, as one newspaper remarked, it
deserves a place among voters' classics.
The action of neither prelate was
criticised as interference in politics, but,
on the contrary praised on all sides as
the manly performance of duty. The
issues of elections in the United States
are political, not religious ; but where
false registration, illegal voting, tamper-
ing with the count and returns, and the
use of money to corrupt the elections,
are practised, it is plainly incumbent
upon ministers of religion to inculcate
civic virtues.

News comes from Turkey that the
wholesale conversion of the Nestorians
to Catholicism is progressing favorably;
and this, despite the trials to which
these people have been subjected. The
Bulletin of the Work of Oriental Schools
( French ) cjuotes on the subject this
passage from a letter written by a

missionary priest at Van : " All these
returns to the faith are for us the
cause of mingled joy and sorrow, — of
joy, because we see that God is blessing
our work ; of sorrow, because we can
not satisfy as we would wish the
legitimate desires of these poor people
who beseech us to procure for them in
their different villages the benefits of
Christian instruction and education." ■
It will be noticed that this missionary
does not confound intellectual enlight-
enment with the broader training of
mind and morals. He speaks of instruc-
tion and education.

The Bulletin makes a forceful plea
to its readers for special contributions,
having for object the establishment, in
each of these newly converted Nesto-
rian villages, of a chapel -school. The
re-entrance into the true fold of the
followers of so old a heresy as that
of Nestorius is as gratifying as it is
notable, and we trust that the mission-
aries may receive adequate assistance
in carrying on the good work.

One of the reverberating, and not
uninteresting, echoes of the Russo-
Japanese war is the tribute paid to
Catholic foreign missionaries by Baron
de Binder Kriegelstein, who went
through the Manchuria campaign as
correspondent of the Kreuzzeitung.

"The Catholic missionaries," writes
the Baron, "are men of a faith so
strong, of a sense of duty so conscien-
tious, that one may without exaggera-
tion qualify them as heroes compared
with whom soldiers, however brave, are

as inferior as earth to heaven I have

observed them, these modest heroes, in
Turkey, in India, in China, in South
America; and I have never found a
single one who did not measure up to the
sublime exigencies of his vocation."

Commenting on the assertion that
the Chinese become Christian converts
from interested motives, in the hope
of being protected and aided by the

660

THE AVE MARIA.

missionaries, the German correspondent
says : " This may be true as regards the
EngHsh and American missions ; . . . but
it would be unjust to say the same
thing about the CathoHc missionaries
and their recruits, particularly the
French When, at Mukden, two hun-
dred Catholic natives were seized, and
told to burn incense before the idols
or else suffer death, there was not one
amongthem who would abjure his faith ;
they all suffered heroically the tortures
' that preceded their death, — a clear proof
that it was not in view of temporal
advantages that they had embraced
Catholicism."

We commented, several months ago,
on the highly interesting treatise of
the Spanish Jesuit, Father Ferreres,
on "The Symptoms of Death as a
Condition for Administering the Last
Sacraments." A translation of this
admirable monograph is appearing in
the American Ecclesiastical Review,
from the current issue of which period-
ical we quote the following passages.
They will prove as consolatory to many
of the ordinary faithful as they will
be useful to pastors of souls. Among
the resolutions unanimously approved
by the Academy of Saints Cosmas and
Damian are these:

Before the appearance of putrefaction, no
indication or combination of indications exists
that will establish with absolute certainty the
presence of death.

Generally, after twenty -four or twenty -six
hours have elapsed from the so-called moment of
death, the signs of mortification become unmis-
takable; and putrefactions appear more quickly
during the summer.

As a general principle, Father Ferreres
lays it down that, "in cases of sudden
death, the period of latent life probably
continues until mortification begins to
manifest itself." After citing various
authorities in support of his contention,
he concludes with this paragraph from
Professor Witz:

When the body appears to be dead, all indica-
tions lead us to believe that we have before us

but a lifeless clod, — and yet the helps of religion
may still come mercifully to the aid of one who
is actually living. Experience has confirmed the
principle that, in cases of drowning, hanging, or
death by lightning, we mast disregard all appear-
ances, and act as if the subject were still alive.

On the whole, it would seem not only
permissible, but eminently advisable, to
administer conditional absolution even
in the case of persons who have been,
apparently, dead for some time. "The
sacraments are for man"; and since the
period of latent life, still subsisting after
apparent death, is undetermined, and
possibly indeterminable, the stricken
Catholic should receive the benefit of
every doubt.

Whether by accident or design, the
old "total depravity" hymn,

Lord, we are vile, conceived in sin,
And born unholy and unclean;
Sprung from the man whose guilty fall
Corrupts his race and taints us all,

is omitted in the "New Methodist
Hymnal" prepared for the use of
members of the Methodist Episcopal
Church and the "Methodist Church,
South." (A great split was made in this
denomination during the Civil Vi/^ar,
and it still remains unhealed. ) Com-
menting on the omission of the old
hymn, familiar to all pious Methodists
of the last generation, a magazinist
observes: "The next thirty or forty
years will so accustom the great church
laity to new forms of thought that
many of the most popular hymns of
to-day will become intolerable." And
yet the hymnology of the Methodists
represents their doctrinal teaching.

Few things are more gratifying to
a Catholic editor than to see his sug-
gestions acted upon, to have even one
of his pet plans put into execution,
and to watch the results. We have often
wondered, and more than once ex-
pressed our wonder, why the clergy
in country districts do not utilize the
newspapers as a means of communi-

THE AVE MARIA.

661

cation with Catholics whom they are
able to visit only at rare intervals,
and for the purpose of enlightening
non-Catholics, so many of whom sit in
utter darkness in regard to the message
of the Church. We are more pleased
than we can express to learn from
the Missionary that this idea has been
taken up by a zealous priest somewhere
in Ohio. " He has had a conference with
one of the editors of the weekly county
paper, and an arrangement has been
made whereby the paper sells him ten
inches of space in each issue at its
regular advertising rates or $40 a
year. This is his to use as he desires.
He proposes to print each week some
pointed statements of Catholic doctrine,
giving them a human interest, so that
they will be eagerly read ; and he hopes
through the fifty weeks of the year
to get before the farmers a very full
exposition of the Church's doctrine
and policy."

Of course we entirely agree with the
editor of the Missionary that there are
unlimited possibilities in this plan, if
properly executed ; and we shall watch
its workings with eager interest. To
any one disposed to follow the example
of the Ohio priest yet doubtful whether
other country editors would be willing
to accord such a privilege for so small
a consideration, we have only to say,
Make the proposal.

A striking commentary on the posi-
tion of the Head of Christendom in his
own diocese, and the force of his appeals
for freedom and independence, is offered
by the following paragraph from the
Rome correspondence of the Tablet :

If a bishop in any part of the British Empire
wished to make changes in the parochial divi-
sions of his diocese, he would be guided by his
own discretion and by the Canon Law, and then
proceed to carry out his plan. The Bishop of
Rome, in the year of grace 1905, docs not find
things so ea.sy. Many months ago his Holiness
issued Bulls suppressing two Roman parishes
and creating two new ones, but it was only on

last Friday morning [Oct. 20] that the Roman
newspapers were able to publish the following
wonderful announcement: "Publication has been
made of the royal assent to the Pontifical Bull
abolishing the two parishes of S. Tommaso
in Parione and S. Lucia del Gonfalone; and
creating in their stead, with the same rights and
the same revenues, two new parishes, — one, of
the church of Santa Maria, known as the Chiesa .
Nuova; and the other, of S. Giacchino in the
Prati di Castello."

Deliverance from this sort of bondage,
at whatever cost, is what every loyal
Catholic must desire for the Church. As
States are now constituted, complete
separation fi-om them means the eman-
cipation of the Church. Oppression and
material losses are mere vicissitudes of
a power which in the end must triumph
everywhere.

In connection with the organization of
the " Catholic Church Estension Society
of the United States," commented upon
last week, let it be said that well-to-do
Catholics who occasionally refuse to
contribute to foreign mission funds on
the plea that there are Catholic needs
enough in our own country to be looked
after, will henceforth have an excellent
opportunity of showing that the plea
in question is not a mere evasion.
The new Society is concerned with
the United States only; there is good
reason, therefore, why these advocates
of American money for American needs
should contribute generously to the
Society's permanent fund, which is to
be at least a million dollars.

The position of the Governor of
Porto Rico is certainly not an enviable
one. There are two parties down there
at present, and our administration
has the support of neither. "The one
political fact more conspicuously in
evidence than any other in Porto Rico
is that the wave of anti- Americanism
is a distinct and imdeniable entity,"
writes Mr. Charles W. Tyler in Harper's
Weekly. The Protestant Episcopal

662

THE AVE MARIA.

Bishop Van Buren is blamed by Prot-
estants generally, including members
of his own small sect, for much of
the trouble that has been made for
Governor Winthrop. The change of the
Porto Rican seal presented an op-
portunity for the Bishop to air his
prejudices; and he profited by it to
the full, seemingly without a thought
of the embarrassment that must result
to the Governor, or of the discomfiture
to himself. The affair is thus explained
by Mr. Tyler :

The ancient seal of Porto Rico represented a
lamb lying on the Bible, with the Spanish coat of
arms in evidence, and with the letters F and Y
(the initials of Ferdinand and Ysabella) on each
side of the Iamb. The real name of Porto Rico,
by the way, is not Porto Rico, but San Juan
Bautista; and the seal was supposed to tell the
world, in the vivid language peculiar to seals,
something about John the Baptist and Spain's
ardor in the spread of the faith. It was a pretty
enough seal. To have let it alone was to have
gone around just one more point of possible
friction. But the seal was changed, and in its
place was substituted an American seal, showing
an entirely secular combination of a. craft of
the caravel type, a sunrise, and the American
coat of arms. The change was unnecessary,
but it turned out all right at the time; and
would have remained all right if we could only
have managed to refrain from digging the
subject up again after it was once dead and
buried. But this, it seems, was beyond us. In
a moment of unfortunate inspiration, Mr. Post,
the Secretary of the island, led a movement to
change the secular American seal back to the
semi-theological Spanish one. The change was
made. Instantly there was an uproar.

Bishop Van Buren, who had already won for
himself the reputation of not always having
been so keenly alert as his friends could have
■wished to take advantage of opportunities for
preserving a tactful silence, let this especially
favorable chance of that kind escape him,
as he had several others. He spoke out. He
denounced the transaction, and in denouncing it
managed to stir up religious prejudices so long
dormant in Porto Rico.

The result of Bishop Van Buren's
action was the very opposite of what
he desired. Instead of winning friends
for himself, he made enemies, besides
intensifying the anti - American feeling
which our administration was doing

all in its power to change. Until then
religion had rested lightly upon many
Porto Ricans ; but Mr. Tyler bears
witness that this stirring up of relig-
ious controversy has had an awaken-
ing effect upon them. "In recent
church festivals, Porto Ricans, who
had seldom if ever been known to do
such a thing before, appeared bearing
candles in religious street processions.
Religion became a factor in the anti-
Americanism that was rampant." That
Governor Winthrop and all others
who are making honest efforts for
the pacification of Porto Rico, and to
establish a popular government that
will cease to be a disgrace to the United
States, would gladly part company
with Bishop Van Buren, is a safe asser-
tion, in view of the facts set forth by
Mr. Tyler, who claims to know, and
proves that he does, "how politics is
plaj'ed in Porto Rico."

The president of Harvard College, after saying
that he has noted that the .American people in
the long run want the best there is in any line,
and regardless of cost at the moment, continues:
" Endowed colleges thrive and live in spite of
the competition of State Universities where the
tuition and fees are lower." In the same way
parochial schools live and thrive in spite of
the competition of free public schools, although
maintained at the cost of the pupils' parents.
The American Catholic wants "the best there
is."— Tie Pilot.

Which is very well said. If all
American Catholics are not eager for
"the best there is," it is because they
are less enlightened than the Protestant
Guizot, who declared: "It is necessary
that education be given and received
in a religious atmosphere, and that
religious impressions and religious
observances penetrate all its parts.
Popular education, to be truly good
and socially useful, must be fundamen-
tally religious." This great truth is
beginning to dawn upon all classes of
the American people. It is a pity that
it should be unrealized by a single
Catholic.

THE AVE MARIA.

663

Notable New Books.

Lives of the English Martyrs. Volume II. Martyrs
under Queen Elizabeth. Completed and Edited
by Dom Bede Camm, O. S. B. Bums & Gates.
In this handsome volume of well-nigh seven
hundred pages we have authoritative and fairly
adequate biographies of twenty -four of the
-English martyrs whom, in 1886 and 1895, Leo
XIII. declared Blessed. The lives have been
written by different hands, the Fathers of the
Oratory, the Jesuits, and the secular clergy being
represented among the contributors; although
the majority of the biographies are from the
pen of the late Father Edward S. Keogh, of the
Oratory. The task of revision and completion,
committed to Dom Camm, has been accomplished
with the thoroughness which one naturally
expects from so distinguished a scholar; and the
result of his careful editing is a very satisfactory
addition to English hagiographic literature. Not
the least interesting or important portion of the
work is the extended introduction by the Rev.
J. H. Pollen, S. J. As a lucid explanation of the
origin, nature, and tendency of the conflict in
which these English martyrs lost their lives,
Father Pollen's pages are of distinct value. And,
if the introduction merits commendation, so does
the concluding portion of the book, — a gratify-
ingly full and detailed index, for the intelligent
and skilful compilation of which due credit is
given to Miss Gunning.

Of the martyrs whose life stories are herein set
down, it is interesting to note that fifteen of the
twenty-four are secular priests, three are Jesuits,
one (Blessed Cuthbert Mayne) is the proto-
martyr of the Seminary priests, and the remainder
are laymen. That the accounts of their stirring
lives and noble deaths make fascinating as well
as edifying reading need scarcely Ik; said; but
it may be well to remark that the study of such
biographies as these furnishes a very effective
antidote to the insidious poison that lurks in
non-Catholic historical novels dealing with the
sixteenth century, as well as a point-blank
refutation of much that calls itself not historic
fiction, but historic truth. The book is well
worth an honorable place in Catholic libraries,
great and small; and if it should have the good
fortune to be introduced into the public libraries
of this country and England, so much the better.

The Life of St. Patrick, and His Place in History.

ByJ..B. Bury, M. A. The Macmillan Company.

One of the standard encyclopsedias says of
St. Patrick: "Of the existence of this holy man
there is no question, but every other fact ajjout
him has l)cen hotly disputed." This is scarcely
accurate, for there has been controversy even

about the historic reality of the Apostle of
Ireland. Mr. Bury, Regius Professor of Modern
History in the University of Cambridge, tells
us, in his preface to this latest Life, that in his
study of early European missionaries: "When I
came to Patrick, I found it impossible to gain

any clear conception of the man and his work

Doubts of the very existence of St. Patrick
had been entertained ; and other views almost
amounted to the thesis that if he did exist, he
was not himself, but a namesake." The radical
defect, sa3'S Professor Bury, in the mass of
historical literature that has gathered around
Ireland's saint, is that the material has never
been critically sifted. The author's justification
of the present biography is that it rests upon a
methodical examination of the sources, and that
the conclusions, whether right or wrong, were
reached without any prepossession. It is inter-
esting to note, at the outset, that the conclusions
in question "tend to show that the Roman
Catholic conception of St. Patrick's work is,
generally, nearer to historical fact than the views
of some anti-Papal divines."

An octavo volume of some four hundred pages,
this work consists of St. Patrick's biography
proper, comprising two hundred and twenty-
four pages; and of three long appendices (Sources,
Notes, and Excursus), supplj-ing the justification
and groundwork. A good table of contents, two
maps, and a fairly full index facilitate the reader's
mastery of the scope of the book, and increase
its utility as a work for future reference. As for
the scope, the author best explains it by the
statement that the subject attracted his atten-
tion, "not as an important crisis in the history
of Ireland, but, in the first place, as an appendix
to the history of the Roman Empire, illustrating
the emanations of its influence beyond its own
frontiers; and, in the second place, as a notable
episode in the series of conversions which spread
over northern Europe the religion which prevails
to-day."

Perhaps the dominant sentiment of the reader
who concludes an attentive perusal of Professor
Bury's scholarly work will be surprise that, in
these days of historical criticism, or hypercriti-
cism, a methodical examination of the sources
of Patrician literature has left the traditional
story practically intact. The author has not,
of course, said the last word on St. Patrick's
birthplace, which he thinks was in southwestern
Britain, perhaps in the regions of the lower
Severn, nor on several other disputed questions;
but he has practically settled some point s which
of late years have been controverted by writers
whose wish has been father to their thought.
One of these is the relation of Ireland's Apostle
and the Irish Church to Rome. As to St. Patrick's
consecration by Pope Celestine, for instance,

664.

THE AVE MARIA.

our author says: "Nor... would the question
involve any point of theoretical or practical
importance. By virtue of what had already hap-
pened, Ireland was, in principle, as closely linked
to Rome as anj' Western church." Again: "It
becomes evident that, when Ireland entered into
the ecclesiastical confederation of the West, it
was merely a direct and inevitable consequence
that, for the Church in Ireland, just as for the
churches in Gaul or in Spain, the Roman See
was both a court of appeal and also the one
authority to which recourse could be had, when-
ever recourse to an authority beyond Ireland
itself seemed desirable." We trust our Presby-
terian, Methodist and Baptist friends will note
the foregoing statement. Of Professor Zimmer's
theory, that the "Confession" is the confession of
a life's failure, Mr. Bury says: "Any such inter-
pretation misreads the document entirely."

We have, however, already overstepped our
allotted space, and must conclude our notice of
this interesting and valuable book with the
statement that its publishers have given it an
appropriately handsome dress.

The Suffering Man-God. By P&re Seraphin, Pas-
sionist. Translated by Lilian M. Ward. R. and
T. Washbourne; Benziger Brothers.
This excellent book is something more than a
prolonged meditation on the sufferings of Christ :
it is a most successful attempt to argue the
divinity of Jesus Christ from considerations
that pertain only to His Passion. P&re Seraphin
was a verj' holy man, and the present volume
breathes throughout the fragrance of his saint-
liness. His arguments for the divinity of Christ
are not merely the cold result of hard logic :
they are living convictions animated by the
eloquence of faith. After every chapter is placed
an Act of Reparation.

To our mind, the many apt quotations from
the Fathers give the book much of its pleasing
tone and color. St. Jerome's beautiful amplifica-
tion of the Prayer in the Garden is cited, as is
also St. Ambrose's ingenuous explanation of the
Jews' conduct during Our Lord's mock trial :
"With their own hands they give Him the
insignia of royalty. They salute Him as a King.
They crown Him as a Conqueror. They adore
Him as God." Then there is St. Augustine's pen-
etrating answer to all those who ask with the
Jews : If Jesus is God, why does He not come
down from the cross? "Simply because He is
God." God can not contradict Himself

The Little Flowers of St. Francis of Assisi. Kegan

Paul, Trench, Triibner & Co.

It is rare to find in religious books illustrations
coming at all within the category of art ; but in
this new edition of the Fioretti the illustrations.

eight in number, by Paul Woodroffe, are excep-
tionally fine, and seem in keeping with the
spiritual and artistic beauty of "The Little
Flowers." The text, which has been brought
closely into accordance with the Italian, is the
rendering followed in the edition given to the
public by the English Catholic Truth Society ;
and. throughout, the spirit of the unknown com-
piler who gathered these flowers in the fourteenth
century has been preserved. No exotics these,
but hardy flowers of genuine devotion, needing
only the sunshine of God's love and the shade
of humility.

The Sanctuary of the Faithful Soul. By the Ven.

Blosius, O. S. B. From the Latin by the late

Father Bertrand A.Wilberforce, O. P. B. Herder.

The author tells us in a brief preface that he
intended this book to be a kind of spiritual
mirror which should reflect the "chief things
necessary for leading a holy life." He has
succeeded admirably. A mention of some of
the subjects treated will reveal the writer's
general scope : Self-Government ; Comfort for the
Tempted ; Comfort for those who are imperfect,
but of good will; The Doctrine of Resignation.

The Venerable Blosius speaks throughout this
treatise with an unction and a fervor that lead
us to think he had often enjoyed the favor once
accorded to the disciples of Emmaus: "Was not
our heart burning within us whilst He spoke in
the way?" His reflections on temptation are
consoling. Of the violently tempted he says:
"These men are often more praiseworthy before
God and have more excellent virtue tl'^n the
men of weaker passions. Perfect virtue is the
fruit of lawful conflict." Here is his view of
sufferings: "By cold and heat, by illness and
other like things, whether of body or soul, doth
God purify, sanctify, and in a wonderful way
adorn the souls of His chosen ones. Those that
in His ej'es are not worthy to wear necklaces of
gold, He is pleased to adorn at least with garlands
of flowers, — that is, with lesser trials."

Joan of Arc. By the Hon. Mrs. Maxwell -Scott.
Sands & Co.

Attractively bound in blue and gold, comes a
sympathetic sketch of the Maid of Domremy,
giving perhaps no new facts and throwing no
new light on the career of La Pucelle, j-et adding
fresh tcstimonj' to the charm of the heroine, —
the purity of her life, the inspiration of her
actions. The chapter setting forth the life, trial
and death of this martyr to her love of country
first appeared in the pages of the Nineteenth
Century, where it attracted favorable notice; and
its reproduction in more permanent form is but
giving the efforts of the author the recognition
which they deserve.

A Story in Three Parts.

BY L. W. REILLY.

T'^HERE are three parts to this
little story, but it all took place
inside of a week.
Just seven days ago a little girl
named Loretta met another little girl,
whose name is Agnes, about an hour
after school, a mile or so from home.

"Where are you going, Agnes?"
asked Loretta.

"I've just been on a visit to Mrs.
Brady's," was the answer. "And O,
she has the loveliest flowers in her little
conservatory, — beautiful late roses, the
rarest chrysanthemums, fine orchids,
exquisite ferns, and O, so many other
lovely plants ! O, I'd just like to stay
in there forever!"

"Well, you enthusiastic girl, you, —
with all your O's!" replied Loretta.
" You'd look nice staying in a hothouse
forever, wouldn't you ? Do have sense.
Did Mrs. Brady give you a flower ? I
see you've got a pot there, although
the plant's all wrapped up."

"O let me show you!" answered
Agnes. " It's the most magnificent
chrysanthemum you ever saw! "

Gently the little girl laid down the
flowerpot, carefully she untied the string,
tenderly she opened the paper covering,
and there, indeed, stood revealed a
very queen of chrysanthemums, perfect
in size, splendid in shape, and with
the most gorgeous color imaginable.

" Isn't it a beauty ? Isn't it a love ? "
she exclaimed.

"Yes, it is pretty; and you're lucky
to have won the favor of stingy Mrs.
Brady."

"O don't say one word against her! "
cried Agnes. "She's as sweet and kind
as she can be. But it isn't for me."

"No?" queried Loretta in surprise.

"No: it's for Clara, poor thing!
And O, won't she be delighted ! For
it's just what she's been longing for;
she wanted it to complete her set. It
has just the hue that she lacks?"

Now, Clara is a delicate little thing,
whom everybody that knows her loves.
She has a passion for flowers, — an
absolute passion. And her plants seem
to feel her ardent affection, for they
thrive under her care in a most wonder-
ful way. She pets them, fondles them
deftly, removes withered leaves from
their branches, stirs up the earth
around them, waters them just when
they need it, talks to them fondly,
calling them pet names; and looks at
them proudly, as if she were a happy
mother and they were a throng of dear,
gentle, affectionate, dutiful children.

But Clara's parents are poor, so
that her flowers have been obtained
mostly from seeds and cuttings, and
have therefore been raised by herself.
She has time to look after them,
because she no longer goes to school.
Her mother can not afford to keep a
servant, and has to keep her home to
help with the housework.

"I suppose she'll be pleased," said
Loretta, who does not care very much
for flowers herself. "Well, good-bye!"

"Good-bye!" responded Agnes, neatly
covering the plant again, taking up her
precious burden, and going on her way.

II.

Two days after this, Loretta happened
to pass by Clara's home and went in
for a brief call. After a while Clara
asked ;

666

THE AVE MARIA.

"Won't you come and see my
flowers?"

So the two girls walked into the
dining-room, the bay window of which
is filled with stands on which are pots
and boxes containing plants.

"They are charming," observed
Loretta, after looking at the collection
rather hurriedly. " But they must
require a great deal of work."

"It isn't work to tend them," replied
Clara: "it's pleasure. They seem to me
to be alive, to know w^hat I'm doing
for theni, and to love me for doing it.
To show me their thankfulness, they
put out their blooms. I just love them
dearly."

"I'd like to feel like that," observed
Loretta. "It's quite poetical. By the
w^ay," she added, having looked in vain
for Mrs. Brady's flower, "did Agnes
bring you a chrysanthemum day before
yesterday?"

"No. Why?"

Did you ever have a number of
thoughts flash through your mind in a
second ? That's just what happened to
Loretta then. She thought :

"I wonder why Agnes kept that
flower. — Sister Mary Frances warned
us only yesterday to beware of rash
judgments. — I guess I'll tell. — Agnes is a
mean thing. I don't like her one bit. — I
promised the Sacred Heart at my last
confession not to say ill-natured things
of any one. But I want to tell on
her so bad. — I'll bet she kept it herself,
the thief! — There, there! I mustn't
even think that way. Don't say a
word about it. Holy Mother of God,
pray for me! Dear Guardian Angel,
help me!"

You can't imagine in what an incred-
ibly brief instant all these ideas rushed
through Loretta's brain. Even before
Clara, who was taken up with an
examination of some fresh geranium
cuttings, had noticed her hesitation,
she slowly said :

"O nothing! She said something to

me the other day about a plant for
somebody. Well, I must be going. And
there, the baby's awake and beginning
to cry, so you're wanted. I'll hurry
away. Good-bye!"
And away she v^^ent.

III.

This morning early, Loretta met
Agnes again not far from the place
where they encountered each other a
vs'eek ago. But this time the latter was
carrying two flowerpots.

"Where are you coming from now,
pretty maid ? " inquired Loretta. " And
where are you going?"

"I'm coming from Mrs. Brady's, and
I'm going to Clara's."

"You said the same thing a week
ago," remarked Loretta, coldly. "Did
you go then?"

"No, unfortunately I didn't," replied
Agnes. "O Loretta, let me tell you
what happened that other day! After
I left you I walked as fast as I could
toward Clara's. I was absorbed in
the thought of the pleasure she'd take
in the chrysanthemum. Just as I was
lifting the pot from one tired arm to
the other, I tripped on a broken piece
of pavement, and fell down and hurt
myself pretty badly. But O, worse still,
I smashed the pot, broke the flower,
and scattered the soil all over the
sidewalk! Well, if I didn't have a good
cry! When I got home I could hardly
speak. But I managed to tell my sad
story. Mother sympathized with me.
Then I said I'd do anything to get the
money to buy another chrysanthemum
for Clara. Uncle John laughed at me.
He said I didn't mean it. I said I did.
He jokingly oflered to give me a dollar
if I'd black his shoes for five days.
I took him at his word and did it.
He wanted to let me off after I had
blacked them once, but I stood to
my bargain. To-day he gave me two
dollars, — one for the chrysanthemum
and one for myself. He said he wished

THE AVE MARIA.

667

I loved him as much as I do Clara.
And I do. 0, I could hardly wait for
Saturday to come! When I told Mrs.
Brady all about it, she gave me this
extra one for myself. And 0, I'm so
happy! "

" Well, I declare ! " said Loretta. "I'm
glad it all turned out so well. Good-
bye and good luck this time!"

And then she said to herself, did
Loretta, as she went on her own way :

"And I'm mighty glad I kept my

tongue quiet that time, — thanks be

to God!"

1 ♦ ■

Catholic Heroes of Land and Sea.

BY MAY MARGARET FULLER.

VIII. — John Huxyadi.

It was Indian Summer, with the
leaves in their gayest scarlet and gold,
and the sunshine so warm and the
breezes so gentle that the Nelsons voted
for an outdoor meeting on a certain
delightful river-bank in the suburbs of
their city. It finally developed into a
Saturday picnic; and on the chosen
morning they were having great fun
tying up the provisions, which were
sufficient in quantity for at least a
dozen, when in came Captain Morris,
followed by their new acquaintance,
the little Jap, Keyiro, with another
basket of supplies. The laughter that
greeted this threatened to disrupt the
household ; for the baby at once gave a
howl of disapproval ; and Mrs. Nelson,
in despair, made the revellers vanish,
though they declared they weren't
half ready.

The trolley car brought them to the
paradise by the river; and when the
party was safely perched on a knoll
overlooking the water, with the near-by
tree branches converted into hat-racks,
and a convenient rock into a table,
they began their discussion, to the
intense admiration of Keyiro, who

was busily scorching his fingers while
building a fire for the coffee.

"You must guess our hero's name.
Captain Morris," said Bessie. "His
initials are J. and H., and he lived in
the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries."

"John Hunyadi!" answered the Cap-
tain, so promptly .that the boys and
girls looked up in surprise.

But their friend was quite willing
to explain.

"I really couldn't come before this
learned company unprepared, so I'll
confess to having asked a few questions
of your father. He told me that George
was strewing books from cellar to roof,
and even forgot his breakfast one
morning trying to read up the subject.
So let's hear the result."

They all laughed at the recollection
of the incident, and then George began
the story of one of the noblest heroes
that ever waged war in defence of the
Cross.

"We studied in school about the
Ottoman Turks and Mahometans," he
said; "but I never knew before how
powerful they were. Why, in Hunyadi's
time they were running riot over
Europe, meaning to conquer all the
Catholic countries, especially Hungary,
which was a very important nation
then, and was strongly held by the
Christians. Well, the Turks, or Mahom-
etans— they're about the same, — were
fast gaining ground, outraging our holy
religion everywhere; and their Sultan,
proud of the strides he had made,
vowed that some day he would feed his
horse from St. Peter's altar in Rome.
What was needed was a leader, — a
brave Catholic soldier, so true to his
faith that he would go into any danger
to fight for it."

"Hunyadi was exactly that kind of
man," commented Bessie: "ready to
dash right out and drive away those
dreadful Turks, — not for glory, you
know, but because it was in Our Lord's
service he was going to engage, and he

668

THE AVE MARIA.

longed to win victories for Him. He
did win them, too, — ever so many. And
people used to say that his success was
due to the hours he spent before the
altar every day, praying for strength.
He didn't come from a noble family, but
still became a courtier to the Emperor
Sigismund, and with him had travelled
through the countries the enemies had
attacked. In this way he grew to
understand the position of the Chris-
tians, and on his return went into the
w^ar."

"Soon the Turks were afraid of even
his name," added Frank. "And their
chief wish was to kill him; for, with
him out of their way, they thought the
rest would be easy."

"I know a story about that!" Belle
cried. "A Hungarian soldier who looked
very much like Hunyadi offered to
dress in his armor and take his
place in battle. At first Hunyadi said,
' No ! ' but later, knowing the trouble
that would arise if his army lost
their leader, he consented. The poor
soldier was killed in the struggle; and
the Turks, thinking they had slain
Hunyadi, began to cheer. But just then
the hero came along with more
soldiers, and they were so surprised
and frightened that they ran off the
field, and the Christians won."

"The Pope, of course, was heart
and soul in the cause," observed the
Captain. "He gave the income of the
Holy See to carry on the war; and,
as the rulers of the Catholic countries
w^ere often indifferent, and spent on
pleasure and private politics the money
they should have provided for the
same purpose, he made up the loss by
selling his art treasures, furniture, and
even his table service."

"After a while," said George, "Hun-
yadi took his men into the tyrant's
empire — a thing no other leader had
dared to do, — and they made so many
conquests that the Sultan sued for
peace. It was granted, but didn't last

long. The war was renewed with a
fearful battle, which -was just turning
in Hunyadi's favor w^hen the young
King of Hungary, who was jealous of
his General and wanted to share the
glory, rode into the field at the wrong
moment. He was killed, and the Hun-
garians were defeated."

"Then came a time of dissension,"
remarked the Captain, "when they
were electing a new King. Hunyadi
was made governor. But this angered
the envious nobles; and when order
was restored, and the General wanted
to go to war again, they refused their
consent. Still, he had several estates
of his own, willed to him, in compliance
with a law of that day, by noblemen
who, leaving no sons or brothers to
inherit their property, were obliged to
give it to the most valiant defender of
the country. The revenue from these
lands he had always used to help defray
the expenses of the religious wars ; for
he himself lived more simply than his
soldiers. Now, however, he sold much
of this property, and with the proceeds
fitted out his army."

"But, oh, he had so many trials!"
sighed Bessie. "One of his captains
and a whole regiment joined the Turks,
and a lot of provinces followed ; and
then the new King Ladislaus began
to hate him."

"The idea!" exclaimed Belle, indig-
nantly. "Just because his two horrid
old uncles made up false tales about
Hunyadi, saying he wanted the crown
for himself! Indeed, those very same
uncles had thought one of themselves
should be chosen King, so they kept
Ladislaus hidden away until he was
almost grown up, and it was really
Hunyadi that freed him."

"Well, now they decided to put the
hero to death," Bessie continued; "but
it ended in their taking away his
possessions and ordering him to be
exiled. You can still see in Hungary
the papers in which that mean King

THE AVE MARIA.

669

wrote the most awful things about his
best General, — made a regular villain
of him. But he soon saw his mis-
take, and Hunyadi was restored to his
honors. And think of it! — he never
looked for revenge, though I'm sure
you'd expect it; but went back to his
duties, only thinking of those who
w^here fighting against God."

"Now came the most striking scene
of the w^ar — the storming of Belgrade,
which is unequalled in history. Who'll
describe it?" asked Captain Morris.

"I!" cried four voices; but the lot
fell to Frank.

"Belgrade was a most important
fortress on the borders of Hungary," he
said; "and the two greatest w^arriors
of the day were contending for it:
John Hunyadi and Mahomet HI., the
Turkish Sultan. The Sultan's army
was immense, and Hunyadi was left
alone to decide what to do with his
small forces; for the King, afraid, of
course, had skipped to Vienna to be
out of the way. But the Pope, as usual,
was ready with help ; and at once sent
St. John Capistran, a Franciscan monk,
to preach a crusade against the Turks.
That turned out to be a splendid plan ;
for thousands of volunteers came back
with him. So Mass was said ; and the
Catholic army, much larger now with
the new men, marched out, with the
church bells chiming, and St. John
Capistran and the cardinals in com-
mand of the Pope's own troops,
carrying the cross which was their
banner.

" Hunyadi began his work so daringly
that the Turks were stunned; for,
before they knew what he was about,
he had crossed through their big fleet in
the Danube River, and entered Belgrade
before their very eyes. Then the firing
started ; and at last, after five hours,
the cross was raised high over the
fortress, and the cry of 'Jesus ! ' from
the Christians told of their victory. It
was the worst defeat the Turks had

ever had, and the people in Europe w^ere
wild with joy. Te Deums in thanks-
giving were sung at High Mass every-
w^here, and the Pope wanted to give
Hunyadi a crown."

" But he didn't need it," put in Bessie ;
"for what do you suppose? He died in
the midst of all the fuss, worn out by
what he had done. I guess his reward
came to him in heaven, though; don't
you think so?"

" There were no bounds to the sorrow
his death caused," added Captain
Morris; "and even the most unfavor-
able historians have to admit that
the loss of the celebrated Hungarian
hero was an irreparable one, not only
for his native land but for the entire
CathoHc world."

"Well, if ever I did great deeds, I'd
like to live to enjoy the praise," con-
cluded Frank, rather glad that it was
time to leave the past with its victories
for the present with its picnic baskets.

And I think they all would admit
that John Hunyadi was forgotten in the
fun they had that afternoon. Keyiro,
only, sat silent and pensive, w^ondering
if all American boys and girls were like
these, talking like schoolmasters, with
grave faces, one minute, and, the next,
climbing trees amid gales of laughter.

A Bad Excuse.

A trumpeter in a certain army hap-
pened to be taken prisoner. He was
ordered to immediate execution, but
pleaded, in excuse for himself, that it
was unjust to inflict death on a
person who, far from intending to do
mischief, did not even bear an offensive
weapon. "So much the rather," replied
one of the enemy, "shalt thou die, since,
without any design of fighting thyself,
thou excitest others to the bloody
business; for he that is the abettor of
a bad action is at least ecjually guilty
with him that commits it."

670

THE AVE MARIA

The Ruse of Old Aicha.

The city of Tlenicen had been besieged
for a long time by a great army, and
the inhabitants were reduced to the
last extremity. Their provisions were
exhausted, and famine and sickness had
killed so many that the survivors were
discouraged.

The mayor called a meeting of the
most notable citizens, and said to them :

"My friends, we must surrender the
town: our provisions have given out."

"No, no, no!" cried an old woman
named Aicha; "don't surrender! I'm
sure the enemy will soon abandon the
siege. The Prophet Mohammed will
help us, I'll answer for it. Don't give
up the city ; but only do as I tell you,
and I promise you we will be saved."

The magistrates agreed, and the old
woman continued :

" In the first place, I must have a calf."

"A calf!" said the mayor. "It is
impossible to find a single one in the
w^hole city. All our animals w^ere eaten
long ago."

Old Aicha, however, insisted ; and
after a long search a calf was found in
the house of an old miser. He hoped to
sell it soon for a great sum of money.
The mayor appropriated the calf,
despite the miser's remonstrances.

" Now," said the old woman, " I
must have some corn."

"Impossible to get any in this
unfortunate city," declared the mayor.

But old Aicha pressed the matter so
strongly that he finally ordered all
the houses to be searched. Grain by
grain, they finally succeeded in getting
a measure of corn, which they brought
in triumph to the old woman. Having
wet it so as to increase its volume,
she fed it to the calf.

"O Aicha, what extravagance!" ex-
claimed the mayor. "Here we are all
starving, and you waste this good
grain on a mere animal!"

"Let me be," replied the old woman,
"and I promise you the enemy will
abandon the siege."

Then she took the calf and led it to
the gate of the city.

"Open the gate," said she to the
sentinel.

He refused to do so; but the mayor
soon came up and bade him do as
Aicha told him.

As soon as the gate was opened, the
old woman let the calf go out. It
immediately began grazing near the
city walls, on the outside. The enemy
had heard the noise at the gate, and a
troop of soldiers hastily rode up. They
saw the calf and bore it in triumph
back to their camp.

"Where did you find that calf?"
asked the king.

"Near the gate of the city, sire. The
inhabitants let it out to graze."

" Ah ! " said the king. " I thought the
citizens were suffering from hunger.
That can't be, however; for if they
were hungry, they'd eat this calf,
though he isn't very fat."

The soldiers agreed.

"Yes, that's true, sire. They evidently
have more provisions than we. 'Tis long
since we've had a dinner of fresh veal."

"Well," said the king, "kill this
animal, and you'll have a veal roast."

The men killed the calf; and, much to
their astonishment, found a quantity
of good grain in its stomach.

The king, being apprised of this dis-
covery, remarked :

" If the citizens of Tlemcen have so
much grain that they can afford to feed
it to their stock, we may stay here for
a long time. In fact, we'll die of famine
before they will. 'Tis useless to continue
the siege."

He struck camp that very day.

Tlemcen was saved. The grateful
citizens carried old Aicha in triumph
around the walls, and gave her a
pension generous enough to let her live
in peace and comfort all her days.

THE AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

671

—In the form of a leaflet, with the caption
"The Claims of the Catholic Church," the London
C. T. S. reprints an interesting letter written half
a century ago by a convert lady to a non-Catholic
relative.

— W. S. Lilly's work "On Shibboleths" fur-
nishes the London Catholic Truth Society with
material for two valuable issues of its excellent
penny pamphlet series. Their titles are " Educa-
tion, True and False," and "Some Thoughts on
Progress." A shilling or two invested in a selec-
tion from this series will well repay such of our
readers as are interested in Catholic literature
that is good and cheap.

— The trenchant articles dealing with the
present crisis in France by Viscount Llandaff,
Rev. Ur. Barry, Father Gerard, and Dom Gas-
quet, lately noticed by us, are issued separately
as penny pamphlets, as well as in one volume,
under the general title of "The Crisis in the
Church in France." The excellent Westminster
Lectures, also, are to be had in paper covers at
half the price of the edition in cloth.

— "A Short Course of Religious Instruction,"
compiled by the Rev. P. C. Yorke, is especially
designed for boys and girls who work and must
prepare for First Communion and Confirmation
as best they can in evening classes. However, this
booklet will also be found decidedly useful for
many an adult whose opportunities for extensive
readiug are limited.' The Text-Book Publishing
Co., San Francisco.

— "Faulty Diction; or. Errors in the Use of the
English Language, and How to Correct Them,"
is a useful booklet by Thomas H. Russell, LL. D.,
published by George W. Ogilvie & Co. It contains
1017 words or phrases alphabetically arranged,
thus enabling the reader to see at a glance how
each should be employed. The author has con-
sulted such authorities on the English language as
Alfred Ayres, G. Crabb, W. H. P. Phyfe, G. P.
Marsh, G. W. Conklin, J. K. Bartlett, and Grant
White.

—Of all the pests, physical and mental, which
have become epidemic in our acute civilization,
few, in the opinion of Mr. Charles F. Luramis, are
so devastating and so hopeless of remedy as the
"Current Literature Fever." Most people are not
ashamed to acknowledge that they are unvacci-
nated, but the number is small of those who are
willing to confess that they have not read the
latest novel. "It is a disease," says the editor
of Out West, " because it depends upon a fevered
condition of mind ; it is distressing, because it
engages and absorbs the intellectual activity God

meant should be used for the learning of some-
thing that is worthy to be rememljered for at
least three days running. A great many clever
people are to-day writing things which eager pub-
lishers purchase — to sell at a large profit. Those
who have nothing better to do can keep up with
the mercantile publishers and the commercialized
writers. But, as a matter of fact, there is Nothing
In It. Neither the author nor the publisher nor
the reader remembers a j-ear from now this
momentarily accelerated temperature."

— Charles Major's latest contribution to con-
temporary fiction is entitled "Yolanda, Maid of
Burgundy." The novel possesses all the qualities
that, within the past few years, have secured
ephemeral vogue for the author's " When Knight-
hood Was in Flower" and "Dorothy Vernon of
Haddon Hall." This is equivalent to saying that
it is a typical representative of the "yore and
gore" variety of historical romance. The heroine
of the present story is scarcely so strenuous a
personality as Dorothy Vernon ; still she is, for all
that, anything but a conventional maid, even as
conventionality existed in the days of Duke
Charles of Burgundy. The "lightning change"
dexterity with which she passes from the r61e of
the daughter of a burgess to that of princess of
Burgundy, and back again, is rather a strain
upon the credulity of a critical reader; but the
average novel-reader eschews criticism and longs
for "thrills." These latter are furnished with
commendable profusion ; so there appears to be
no good reason why "Yolanda" should not
speedily reach that niche in the temple of fictitious
fame known as the Six Best-selling Books. Pub-
lished by the Macmillan Co.

— The steady increase in the number of Ameri-
can Catholic periodicals appealing to practically
the same class of readers, impresses some persons
as undesirable. If the number of readers were
increasing proportionately one could only rejoice
over this multiplication of reviews and magazines,
but such does not seem to be the case. The
appearance of new periodicals at the present
juncture means some lessening of influence for all
the others, no matter how old or how excellent.
The names of the same writers appear regularly
in the contents of most of our magazines and
reviews. Is it the supposition that the more a
writer produces, the better will be the quality
of his work? It would seem so. Commenting
on an important change about to be made in
the management of the historic Dublin Review,
as Newman called it, a writer in the London
Tablet expresses this opinion: "It has always
seemed to us that the projectors of new critical

672

THE AVE MARIA.

reviews were going on a wrong track. The true
course, and the only one that offers much hope
of success, is to strengthen and develop those
already in existence." This strikes us as being
the common-sense view of the matter. We rejoice
over the rejuvenation of the Dublin Review; we
should be sorry to see a new Catholic quarterly
started.

— The keynote to the "Westminster Lectures,"
several of which have been noticed in these pages,
will be found in the preface to a lecture on "The
Immortality of the Soul," by the Rev. Francis
Aveling, D. D. "There is no killing a hydra-
headed system of error by mere criticism," he
observes; "and consequently the Westminster
Lectures have aimed at demonstrating positively,
with as little negative criticism as possible, the
truths which form the subjects treated by the
various lecturers." Dr. Aveling's demonstration
of the soul's immortality is based on the scho-
lastic theory of Matter and Form. He is a close
reasoner, and is possessed of a strong style.
Every stroke of his incisive pen cuts deep and
lays bare some decaying principle of Materialism.
Mr. B. Herder is the American publisher of the
Westminster Lectures.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
appear at the bead, older ones being dropped oat
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may he sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will he imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad.
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"Lives of the English Martyrs." (Martyrs under

Queen Elizabeth.) $2.75.
"Joan of Arc." Hon. Mrs. Maxwell-Scott. 75 cts.
"The Life of St. Patrick, and His Place in

History." J. A. Bury, M. A. $3.25, net.
"The Suffering Man-God." Pfere Seraphin. 75

cts., net.

"The Sanctuary of the Faithful Soul." Yen.
llosius, O. S. B. 75 cts., net.

"The Little Flowers of St. Francis of Assisi."

$1.60 , net.
"Yolanda, Maid of Burgundy." Charles Major.

$1.50.
"The Immortality of the Soul." Rev. Francis

Aveling, D. D. 30 cts., net; paper, 15 cts.,

net.

"Addresses. Historical, Political, SociologicaL"

Frederic R. Coudert. $2.50
"Life of Sir Thomas More, Knt." William Roper.

55 cts., net.

" Modern Freethought." Rev. J. Gerard, S. j. 30
cts., net; paper, 15 cts., net.

"Theosophy and Christianity." Rev. Ernest Hull,
S.J. 45 cts., net.

"The Crisis in the Church in France." 25 cts.,
net.

" Forget-Me-Nots from Many Gardens." 45 cts.
net.

"The Freedom of the Will." Rev. A. B. Sharpe,

M. A. 30 cts., net.
"The Household of Sir Thomas More." Anne

Manning. 60 cts., net.
"Socialism and Christianity." Rt. Rev. Wm.

Stang, D. D. $1.10.

"English Monastic Life." Rt. Rev. Francis Aidan

Gasquet, O. S. B. $2, net.
"Manual of Church Music." 75 cts., net.
"Health and Holiness." Francis Thompson. 55

cts.

"A Girl's Ideal." Rosa MulhoUand. (Lady Gil-
bert.) $1.50, net.

"At the Sign of the Fox. A Romance." Barbara.
$1.50.

" VaUant and True." Joseph Spillman. $1.60, net.

"Gltnanaar" Very Rev. Canon P. A. Sheehan.
$1.50.

Obituary.

Remember tbem that are in bands. — Heb., xiii.

Rev. Allan McDonald, of the diocese of Argyll ;
and Rev. Joseph Friedman, archdiocese of New
Orleans.

Mr. WilUam Lant, of Rome, Italy ; Mr. John
Osborne, San Pedro, Cal.; Mr. Thomas Fitzgerald,
Lima, Ohio ; Mrs. John Meade, Los Angeles, Cal. ;
Phihp Mennell, Esq., Bayswater, England; Miss
Julia Coughlin, Nevada Co., Cal. ; Dr. M. S.
McCarthy, Leavenworth, Kansas; Mr. John Hoff
and Mr. Otto Hoff, De Pere, Wis.; Mr. T. F.
Keane, St. Louis, Mo. ; Mr. Frank Mannion,
Carbondale, Pa. ; Mr. John Pallas, Scranton,
Pa. ; Mrs. M. Whitaker, and Mrs. Mary Flynn,
Shenandoah, Pa. ; Col. Edward Hug, Cleveland,
Ohio; Mr. James Conboy, Pittsburg, Pa.; Mrs.
Margaret Dolan, San Francisco, Cal. ; Mrs.
Catherine O'Farrell, Co. Leitrira, Ireland ; Miss
Alice Holmes, Simpson, Pa.; Miss Marie Brasier,
Mrs. Mary McGurk, and Mrs. Rose Kearne3',
Philadelphia, Pa. ; Mr. Thomas Gates, Youngs-
town, Ohio ; and Mr. Louis Wilhelm, Wheeling,
W. Va.

Requiescant in pace !

THE MADONNA OF GYOR.

HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLE66E0. ST. LUKE, I., 48.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, NOVEMBER ^5, 1905.

NO. 22.

[PnUishcd every Saturday. Copyright: Kev. D. E. Hudson, C.S.C.J

The Garden and the Child.

BY WILUAM J. FISCHER.

I WALKED along the well-known trodden ways

Of the bright garden of those early years.

The flow'rs were dead; there were no dewy tears
Upon their shrunken faces. The sun's rays
Made golden all the dreary land, and plays

Of music floated 'cross the empty, meres.

The winds sang out their hearts' deep, hidden fears.
O how I longed to clasp those early Mays !

There came a little child who took my hand.

" The flow'rs are gone," he said, " but lingers yet

The perfume of a Memory." And then
He crept away. " Come back I " I cried. The land
Stole in between. "No! no! Farewell— forget !

I am thy Youth ! Go thou and live with men ! "

The Story of a Miraculous Picture.

URING the year 1896 the Bishop
of Jaurinus, Hungary, ordered a
general pilgrimage to be made
to the various shrines of the Blessed
Virgin within the limits of his epis-
copal jurisdiction. Priests and people
joyfully obeyed this summons to an act
of supreme Christian chivalry. Clad
in the armor of God — having on the
breastplate of justice, the helmet of
salvation, the shield of faith and the
sword of the spirit, — these zealous
pastors and their devoted flocks went
forth to take heaven by violence, to
intercede for the preservation of their
faith, and to pray for the prosperity
of their country'.

The banners of religion and patriotism
preceded the multitudes, who might be
seen in thousands, ' walking as children
of the light,' and 'as bccometh saints,'
'speaking to each other in psalms and
hymns and spiritual canticles, singing
and making melody in their hearts
to the Lord.' The woods and fields
re-echoed the sacred chants of the pil-
grims. Whole parivshes, headed by their
pastors and by their respective banners,
were drawn up like soldiers in battle-
arra3\ On approaching a shrine of
the Blessed Virgin, the pilgrims carried
lighted candles, and two hundred
maidens, bearing wreaths of flowers,
led the way thereto. Like the early
Christians, these fervent pilgrims had
but one heart and one soul ; and when
their joumeyings had come to an end,
they withdrew in tear^ to their homes,
cherishing sweet memories, and declar-
ing the wonderful things of God.

The occasion of this great national
pilgrimage was the bicentenary of a
miraculous picture of the Blessed Virgin
preserved in the cathedral of Jaurinus.
Our information concerning it is derived
from a pastoral letter dated January 3,
1897, of the above-named Bishop.
After a careful perusal of this interest-
ing document, we heartily agree with
the venerable prelate when he refers to
the year 1897 as "an auspicious one"
for the faithful in general, and for his
countrymen in particular.

On the seventeenth daj^ of March,
1697, this picture of Our Lady was
seen to sweat blood. The marvel was

674

THE AVE MARIA.

witnessed by crowds of men, women
and children, and continued for several
hours. A certain Christopher Schogg,
then canon of Jaurinus, wrote copiously
about the wondrous event. Documents
preserved in the archives of the Capit-
ular Sacristy refer to his writings in
these terms: "He truthfully committed
to writing what he had heard from his
contemporaries and from eyewitnesses
of the prodigy." Again, he is quoted
directly: "It would be impossible to
express the holy awe that seized the
spectators, and the eagerness with
which they sought to approach the
extraordinary sight." Finally — and
this is most important, — he writes:
"That credence might be given to the
miracle, and that even the least sus-
picion of deception or trickery might be
removed, the image was first detached
from the wall, at the instance of the
ecclesiastical authorities ; then taken
out of its frame, stripped of every orna-
mentation, even of its marginal lines,
cleansed, examined, and thoroughly
shaken. Now, whereas after this inves-
tigation, it was found to be devoid
of any natural moisture; w^hereas the
wall was perfectly dry ; whereas, when
removed from the sunlight and sup-
ported by a priest on a small table, it
ceased not to sweat blood, — the event
must have been miraculous.

"And this is that blessed picture,"
writes the Bishop, addressing himself
especially to his priests, "with which
you are all so familiar, — that picture
before which you knelt and prayed
w^hen you were about to cast your
lot with the Lord forever, — ^^when you
were on the point of making an
irrevocable consecration of yourselves
to the Triune God by receiving the
subdiaconate. And ever afterward when
passing by the cathedral church, you
have reverently saluted your Queen, the
Mother of Mercy. At her feet you have
sought protection, consolation, strength,
and counsel. You have prayed, and

your petition has never been rejected."
The marvellous picture is painted on
canvas, and measures one foot and a
half in height. It represents the Mother,
her hands folded in an attitude of
prayer, watching over her Divine Infant.
It was brought to Jaurinus by the Rt.
Rev. Walter Lynch, Bishop of Clonfert,
Ireland, during the persecutions of
Cromwell. The exiled prelate took the
picture with him to preserve it from
the profanation of the Puritans. Upon
his arrival in Hungary in the year
1655, he was charitably received by
the Rt. Rev. John Piisky, Bishop of
Jaurinus, and given a canonry. Later
on he was made Archdeacon of Papa,
w^here he also acted as auxiliary bishop.
In the ancient records of that place,
frequent mention is made of the fact
that the parish priest was ordained In'
"an Irish Bishop," — per Episcopum
Hibernum. Moreover, there is preserved
at Jaurinus a pectoral cross, which
was blessed by Bishop Lynch. * The
holy exile passed to his reward at Raab
on the 14th of July, 1664. His life, so
his biographers tell us, was a perfect
mirror of priestly virtues.

"Quite recently," adds the Bishop of
Jaurinus in a footnote to his Pastoral,
"I wrote to the Rt. Rev. John Healy,
Bishop of Clonfert, for information
about the life of Bishop Lynch. And

* In testimony whereof the following brief
document, in the Bishop's handwriting, may
be cited: "I, Walter Lynch, Bishop of Clonfert,
Ireland, do testify, by these presents, that
I consecrated and blessed, according to the
prescribed form, this pectoral cross for the use
of the Rt. Rev. George Suppanich, Abbot of
the Most Holy Trinity of Sikelj-os, and Arch-
deacon of the cathedral church of Jaurinus,
December the 8th, the year of Our Lord 1662.
The motto of the same George Suppanich :
'And Thou, 0 Lord, art a God of compassion.'
(Ps. Ixxxv, 15.) Walter Lynch, Bishop as above."
On the back of the document are the words :
"All ye holy men and women, saints of God,
make intercession for us. Amen. Sweet Jesus !
Kind Mary ! Sweet Jesus, have mercy on me.
Kind Mary, pray for me. S. Afra, S. Anne,
S. Joseph, pray for me."

THE AVE MARIA.

675

to my question regarding the state of
affairs in Ireland in 1697, bis Lordship
reminded me that that was a sad year
for Erin, citing the infamous decree:
' The year 1697. All Papal archbishops,
bishops, vicars-general, Jesuits, monks,
regulars of every Order whatsoever, and
all Papists exercising any ecclesiastical
authority, must leave the realm before
the 1st of May, 1698. If they are found
in this Kingdom after the above-named
date, they shall be transported outside
the King's Dominion; and if they
return to this country, they shall be
deemed guilty of high treason.' "

"The name of Walter Lynch, Bishop
of Clonfert, awakens interesting mem-
ories of the Hungarian Church," says
the learned Dr. Bellesheim. * "Born in
Galway, he received his first lessons in
theology in the Irish College at Lisbon.
For several years, despite the perse-
cutions of the time, he directed an
advanced school at Limerick. Later,
he attended the University of Paris,
where he received his Doctor's degree.
Appointed provost in Galway, he
aroused general attention by his pulpit
eloquence. Rinuccini describes him as
' learned, a distinguished pulpit orator,
mighty and influential, a spirited
defender of Catholic interests, recom-
mended and desired by the clergy and
the laity for their Bishop.' His love
for knowledge caused him to gather a
noteworthy library, which the Puritans
destroyed by fire.

"On the 11th of March, 1647, he was
appointed Bishop of Clonfert. After
the taking of Galway by the Puritans,
he fled to the island Innisboffin, where
he remained for some time. Here he
w^ould have died of hunger, had not
one of the royal ships laden with grain
landed at the island, after having been
pursued by two armed frigates of the
Duke of Lotharingia. Bishop Lynch
describes his suffering during this period

* History of the Catholic Church in Ireland.
Mainz, IS'JO, vol. ii, p. 512.

in a letter to Pope Innocent X. He fled
from Innisboffin to Brussels. At length
we find him at Raab in Hungary, with
Bishop John Piisky, who made him
his coadjutor and a member of the
cathedral chapter."

Upon the death of Bishop Lynch, the
picture became the property of the
cathedral church at Jaurinus, and
was placed near the altar of St. Anne.
Shortly after the wondrous event nar-
rated above. Count Sigebertus Heister
and his wife, the Countess Aloysia
Katyianer, erected in the same church
an altar to the Blessed Virgin; and
to this altar the venerated picture of
the Comforter of the Afflicted was
transferred.

Canon Matthias Bubnich (1688-1721)
bequeathed a vineyard in Nyul, w^ith
the provision that its produce should be
used for the Holy Sacrifice, and a lamp
be kept burning before the shrine every
Saturday as well as on the vigils of
all feasts of the Blessed Virgin. Innu-
merable gold and silver offerings by
the faithful have been deposited near
the picture in testimony of veneration
and gratitude.

Finally, a zealous client of the Blessed
Virgin, Francis Zichy de Vasonkeo,
Bishop of Jaurinus from 1743 to 1783,
erected at his personal expense the
present marble altar which replaces
that built by Count Heister and his
wife, the Countess Katyianer. There
the precious picture still remains.

During Hungary's wars with France
a considerable portion of the gold and
silver offerings about the image was
carried off, but in time these were
replaced by new gifts. A few years ago
a certain Joseph Trichtl adorned the
shrine with side candelabra, and Fran-
ciscus Ebenhijch presented a beautiful
silver lamp. In 1874 his Holiness Pope
Pius IX. granted a plenary indulgence
to be gained on the 17th and 25th of
March, in perpetual remembrance of
the wonder wrought in 1697.

070

THE AVE MARIA.

Our Adventure in the Mountains.

LL through the mountains of

,|.,P Southern Cahfornia, on arid,
?^-' abandone^l ranches, there are
scattered deserted houses, — well built,
some of them, and others only tempo-
rary makeshifts for the better days that
never came to the discouraged owners,
who, after a longer or shorter sojourn,
left them to desolation and decay.
These were, for the most part. English-
men, younger sons, "remittance men,"
adventurers, and others, who came, saw,
were first enraptured, then disgusted
with the loneliness and wild beauty of
the mountains.

All these houses, if they could speak,
would tell tales of baffled hopes, of
poverty, discouragement, weariness,
homesickness, and disillusion. Many of
them have seen tragedies. It is a
strange fact that not a few appear to
have been abandoned suddenly, without
premeditation ; as though the inmates,
unable to endure another da3' in the
solitudes, had broken away in a kind of
frenzy from the bonds that -held them.

In these deserted dwellings may be
found decent furniture slowly rotting
away : beds unmade, as though the
former occupants had but just arisen;
china on the tables, and cooking utensils
on the rusty stove. Seldom is a door
or window fastened ; often the house
stands roofless to the winds of heaven.
On the floor of one I found a number
of letters torn into bits ; they had been
written on the finest cream-laid paper;
and among them were dainty mono-
grams and crests. Books, too, and
magazines and papers by the dozen, and
bottles of perfume, and good clothing
hanging in the closets. I'erhaps not
many of these houses have a more
strange or ptithetic history than the
one of which I shall tell.

We had been roaming through the
mountains, in love with camp life, pitch-

ing our tents now here, now there, and
passing ideal daj^s in exploring the
country. Whenever it was possible, we
sought some ranch house at evening to
lay in supplies of milk, fresh eggs, and
an occasional chicken. But when night
fell, finding us far afield, there was
always the camping wagon if it rained,
and the tent in the open when the
weather was fair. For the autumn
was upon us, the rainy season unusually
early, and our progress was all the
more delightful in consequence, because
of the new growth of vegetation which
had begun to spring up as under a
magician's hand.

One evening the sun set in a bank of
heavy clouds, which portended unfavor-
able weather. We were apparently far
from any habitation, when we came
suddenly upon a broken gateway, broad
and imposing, whence a long avenue
of eucalyptus trees led somewhere — we
were certain. Following it, we soon
reached a large, handsome house, built
of stone, two stories in height, with a
wide portico. What had once been a
carefully tended and beautiful garden
was overgrown with all kinds of
flowers. The shutters were open,
though the windows were closed. It
was evident that no one had lived in
the house for a long time.

It began to rain briskly. I tried the
front door, and found it unlocked.
Within, everything was coated with
dust; but the place was very comfort-
ably, even luxuriously, furnished. A
centre table covered with books stood
in the middle of the room ; lounges and
easy -chairs were scattered invitingly
about. A fire was laid in the grate,
which I speedily lighted ; and we sat
in front of it, enjoying the blaze.

After some time we examined the
dining-room. The furniture here was
quite massive, the china plentiful and
elegant. From there we passed to the
kitchen, which contained everything in
the way of cooking utensils necessary

THE AVE MARIA.

677

for a small family in good circum-
stances. We then ascended to the second
floor, where we found all in good order,
save for the inevitable dust. There were
three bedrooms with dressing-rooms
attached. Fine mattresses and pillows,
soft blankets and coverlets, invited our
weary limbs to repose. The linen closet
was well stocked.

My w^ife removed her hat and cloak.
I went downstairs, stabled and fed the
horses, brought in some w^ood which I
found in the shed, and provisions from
our own stores, safely covered up from
the rain in the camping wagon.

We mended the fire, by this time burnt
low; put on the kettle, made tea, and
ate our supper off the drawing-room
table, which I then observed was
covered with English magazines. The
meal over, we once more remounted the
stairs, and were soon in bed and asleep.
We rose early. The rain had ceased.
It was a beautiful morning, as we
resumed our journey after a substantial
breakfast. The reader may be sure we
indulged in many speculations as to
the story belonging to the place we
had just left.

Two miles farther on, we came to a
little house, nestled in a hollow at the
foot of a long stretch of hilly road. A
man was standing in the door, in his
bare feet.

"Tell me, my friend, what there is to
be told of that grey stone house back
yonder," said I.

"You've been there?" he answered,
sententiously.

"We have just come from there.
Slept in the house last night."

"You wouldn't if you knew," he said.

"Why not?"

"It's a cursed place."

"Haunted?"

" I don't say that, but no one here-
abouts would put his foot across tlic
threshold or even go up the Ji venue for
any money."

" Why ? What is the matter with it ? "

"Cursed, I tell you."

"How?"

"You see, it was this way," he said,
coming to the side of the wagon and
placing his hand upon it. "One night
people living in the house,— living fine,
too : riding, dining, and all that. Next
day nobody there,— gone, disappeared,
swallowed up. No signs of murder
or suicide or thieves — but completely
gone! "

"Was there a search?"

"Not that I know of They didn't
owe anything."

"Who were they?" I asked. "How
many persons ? "

" English people. Man and wife. Very
rich, people said, .■^nyway, they had
that fine house built and lived in it
for two years. Kept no servant, —
couldn't get any up here. Wife did all
the work. Cooked dinner everj' night,
then went up and dressed, and they
sat r'own and ate the dinner. Some-
thing happened in the night. No one
ever saw or heard of them since."

"How long ago was that?"

"Five years or so."

"Very strange!" said I. "It seems
a shame to see that good property
going to ruin and decay. I wonder
people haven't stolen the furniture."

"Honest folks hereabouts," rejoined
the man. " Besides, no one would touch
it. 'Tisn't lucky."

We left the old man shaking his head,
as he shambled slowly back to his
cabin. We talked of the lonely house
very often, rtiy wife and I, almost
resolved to return to the spot some
day and take possession. But graver-
occurrences soon banished it from our
minds. We were obliged to go abroad.

The next spring we were in England.
May found us in Devonshire. We were
very fond of driving about, and one
evening lost our wfiy- Twiliglit fell,
jind as we drove slowly along wo met
an old gentleman with a dog. lie had
a gun across his slioulder. He was

678

THE AYE MARIA.

a vigorous man, with a fresh, ruddy
complexion and smiling countenance.

He answered my questions as to our
whereabouts very pleasantly, and then
asked :

"From America, aren't you?"

I replied that we were.

"What part?"

"California," I said.

"Northern or Southern?"

"Southern," I rejoined.

"Ever been to Indian Creek?"

"No longer ago than last summer," I
replied.

" Can it be possible ? Did you happen
to pass a grey stone house on the
Blue Mountain road, close to Murphy's
Canon?"

"What do you know of it?" I asked,
answering him, like a Yankee, with
another question.

"It is my house," he said.

"Yours!" I exclaimed. "Are you the
man who left it so mysteriously?"

"I am the man. Now, what do you
know of it?"

I told him. He seemed greatly inter-
ested. When I had finished, he said :

"I had thought there would hardly
have been a stone left upon a stone
by now."

"The settlers seem to think it is
haunted," I remarked. "It is as good
as ever for you, when you want it."

"I shall never want it," he replied
sadly. "She for whom I built it, and
for whom 1 left it, is no longer here."

For a moment there was silence.
Then I asked :

" Would you mind telling me why
you did leave it?"

"I will tell you," he answered after
a pause. "My name is Grey. I am a
retired naval officer. I married some-
what late in life. My wife was much
younger than myself. She was the
orphan daughter of a brother officer.
She had a brother of whom she was
very fond. He had gone to America,
and was ranching it somewhere. He

had not been heard of for a good while.
My wife was somewhat w^himsical,
but I loved her. She was bound that
we should go in search of him. We
had a clue, and followed it. She fell in
love with that wild place, where her
brother had come and gone at intervals.
I built that house, where we lived
in isolation for two years, expecting
him. Then one night we chanced to
see in a San Francisco paper that the
poor boy, living on a lonely ranch far
off in Nevada, had committed suicide.
' Take me away from here ! ' cried my
wife, — 'take me away this very' night,
or I shall go mad ! ' So I took her
away. We drove fifty miles in the
wagon, — I had a pair of good horses.
We got the train at a place called
Hamlet. What became of the horses
and the wagon I have often wondered.
We returned to England, where she
did go mad. She is dead now, thank
God!"

His voice broke. He turned away
without another word. We saw him
waving his stick in the air for a long
distance behind us, till he passed from
our sight.

I do not know whether the lonely
house is still lonely, or whether some
one of a different calibre from the moun-
taineers around it has swept away the
dust and cobwebs, and made it alive
once more with human voices, and
human occupations. As for us, we shall
probably never pass that way again.

X. Y. Z.

From the holy virgin martyr who
in the first ages of the Church invoked
the aid of Mary against the demon
of impurity, to the youth who kneels
to-day before her shrine imploring the
preservation of his innocence or the
restoration of lost virtue, it has never
been heard that any one who fled to
her protection, implored her assistance,
or asked her prayers was left unheeded.
— Rev. M. Miiller.

THE AYE MARIA.

679

Fame.

BY MART E. MANNIX.

A POET'S home once, and they came

Daily his talent to proclaim;
He seldom passed the threshold o'er
But friends and flatterers walked before.

Last night he wandered to the place,
Thinking the whole world knew his face;
He knocked upon the well-known door,
Responsive to his touch no more.

One came. He asked : " Who dwelleth here?"
"I do, have done so many a year."
"A poet's home once, long ago?"
"A poet's? Friend, I do not know."

"The man was famous in his time."
" Perhaps ; 1 do not care for rhyme.
No, friend: I never heard his name."
Thoughtful he went, who smiling came.

The City of St. Helen.

BY A. BILLIARD ATTERIDGE.

QERHAPS the most Protestant
district in all England is the
country that lies along the east coast
between the Thames and the Lincoln-
shire Wash. The three counties that
fill this space — Essex, Suffolk and Nor-
folk— were, more than a thousand
years ago, the Saxon kingdom of East
Anglia; and, though they have been so
long united with the rest of England,
the East Anglians of to-day have yet
a character of their own. A farmer
leaving the district for some other part
of England talks of "going into the
shires," or says he "is going foreign."
A man from the other side of the county
boundary is "a" foreigner." For the
real foreigner, the man who can not
talk English, the East Anglian has no
kindly feelings. "What do you think
of the Boers?" asked a tourist of an
East-Anglian peasant farmer during the
South .\frican War. "Well, sir," was
the reply, "you see they're foreigners,

and I says all foreigners ought to
be punished."

A rustic population characterized by
such narrowness of view has lived for
three hundred years under the influence
of the country vicars and rectors, and
later of the dissenting ministers. Here
and there the Catholic Church has an
outpost, an oasis in the desert. In one
old hall, the home of a family that
has always held the faith. Mass has
been said for centuries, — even said by
stealth during the days of persecution ;
but in most of the villages there is
not a single Catholic. Yet every village
has its beautiful, square-towered church,
where Mass was once said; and there
are the ruins of many abbeys. The
High Church movement has done a
little to bring back respect for Catholic
ideals among the more educated, but
the rustic population in the out-of-the-
way villages still lives in the bigoted
Protestant atmosphere of two hundred
years ago. While I was staying in
a small East -Anglian town, a friend
who knew the people well said to me:
"There are plenty of honest farmers
about here who would thoroughly
enjoy seeing you or any other Catholic
burned in the market-place."

And yet the most prominent object
in the oldest and most important city
of Protestant East Anglia is a colossal
statue of a saint holding aloft the cross.
It was set up only a few years ago,
on the roof of the new town-hall of
Colchester. The city stands on a hill,
and the lofty tower of the town-hall
looms on its summit ; so that the figure
of St. Helen displaying the cross is seen
for many a mile over the surrounding
country. The statue was erected in
this prominent position from a historic
rather than a religious motive; for
Colchester is the city of St. Helen. Here
she was born, here she married the
Roman commander who was to be the
father of the first Christian emperor.
In her honor the city bears on its coat

680

THE AVE MARIA.

of arms, dating from Catholic days, a
golden cross ; and in the initial letter of
the city charter granted by Henry V.,
St. Helen holding the cross is painted in
miniature by the mediaeval artist.

Of the days when the Romans ruled
at Colchester, one sees the traces every-
where in the city of to-day. In all the
old churches (and there are more than
twenty of them) one finds, built into the
w^alls, large numbers of what look at
first sight like thick red tiles. These are
Roman bricks taken from earlier edifices
as handy material for the church-
builders. Wherever the ground is broken
to dig foundations or carry out drain-
ing or other engineeririg work, Roman
pavements, vases, fragments of pottery,
are certain to be found. By the road-
side, on the highwa3'S leading north and
east and west from the city, Roman
graves have been found ; and the city
museum is rich in the monuments of
officers of the Legions, — altars and
sculpture telling of their victories, also
weapons and coins.

In the High Street stands one
of the oldest inns in all England,
with a carved, timliered front, quaint,
old-fashioned rooms, and a spacious
courtyard. In the smoking-room, dis-
played on the wall is a fine fragment
of the tessellated pavement of a Roman
villa. It was exhumed when, a few
years ago, foundations were dug for
an extension of the inn. The inn, the
"Red Lion," dates from the j'ear 1406 ;
and this fragment shows that, centuries
earlier, on its site there stood the
home of some wealthy Roman official.
It is in the highest part of the town,
the top of the hill, near where the
Pretorium of the Roman Governor must
have stood ; ^nd it may well be that
St. Helen lived at, or was a visitor of,
the great house, now known only by
this bit of artistic tilework hanging
on the wall of the smoking-room at
the "Red Lion."

Camolodunum was the ancient name

of Colchester. Before the Romans under
Claudius landed on the low-lying banks
of the Colne, it was the capital of the
Trinobantes, the most warlike of the
Keltic tribes of Briton. They were the
warriors of whom Suetonius tells that
against others the Legions fought for
fame, but against these the}' fought for
their lives. On the hill above the river
where the green ramparts and the oak
stockades of the Keltic city stood, the
Romans built their fortress, the centre
of thoir power for three hundred years.
Stormed and burned by Boadicea, it
was rebuilt with greater splendor. Here
Constantius ruled, and wedded Helen.
Here, according to some accounts, Con-
stantine was born. When the Saxons
came they changed its name. It became
Colne-chester — i.e., the camp or fortified
town on the Colne {castra,a. Roman
military station, becoming " Chester"
in all Saxon names). Hence the shorter
name Colchester of to-day.

.■\ part of the town is still known
as St. Helen's ; and there is an old
chapel of St. Helen, now restored as
the chapter house of the Protestant
deanery. Of Saxon Colchester, one of
the most interesting relics is the tower
of Holy Trinity Church. It is built
partly of Roman bricks ; and its narrow
doorway is of special interest to the
architect, for it belongs to a time when
the builder found it a difficult matter
to construct an arch. Apparently, he
tried to make an arch and had to
give it up; for from the jambs of the
doorway, two courses of tile -shaped
Roman bricks are built up so as to
meet at an angle of about thirty
degrees. The doorway is thus topped
not by" an arch but by what may be
best descrilDcd as a triangle minus its
base.

There are also the remains of two
great abbeys. The older of the two was
the Benedictine .\bbey of St. John the
Baptist, founded by the Norman Count
Eudo, in 1096, thirty years after

THE AVE MARIA.

081

Hastings was fought and won. All that
is left^ of it is some fragments of the
walls, and a beautiful gateway in the
perpendicular Gothic style, built about
1412. The open space before this gate-
waj' is a holy place for the Catholic
visitor to the old city, for it has been
sanctified by the blood of a martyr.
Here, on a winter morning, the Blessed
Thomas Beche, the last Benedictine
abbot of St. John's, Colchester, was
put to a cruel death bj- order of the
arch-tyrant, Henry VHI. The Catholic
congregation at St. James' Church, in
Priory Street, keeps alive the memory
of this martyr. One sees his portrait in
the church, — a modern building in the
Norman style, not far from the statelj'
ruins of :\ uother of the old monasteries
of Colchester.

This is the ruined Prior\- of St.
Botolph. Botolph was a Saxon saint,
famed throughout Eastern England.
He gave his name to St. Botolphstown,
in Lincolnshire, shortened as the years
went on to Boston, whence comes the
name of another Boston on the other
side of the Atlantic. St. Botolph's
Priory at Colchester, built in' 1107 by
Abbot Eonulph, was a house of the
Augustinians. The west front and the
arches and pillars of the aisle of the
church remain. The whole is in the
simple Norman style, with rounded
arches, and small arcades let into the
walls above the west door. Pillars,
arches, walls, are all of rubblework, or
uncut stones cemented together. There
are no shafts in the massive pillars:
each is a small tower of rubblework.
There are traces showing that the
whole was cemented over, and the
ornament of capitals and mouldings
worked on the surface of the cement.
Some Roman tiles are worked into the
walls, and there are small shafts of
stone in the piers of the west door.

The whole effect of the building is
to give one an impression of strength
and dignified repose, and the Norman

architect has done all this with the
roughest materials. Ruined at the
Reformation, further damaged by the
fire of the Parliamentary cannon when
Colchester was besieged in 1648, ex-
posed to the storms of three hundred
years. Abbot Eonulph's work still holds
well together, and his pillars of rubble
and cement are as strong as if they
were shafts of granite.

These are a few of the Catholic
memories of Colchester, St. Helen's city.
It is a busy town, with a market, and
engineering works of various kinds;
and it is a garrison town, with infantry,
cavalry, and artillery lending color to
its streets with their bright uniforms.
But withal it has a quiet, Old-World
air. The houses of the better class, with
the hall door opening on the street, and
beside it the archway for a carriage,
the Continental porte cochere, remind
one of Belgium or the north of France.
There are quaint inns like the "Red
Lion" in the High Street, and the
"Angel," once a favorite halting place
for pilgrims on their way to the shrine
of Our Lady of Walsingham. There is
the castle with its quiet park, and the
stone that commemorates the gallant
death of the cavaliers, Luca? and De
Lisle, who held it for the King.

There are many old wooden houses
with overhanging fronts, helping one to
realize what the city was centuries ago.
Old and new meet in strange contrast.
But one can see electric tramways and
engineering works in most cities : what
one goes to Colchester to see is its
Old-World churches and inns and
quaint houses, and the wonderful array
of remains of Roman days, that tell
plainly the story of the time when the
hilltop cit\' was one of the Imperial
Eagle's eyries in Britain.

Next to the fear of the Lord, esteem
nothing so much as health ; it is pref-
erable to all the wealth of the world.
— St. Peter Fourier.

682

THE AVE MARIA.

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SADLIER.

XLII.— Jesse Craft's Strange Story.

"\^7'ELL, Bob!" exclaimed young

V V Mr. Bretherton, holding out his
hand, which his friend grasped, " I owe
you another good turn, old fellow!"

"It was only a question of the old
hatchway," Lord Aylward responded;
"otherwise you -would have been good
for more than that scoundrel."

"Do not try to make light of the
service," said Jim. "You saved my life.
Only for you, it's almost certain that
my neck would have been broken in
that fall. But how came you and Mr.
Craft to be there so opportunely?"

"In our opinion," interposed Jesse
Craft, who was still in the company of
the two friends, as they left the mill
precincts, — "in our opinion, it wasn't
safe for an honest man to be left alone
with a sarpent."

The three walked along silently, —
Jim Bretherton stealing a swift, furtive
glance at Rose Cottage, hoping for a
glimpse — which was denied him — of
Leonora. Lord Aylward, on the other
hand, averted his eyes, as if he had no
right to look in that direction.

Jesse Craft did not turn in at his own
gate, but announced his intention of
walking a piece of the road with the
young men.

"For," said he, "it's on my mind
to talk over that business of Janet
Maxwell. It's the curiousest thing that
I've been searchin' for that woman this
twenty years."

"And, if all accounts be true, Jesse,
you might have found her any day,"
observed Jim Bretherton.

"Found her? Whar? Well, now, it
can't never be Mother Moulton that
my old mate used to rave about, nights,
in the fo'castle, away off in the Northern

Seas ! He used to swear that she was
the purtiest lass a man ever laid eyes
on. He told me the whole yam, and I
reckon it's got more'n a little to do
■with w^hat you was talkin' about to
the sarpent."

The two young men exchanged an
amused glance,— Jesse Craft so frankly
acknowledged that he had been listen-
ing to every word of an exceedingly
private conversation. They were, how-
ever, very much interested. Old Craft
in his excitement stood stock-still upon
the wooden pavement of Millbrook
High Street, just where it merged into
a country road leading to the Manor.
He laid an impressive grasp upon Jim
Bretherton's arm, as he exclaimed :

" You were sayin' in thar, for one
thing, that Janet Maxwell was the
legal wife of Evrard Lennon, and by
that token entitled to his lands and
money. Well, sir, before that matter's
settled I'll tell you a bit of a yarn, — not
here or now, since the public streets is
no place for private talk. Perhaps, if
you was to come down to my place
this afternoon — "

"Better still, come up to the Manor,
and let my father hear the story as
well," suggested Jim.

It was with a feeling of something
very like awe that the sturdy old man
found himself that afternoon whirled
through the formidable iron gates of
the Manor and deposited at the foot
of the steps. He was relieved to find
young Mr. Bretherton vi^aiting with
outstretched hand to greet him.

Together they entered the library,
where the Governor sat, a courtly figure
amongst his books, the stateliness of
a bj^one century blending with his
geniality. He greeted Jesse Craft with
a kindly cordiality, which immediately
set the old man at his ease.

Very soon, indeed, Craft had taken the
floor and launched into his narrative.

"I gathered from what I heerd down
yonder. Governor, that the sarpent has

THE AVE MARIA.

683

a plot afoot to take over the property
of Evrard Lennon which your son
inherited."

"The 'sarpent,' as you call him," said
the Governor, with a smile, "has not,
as you seem to suppose, devised this
plot. He has sinned rather in keeping
his knowledge of the affair secret."

"That may be," replied Craft; "but
if the yarn I'm goin' to spin doesn't
knock that vile endeavor of his into
splinters, I'm a Quaker, and I can't
say more."

The Governor, despite his preoccu-
pation, and the real grief and morti-
fication which these revelations had
occasioned, could not help being amused
at the strongly typical personage before
him. He regarded him with kindly
interest; and Jesse Craft, encouraged
by the affability of the great man, for
whom he had always felt a profound
admiration, pursued his stream of talk
for some moments uninterruptedly.

"Governor, when I first seen your
son come back from furrin parts, I took
his measure instanter. Well, it wasn't
long after that when Miss Tabithy's
niece comes home, and the young man
got desperate fond of Miss Tabithy."

Here Craft chuckled and shook his
head delightedly, while Jim laughed and
reddened; and the Governor regarded
them both with amused and tolerant
eyes.

"Battered old hulk as you see me, I
knew the ways of youngsters, and that
it was jest a step from the aunt to the
niece. After nomination night, I hadn't
no doubt in the world how the land
lay, and I was tarnation glad. For I
tell you what, sir, there ain't such
another young man as your son from
here to Californy, — not exceptin' the
Britisher, and he's a fine feller, too.
And as for Mi.ss Lenora, there ain't her
match this side the Jordan."

The Governor's eyes were dimmed
with an unwonted moisture as he
listened to this eulogium upon his

idolized son and the girl whom the
latter had chosen as a wife; for he
guessed that the guileless - hearted old
man before him was a shrewd observer,
and that his impartial testimony was
well worth having.

" Now, it being ordained that your
son was to have for his wife one of
the sweetest w^omen that ever drew the
breath of life, and he bein' calculated
to make her about as near an approach
to a good husband as I know of, what
does the enemy of mankind do but
sends along a pestiferous sarpent ? And
that sarpent's name is Knox, — Ebenezer
Knox, called Eben for short. He played
the very deuce with Miss Tabithy, and
he worried poor Miss Lenora most to
death. He had the gall to talk of
marryin' her; and he set to work to
bowl out young Mr. Bretherton, and
to terrorize the old w^oman into givin'
him her niece. Part of his game, as I
gathered the other day at the mill, was
to get Evrard Lennon's property for
his old witch of a housekeeper. He
claims that she's Janet Maxwell, but I'll
be jiggered if she could ever have been
a l)eauty ! "

Craft's expression of disgust and
incredulity was so irresistibly comic
that the father and son laughed in spite
of themselves.

"I think," said the Governor, "that
Knox was much more anxious to gain
certain ends of his own by suppression
of facts than to secure her inheritance
to Janet Maxwell, whom we have every
reason to believe identical with the
woman called Moulton."

"Whether that woman be Janet
Maxwell or not," declared Jesse Craft,
solemnly, "she was never the legal wife
of Evrard Lennon."

Father and son turned a glance of
interested inquiry upon the old man ;
but the Governor observed quietly:

"We have Evrard Lennon's own
evidence to the contrary."

"And I have evidence on top of that

684-

THE AVE MARIA

to prove he was mistook!" cried Jesse
Craft, leaning forward in his excite-
ment, and putting his hand upon the
Governor's knee. "Take my word for
it, she was never his wife."

" Even a common \a.-w marriage
holds good in equity," dissented the
Governor; "whereas the validity of
this union is placed beyond doubt."
. ^Not if the woman had another
husband livin' ! " shouted Jesse Craft,
triumphantly. ^

"Certainly not in that case. But
how are you going to make good such
a supposition ?"

"That's what I'm comin' to in the
yarn I'm goin' to spin. And, mark you
before I begin, the woman wasn't to
blame, no more was Evrard Lennon.
The husband had been given up as
dead."

A hush fell upon the room as the
Brethertons, father and son, prepared
to listen to the singular story, which
had so unlooked-for a connection with
their own destiny. Human lives are
bound into one vast chain by links
so numerous, so curiously formed, and
so far-reaching, that it is -impossible
to predicate where they may begin or
where the}' may end.

The picturesque figure of Jesse Craft,
crowned by his silver hair, was incon-
gruous in that stately apartment,
and in marked contrast to its other
occupants. Yet his sturdy dignity, his
impressive manner and dramatic ges-
ture, as he proceeded, seemed to lessen
this incongruit}', and to justify his
presence there.

" 'Twas off the coast of Greenland, on
a whaler, that I first fell in with Brind
Janssen. He was a Norwegian, but he
had shipped many times on vessels
bound for these shores. We had a
hard voyage that time, and we suffered
from mortal cold. We had mighty
fine sport, though ; and we speared the
carcasses of whales nigh a hiindred
feet in length. We got our share of

profit, too ; but that's neither here not
there. Brind was a silent sort of cuss ;
but one night, when we was shiverin'
over the fo'castle fire together, and the
ice-wind was howlin' about the vessel,
Brind says to me:

" ' Mate, you hail from Massachusetts,
don't you ? '

" ' Vermont,' says I, — for it was before
my comin' to Millbrook.

"'It's all one,' says he.

"'No, it ain't, sir,' says I. 'But I've
been often enough in the State of
Massachusetts.'

"'Do you know a place called Mill-
brook ? ' says he, — and he spoke English
well enough, though he had a queer,
furrin twist to his tongue.

"'I do,' says I, wonderin' what was
comin' next.

"'Did you ever set eyes there,' said
he, 'on a lass called Janet Maxwell?'

"Now, you could have knocked me
down with a feathci' when he put that
question, for a reason that I'll tell you
presently. And the next words he said
staggered me more than ever.

'"She's my wife,' he says. 'We've
been married this five years. Three out
of the five I've been cruisin' about in
these waters ; but I've enough saved
now, and I'm goin' back to keep her
in comfort for the rest of her days.'

"While I was beatin' my brains
what to say to him, if he took it into
his head to ask any more questions, he
went oti:

'"She's a purty lass, — Scotch, but of
gipsy stock.'

" ' She is purty,' J says. ' I seen her once
when I was in Millbrook. And you're
not like to quarrel, seein' that you're
at a jafe distance from each other.'

"The wind howled, while we was
talkin', as if Old Nick himself was in
it ; and we heerd the cracklin' of the
frost outside, and stuck close to the fire.

"'We have one child,' says he again,
'and it's called Janet after the mother.'

"Well, sirs, I never told Brind what

THE AVE MARIA.

685

I knew of Janet Maxwell, thinkin' he'd
find out time enough, when the voyage
was over. He said it was goin' to be
his last cruise ; and it was, true enough.
He died and was buried in mid-ocean
ten days out from an American port.
He charged me with a message to Janet
Maxwell and how she was to get at
his savin's. And from that day to
this I was never able to find her."

Jesse Craft paused to take breath,
while the two men, who had followed
his narrative with the deepest interest
and emotion, uttered exclamations of
w^onder.

" You haven't heerd the curiousest
part of it yet," resumed the old man,
proud of the sensation he had created.
"It had happened one day before I
come to live in Millbrook, and before
I had taken that cruise with Janssen,
that I had some business in one of
ihem little towns on the borders of
this State. I was sittin' in the justice's
office, jest as I'm sittm' here now,
when in walked a couple to be married,
and a handsomer couple I never set
eyes on. The woman was young and
purty, and the njan as handsome as a
picter. I guessed right away that he
was some ' big bug ' actin' without the
knowledge of his folks. Anyhow, I
was called in to be a witness, and
that was the very first time I ever heerd
the name of Evrard Lennon. The girl,
Janet Maxwell, owned up, when it
came to signin' her name, that she was
a widow, and that her first hnsband
was Brind Janssen. She said he was
a sailor, and had been drowned some
time previously, off the Orkney Isles."

"What a wonderful chain of circum-
stances!" exclaimed the Governor, —
"that you should have afterward met
the other husband far off on the shores
of Greenland ! "

"And I couldn't make up my mind
to tell him of the marriage I had wit-
nessed. For one thing, I was .scared

that he might let fly and blacken both
of my eyes; and for another, I was
afeerd it might break his heart. And
so I was glad after, as a body mostly
is, for havin' held my tongue. When I
got back to the United States and came
to Millbrook, the first thing I heerd
was that Evrard Lennon was dead, but
there was neither trace nor tidin's of
Janet Maxwell till to-day at the mill."

After finishing his recital, which led
both father and son to the conclusion
that truth is, indeed, very often far
stranger than fiction, Jesse Craft was
suitably refreshed, and his ancient
tobacco pouch was well stored with the
very finest brand of the weed he loved.
Jim Bretherton also took him about
the place, showing him every detail
and enjoying his quaint comments upon
the sights. When he had been sent
away again, in the company of Nort
Jenkins, with whom he held a somewhat
one-sided conversation all the way to
town, father and son were left together.
They stood in the spacious hall. The
Governor was about to ascend the
stairs, and his son stood leaning on the
lower rail.

"Those two people," said the former,
impressively, "entered into that mar-
riage contract in good faith, and it
was Evrard Lennon's intention to
provide for the woman he supposed
to be his wife. What do you think
of the matter, my boy ?"

Jim Bretherton raised his head and
looked at his father, the light falling
full upon his face, and the portraits
of his ancestors seeming to gaze upon
the noble figure of their descendant.

"I think, sir," he said, "that we are
bound— though not legally, of course, —
to act as if it had been a genuinely
valid marriage, and to make ample
provision for the woman."

"You are right, mj' son!" said the
Governor. "And I am rejoiced that
j'ou take so just a view of the fiffair."

I To be conlinucd. )

686

THE AVE MARIA.

A Friendship of Saints.

ST. BASIL and St. Gregory Nazianzen
were born almost at the same
time, — one at Caesarea in Cappadocia,
in 317 ; the other at Naziarizen, in 316 ;
and hence both belonged to the Church
of the East, as well as to families
glorious by their sanctity. Basil's
father, his mother Emelia, his sister
Macrina, his two brothers Gregory of
Nyssa and Peter of Sebaste, are en-
rolled in the number of the saints. As
to Gregory, his mother St. Nonna, his
brother Cesarius, his sister Gorgonia,'
shared a like honor. At the time of his
birth his father was still a pagan, but
he did not long delay being baptized ;
and the ardor of his faith, zeal, and
charity, added to his natural virtues,
gave him such prominence in the Church
of Nazianzen, that four years after his
conversion the voice of the people chose
him to fill the vacant episcopal See.

Like Basil, Gregory from his child-
hood gave proofs of extraordinary
genius and virtue. Study, piety and
chastity were the companions of their
early years and young manhood. Both
went to Athens when about the same
age, to complete their literary and
scientific education; and from the first
days of their acquaintance they formed
those ties of friendship which never
w^ithdrew them for a moment from
the higher love of God. They lived
together in studied retirement, and had
their goods, labors, and recreations
in common.

"We had the same object in view,"
writes St. Gregory, "and sought after
the same treasure — virtue, — hoping to
secure eternal union by fitting ourselves
for a happy immortality. Each served
as master and guardian to the other,
thus mutually spurring ourselves on
to the practice of piety; holding no
intercourse with companions of irregu-
lar lives, but frequenting the society of

those whose modesty, discretion, and
prudence might strengthen us in the
pursuit of good. We knew but two
streets in Athens— those that led to the
church and to the school. The way to
the theatre and places of public diver-
sions was absolutely unknown to us."

Foremost in the strife after virtue,
the two friends also held the first
places in the pursuit of science and
letters. To rhetoric and philosophy,
for which Gregory felt an irresistible
attraction, Basil joined an excellent
knowledge of geometry and astron-
omy. His chest was weak and he
had frequent illnesses, which made
him undertake the study of medicine,
especially in its moral aspect. His
eloquence was so remarkable that the
famous orator Libanius, who wor-
shiped art for art's sake, never pro-
nounced Basil's name but with enthu-
siastic delight, and seemed carried
beyond himself every time he heard him
speak in public.

So much talent, learning and virtue
excited universal admiration, so that
wherever Athens and its schools were
spoken of, the friendship of Basil and
Gregory was mentioned with reverence.
Gregory saw the ascendency which
superior genius and sublime energy of
character gave to Basil; but it awak-
ened no feeling in his heart except joy
for the success of his friend.

Among its innumerable students,
Athens had then a youth of twenty
on whose lamentable career the eyes of
the world were to be fixed in after
years. Short in stature, with thick
neck and sharp, wandering eyes, Julian,
the future apostate Caesar, nephew of
the Emperor Constantine, even at that
early day hid, under a hypocritical
nicety of manner and garb, an intense
hatred of Christianity and a wild dream
of the revival of paganism.

Shrewdly foreseeing the influence that
Basil and Gregory would one day wield
over their contemporaries, Julian tried

THE AVE MARIA.

687

to ingratiate himself into their friend-
ship ; but an invincible repugnance kept
them aloof, and Gregory was able
even thus early to sound the heart of
the future apostate. Seeing him pass
one day through the streets of Athens,
he exclaimed: "What a monster the
Roman Empire is nourishing in her
bosom ! God grant me to prove a false
prophet! "

At length the two friends had com-
pleted their course of study, and were
forced to bid adieu to each other and
to Athens. All the city rose as one
man, and masters and pupils ahke
gathered around them, imploring them
to stay yet awhile in their midst. Basil,
invincibly attracted by that love of
solitude that made him one of the
greatest promoters of Eastern monas-
ticism, was inflexible; but Gregory's
more yielding character allowed him to
remain and accept a chair of oratory.
Soon, however, unable to resist his
friend's entreaties, he sacrificed position,
pupils, fame, and set out to rejoin
Basil in his Cappadocian retreat. His
charming letters recall with regret the
memory of those too short moments
passed amid the sweet austerities of
religious life.

"Who will- give me back the psal-
mody, the watchings, the elevations of
the soul to heaven in prayer, the life
freed from the body, the concord, the
union of heart that pressed me forward
toward God, under your direction, dear
Basil? Who will restore to me that
emulation, that ardor for virtue, con-
firmed and strengthened by your rules
and written laws — that study of the
Divine Word, — that light which flooded
our souls under the inspiration of the
spirit of God ? To descend to particu-
lars, I have not forgotten the least
detail of the well-regulated labors that
filled our days, wlien by turns we cut
wof)fl, dressed stone, planted trees, and
irrigated the fields. I bear in memory
still the plantain, more precious far

than the golden tree of Xerxes, where
sat, not a king in regal pomp, but a
poor monk bewailing his sins. I planted,
Apollo watered. By Apollo I mean you,
my cherished friend! God gave it to
grow up for an hour, as a monument
of our assiduous labors, just as He
preserved in the Ark the miraculous rod
that bloomed in the hand of Aaron."

In such accents the poetic, saintly
soul of Gregory bewailed his separation
from his friend Basil. Born about the
same date, they were also raised to the
sacred ranks of the priesthood at nearly
the same time, and under the same
circumstances. In those troubled days,
when Arianism ravaged the Church,
and Julian the Apostate revived, under
a less violent but more perfidious
and dangerous form, the persecution
of Christianity, the faithful, in their
hunger for true pastors, imposed the
burden of priesthood and episcopacy
on the holiest and most eloquent of
their number.

Gregory, thus laid hold of by the
Christians, was led by force to the
feet of his aged father, the Bishop of
Nazianzen, to receive the imposition
of hands. Like a victim fleeing from
the sacrifice, the newlj'-ordained priest,
terrified by the responsibilities of his
office, and deeming himself unworthy of
the honor and incapable of the sacred
ministry, immediately after the cere-
mony fled into the desert, to his friend
Basil. But the faithful followed him
and brought him back ; and then,
overcome by their entreaties, and
encouraged by his father, he gave
himself up wholly to the exercises of
his priestly life.

Nothing could be more touching than
the explanation of his flight, in which
he begged their pardon, promising never
to leave them again. We quote the
peroration of this admirable discourse,
in which Gregor3''s love for his people
breaks forth in accents of heavenly
beauty :

688

THE AVE MARIA

"I have returned to you, and here
shall the remainder of my life glide
by, with no other care or anxiety but
for you and your eternal interests.
Here as my own guides I shall have
my hoary -headed father and vener-
able mother, — a father like to the
patriarch Abraham, aged bej'ond his
years through his tenderness for me;
a mother, a true Sarah, who gave
me birth to spiritual life. God is my
witness that for their sakes I would
have sacrificed all my inclination for
study, oratory, philosophy. In return-
ing to you, I returned also to them;
and this thought, I acknowledge, has
strengthened my courage. ' Fugitive
from God,' I said, 'go where God calls
thee ! ' And now, bishops and priests
who surround me, flock of Christ, pious
faithful gathered about my pulpit, here
I am ! Behold me, venerable father,
who didst give me a twofold life, —
behold me prostrate at your feet,
humbled, conquered, subjected to your
authority by the divine law of Jesus
Christ. I vow obedience to you. In
return, deign to bless me! The blessing
of a father strengthens the house of
his children. May we be thus con-
firmed and strengthened in sanctity,
0 spiritual house of Nazianzen, that I
have chosen as the place of my repose,
that I shall exchange nevermore but for
the abode of the first-born who have
graven their names on the pillars of
the eternal home!"

He kept his word, and remained at
Nazianzen, the prop and stay of his
venerable father, who lived to the age
of one hundred years. Gregory closed
the patriarch's eyes in death, and
succeeded him in the government of the
diocese, until the will of God called
him temporarily to Constantinople.

In the meanwhile Basil, torn from his
solitude and bis religious bj^ the voice
of the people of Casarea, had been
ordained to the priesthood; and later
on, despite the threats of the EmiJeror

Valens, raised to the dignity of metro-
politan of that See by the choice of the
assembled bishops of the province.
Immediately after his election he wrote
to Gregory, imploring him, in the name
of their friendship, to come to his
assistance in the terrible charge laid
upon him. It may be permitted us to
quote, as a last proof of this undying
friendship, a few lines from the answer
of Gregory, who was forced to resist
his tender pleadings :

"I desert you, dear, sacred head?
How did such a word escape your lips ?
How, even supposing me guilty, could
your pen trace it? Did not your soul
revolt, and the paper tear itself away
from the hand that wrote such a line ?

0 reminiscences of our youth ! 0 school
of Athens ! O labors, virtues, pursuits
in common, — whither are yoii flown?
But pardon me! I allowed myself to be
carried away by the vehemence of my
feelings. Still, in very truth, do you no
longer know me ? Could it ever be that
Gregory would be indifferent to what
interests you? What does Gregory
admire and love among the things of
earth, if not 3'ou ? Your voice rules all
my soul. They may tell you that I am
bereft of reason, but never truly that

1 forget or desert you."

What human tenderness in the soul of
a saint! Where can it be sought and
found, if this be not true friendship?

One word from Basil's answer to
Gregory will suffice, for it comprises all :
"Helenius has brought me your letter.
The anguish that I have suffered you
liave shared. One only consolation,
remains to me— your friendship: that
I prize Jjeyond aught of earth."

We must pass over in silence, as not
quite within the scope of our subject,
the labors of all kinds undergone by
Basil during his fruitful episcopate, —
his struggles for the liberties of the
Church against Arian bishops and
emperor, with their tools and par-
tisans. But we can not refrain from

THE AVE MARIA.

689

mentioning his works of tharity and
mercy, which were wonderful even for
a saint ; and his earnest pleadings for
assistance for the suffering brethren
that made Mr. Villemain, in his exquisite
studies of the Fourth Century, style
him the "preacher of almsgiving." We
will first listen to an address by Basil
to the rich, then see him in the exercise
of his apostolate of charity.

"You all know well," he said to the
faithful of Cicsarea, gathered about his
pulpit, "the giant ruius that overhang
our city like a great pile of artificial
rock. I can not tell the epoch at which
these dismantled walls were built, but
I know that even then there were poor
in Ca-sarea; and the rich, instead of
providing for their maintenance, sank
their riches in this senseless architecture.
What is.left of their expended fortunes?
The breath of Time has thrown down
their colossal structures as if they were
mere child's toys, and the master of
these ruined palaces now lies groaning
in hell. When I enter the luxurious
homes of the unfeeling rich, and gaze
upon their magnificent gildings and
furniture, I think in my heart: 'How
foolish is the man that lavishes his
wealth on inanimate creatures, whilst
he neglects the cultivation of his own
soul!' What comfort can you find in
your ivory tables and gilded couches,
when at your door thousands of fellow-
beings are craving bread ? . . .

" But you will say : ' I can not provide
for all the needy, I can not succor all
the wretched.' Yea, and I answer:
' The rubies, diamonds, sapphires in the
rings you wear might ransom twenty
captives irom the debtors' prison where
they languish; 3'our wardrobe could
clothe an entire tribe of the destitute;
and yet, in face of such extravagance,
you refuse a mite to comfort the
indigent. Have yon forgotten the threat
of the Sovereign Judge, that if your
heart remains sealed against mercy, if
you drive the i)oor from your door.

you in turn shall be driven from the
Kingdom of Heaven ; if you refuse
a morsel of bread to the needy, 3'ou
will be refused entrance into eternal
life ? Know for a certainty that the
bread you do not eat belongs to the
hungr3' ; the clothes you do not wear,
to the naked ; the gold you do not
expend, to the poor and destitute."

These seemingly harsh words hide
under their apparent severity all the
tenderness of Jesus Christ, and are but
a faint reflection of the great principle
of human brotherhood. And who, in
presence of Basil's works, could dispute
his right to use such language ? The
whole city of Ciesarea had seen hSm,
despite his infirmities, braving the
contagion of an epidemic, to devote
himself to the stricken, — housing, feeding,
clothing, consoling the wretched during
a famine ; and daily beheld in their city
a monument of his charity that excited
the envy of the world. At the city
gates the holy Bishop laid out a kind
of annex, containing a series of peculiar,
attractive buildings,— hospitals for the
sick of both sexes, homes for the aged,
the infirm, and the incurable; places of
entertainment for strangers, and schools
fur little children.

These different establishments were
separated by large gardens, and at
the extreme outer boundary was the
lazaretto, the objective point of Basil's
most frequent visits. He embraced the
lepers with the tenderness of a loving
brother. In the midst of this real "city
of God," which public gratitude named
"Basiliade," a vast church, adorned
with all the splendor befitting the
sacred worship, towered aloft as the
centre of all consolation, overlooking
the asylum of all affliction. A com-
munity of monks, with the Bishop for
superior, served the men, while widows
or consecr.ited virgins filled the same
offices toward the women. An alm<jst
incredible number of keepers, infirma-
rians, teachers, and serving brothers,

690

THE AVE MARIA,

peopled this kingdom of charity, of
which Basil was the founder, head, and
animating spirit.

Thus, in the very face of paganism,
one great man, working out the inspira-
tions of faith, planned and perfected
beneficent institutions that have never
been surpassed or even equalled in
succeeding ages, — not even in our own
day, that claims the credit of inventing
such establishments, whereas in reality
it has often degraded them by giving
God no part in their workings. Is it
to be wondered at, after such prod-
igies of charity, that the death of Basil
filled the city of Cjesarea with con-
sternation, and drew tears from every
eye? "Never was such a gathering
seen before," said St. Gregory Nazianzen,
in the funeral oration he pronounced
over his friend; "and the grief of the
multitude would have touched even the
most insensible. Pagans, Jews, stran-
gers,— all wept alike. At one moment
the universal mourning threatened a
calamity. Under the pressure of the
dense crowd, several persons expired ;
and, instead of bewailing their loss,
the people cried aloud, proclaiming
the happiness of those who died for
Basil."

At the end of his panegyric, Gregory
gave free vent to his tears and personal
sorrow. "Why do I linger here below,
when the half of my being has been reft
from me? Can life be borne without
such a friend ? How long shall my
exile and separation from him be
prolonged ? Each night he returns to
me. I gaze upon him, and hear his
words of comfort, reproof, or exhorta-
tion. But v^hy mingle my wailings
with my praise? I would fain retrace
his life, that I might propose to the
imitation of all souls a perfect model
of every virtue."

At the very moment he thus mourned
for his friend, and pronounced his
panegyric, St. Gregory Nazianzen, so
enamored of peace, retirement and

study, summoned all the sublime energy
and generosity of his character to make
the greatest sacrifice of his episcopal
career. Despite the repugnances of his
naturally calm, poetic disposition, he
accepted the most formidable position
in the Christian warfare of the times ;
and, yielding to the entreaties that
came to him from Constantinople, he
set out for that new Rome which for
forty years had made and unmade
bishops at its wUl, and had been, owing
to the cowardice and cupidity of its
emperors, the stamping ground of
rampant Arianism.

"What is to become of me?" he
exclaimed on setting out. "Basil is
no more; Cesarius, too, is torn from
me. The brother of my soul has gone
to rejoin my brother by nature. I am
ill in body, and old age is bowing my
head ; cares pour in upon me," labors
multiply, and my friends desert me.
The Church has lost its shepherd ;
good is dying out, and evil alone is
flourishing. I must steer my course
through the dark night alone. Christ
sleepeth."

Thus, while marching bravely on to
the field of battle, he poured out the
sorrow with which nature and faith
flooded his soul.

On reaching Constantinople, he found
all the churches in the hands of the
Arians, and the Catholics so poor and
oppressed that they could not even
give him a suitable residence. He was
obliged to take lodgings in the upper
story of a friend's house, where, in
fasting, prayer and tears, he meditated
on the condition of his wretched flock.
A raursel of bread anc} a handful of
herbs boiled in water were his sole
nourishment; and yet, despite his
absolute destitution, the .\rian faction,
lording it over the city and its deluded
inhabitants, trembled at his coming,
as if Theodosius himself had arrived
among them to avenge the wrongs of
the Church of God.

THE AVE MARIA.

691

By means of eloquent entreaties and
the mild inculcation of his strong
doctrines, St. Gregory was not long in
forming for himself a powerful party
in Constantinople; and his improvised
basilica was daily thronged with eager
multitudes, hungering after his words.
Nevertheless, on the arrival of Theo-
dosius, the majority of the people, who
did not know the new Emperor, and
thought him favorable to the Arian
bishop, Demophilus, showed themselves
hostile to Gregory. The saint himself
will best describe his interview with
Theodosius, and their entrance together
into the basilica of the Holy Apostles.

" At my approach, the Emperor loaded
me with marks of his benevolence and
tender affection, expressing his wish
that I should assume the episcopal
title of Constantinople, and officiate
solemnly the following day in the
basilica of the Holy Apostles. 'The
entire city ask for you as their bishop,'
he said ; ' and God makes use of me as
His instrument to open the gates of
His holy temple, and reward your
generous sacrifice.' This speech terrified
me. I knew full well the fury of the
Arians, and foresaw scenes of bloodshed
and carnage. I took the liberty of
remonstrating with the prince, express-
ing at the same time my gratitude for
his goodness to me. He reassured me
with a smile, confirmed his decision,
and bade me meet him ia the palace
the following morning at break of day.
I was faithful to the appointment.

"A thick fog covered the city as
with a sombre veil. The basilica was
occupied by an armed soldiery; and,
outside, the people, trembling with
suppressed rage, were ready for violence.
On all sides, from as many throats
as the sands of the seashore, rose
cries of hatred against nie. Nothing
could be heard but sobs and tears
and uproar. The Emperor, surrounded
by a military guard, left the palace.
I walked before him, pale, trembling,

hardly able to breathe. On everj' side
my eyes met only looks of rage, and I
kept them fixed on heaven. The heroic
Emperor, calm and imperturbable, con-
tinued his route, until, hardly knowing
how, I found myself within the vast
basilica, where, prostrate before God,
and raising my hands to Him, I intoned
a hymn of thanksgiving, in which all
the clergy joined.

"At that moment, by a favor of
Heaven, the sun, bursting through the
clouds, filled the whole place with
dazzling glory. The gloom of darkness
seemed to yield to the light of Christ,
and a thousand fires lit up the holy
tabernacle. ' Gregory, our Bishop ! '
burst unanimously like a thunderclap
from the converted populace, and was
repeated without interruption until I
made a sign that I wished to speak.
The agitation was calmed, and I said :
'My brethren, cease, I pray you, to
proclaim my name! It is now the
moment for thanksgiving. There will
be time enough for other things after-
ward.' These few words met the
approval of Emperor and people. The
holy mysteries were celebrated in silence
and recollection. When I left the sacred
basilica, from which I never expected
to go forth alive, the crowd knelt to
kiss my hand ; and the triumph of
Catholicity was achieved without the
shedding of even one drop of blood."

Thus the heart of an entire people,
and the heart of God Himself, were
won by the calm courage of a hero
and the humility of a saint. But this
day of triumph was destined to, have
a counterblast, wherein the murderous
rage of the enemies of the Church vied
with the generous calm of its pastor.

"While I was confined to my bed by
illness," continues St. Gregory, "a dark-
visaged crowd entered my room and
wakened me with a start. ' What will
you have, my friends ? ' I asked. — ' To see
you,' they answered, 'and thank God
and the Emperor for giving us such a

692

THE AVE MARIA

Bishop.' Then they knelt to get mj^
blessing, and withdrew, except one
young man with pale face, disordered
hair, and glaring eyes, who remained
in a corner of the room. After some
moments of terrible anxiety, I beheld
him casting himself at my feet in tears
and sobs. ' Wlio are you ? ' I asked.
' Whence come you ? What service can
I render you ? ' Without answering my
questions, he redoubled his tears and
groans, and cbisped my hands convul-
sively. I tried to raise him, and, filled
with pity for his condition, I too wept,
when he confessed that the Arians had
employed him to murder me. 'I came
for the purpose of committing a base
crime, O my father! Can my tears
ever expiate such guilt?'— 'Go in peace,
my child,' I said ; ' and may God protect
you as He has protected me! For the
future think only of making yourself
worthy of Him and of me.'"

St. Gregory did not long govern the
Church of Constantinople. The council
convened the following year by Theodo-
sius had hardly confirmed his election,
when he seized the first opportunity
of resigning a dignity which his age
and humility made him consider far
beyond his strength. He returned to
Nazianzen, to pass, the rest of his
days in retreat, meditating on his ap-
proaching end and on the evils that
threatened the world.

From his copious poetr3'^^, in which
pure doctrine and ardent piety are
clothed in elegant language, we shall
cite only a few short frag i.ents from
a drama "The Passion of Christ,"
that has been praised alike by Chris;-
tian antiquity and modern critics.
"One scene peculiarly touching and
bold when viewed in the light of the
Gospel narrative," says Mr. Villemain,
"is specially worthy of admiration.
The Mother of Sorrows standing at
the foot of the Cross has just obtained
from her dying Son the pardon of
St. Pjter."

The Chorus. I hear sobs and wailing; I dis-
tinguish one voice whose broken accents reach
niv ear. A criminal confesses a grievous guilt, and
implores the mercy of God. He strikes his breast
and pleads on. I recognize in him the Apostle
Peter. lie keeps aloof, his face bathed in tears;
and now, overwhelmed by his grief, he lies prone
on the earth.

The Mother of (iou. Why weepest thou,
Peter? Thy fault was grave, but is there not
time yet to crave its pardon ? O my Sou, my
well-beloved Son, Incarnate Word of God, let
fall from Thy lips a -sentence of mercy! To err
is human. Peter fell from fear of men.

Christ. Virgin, my Mother, thou dost ask
it, and I pardon Peter's sin, as I have ever
granted the pleadings of thy indulgent tenderness.
Thy tears purchase every grace, and break each
sinner's bonds. Pear no denial when thy praj-er
is for the guilty, even for those who nail Me
to this infamous wood.

The Mother of God. O gentle Son, Thy mercy
is infinite! In dying by the hand of man, Thou
ceasest not to love him. He nails Thee to the
cross, and Thou hast only words of pardon in
return.

After the descent from the Cross
and the burial of our Redeemer, the
Blessed Virgin stands before the Sep-
ulchre, and there unfolds in sublime
words the mysteries of the present
and the future:

Grant me yet one word to this glorious
tomb! O gentle Son, Thou dost now enter the
sanctuary of the dead, crossing the threshold of
the realms of darkness! The diizzlin;; light of
Thy countenance shines upon the ancestors of
the human race. Adam, the fattur of mortals,
cast oft' the fetters of death at the sound of Thy
voice. Thou wilt conc|uer the sleepers in the
tomb, and with Thy liberty wilt make them free.
Thy death hath vanquished Death. From the
tomb where Thy bodv restcth. Thou wilt soon
come forth, resplendent with glory, to take Thy
place at the right hand of the Father, the
iniiuortal King, the Eternal God, associating
human nature to the triumphs of Thy divinity.
Thy ha:'^ will still distribute crowns and change
the lot of empires.

O Jerusalem, ungrateful cily, know that thou
hast crucified thy unknown God, and that
hereafter divine vengeance will scatter the race
of Israel to every quarter of the globe! I see
unquenchable fire licking the walls of thy
palaces, the Roman torch lighting U]) the
sacred precincts of thy temple. O sanctuary of
God, O city so long cherished, O rampart and
tower of David, home of the Prophets, how

THE AVE MARIA.

693

art thou changed into a heap of bleeding corpses
and smoking ruins! What lamentations can
Ijespeak thy sorrow I

And in the prayer that closes this
admirable drama, the poet-saint hursts
out into an appeal to the Virgin Mother
of God, with a confidence never sur-
passed in after ages.

Hail, Virgin Mother, joy of all hearts, beautiful
beyond all virgins, raised above the choirs of
the celestial court, sovereign Mistress of heaven
and earth, pride' of humanity, be ever merciful to
the race whose one unsullied bloom thou art I
O my Queen, grant me condonement of my sins
and the salvation of my soul !

So sang, in the accents of a Homer,
in language that the proudest verses
of "Athalia" never surpassed, an aged
Bishop of the fourth century, — a poor
monk, an unrivalled orator, a saint,
gentle yet strong of heart, w^ho had
relinquished the See of Constantinople
and the favor of Theodosius to die in
the little town of Nazianzen, immor-
talized by his holiness and genius.
What obstinate freethinker will dare
to affirm in good faith that these two
great men, Basil and Gregory, are not
an honor to the human race, — their
talents, their labors, their charity, their
contempt for worldly grandeur, not a
glory to the world as well as to the
Church their lives adorned ?

What most people call "deep and
earnest convictions" on political and
social topics are generally muddle-
headed medleys of knowledge of fact
and opinion. They know that such
and such a thing is an evil,^ind they
opine that they see a way to amend it ;
and if wi.ser people point out to them
that the evil would not be so amended,
or that greater evils would accrue
from the attempt, they only feel that
their "convictions" are affronted and
opposed by cold-blooded calculations.
This kind of opinion is often as confi-
dent as actual knowledge.

— Qoventry Patmore.

Sayings and Stories of the Blessed Cur6
of Ars.

THE new Life of Blessed Jean-
Baptiste Vianney, by M. Alphonse
Germain, though charmingly written,
adds little to our knowledge of the
celebrated Cure of Ars. The well-known
work of the Abbe Monnin, Kathleen
O'Meara's delightful volume, and the
beautiful little book by Father Bowden,
together with the homilies, seem to
comprise all that can be learned con-
cerning the holy priest lately enrolled
among the Blessed. Of all the sayings
and stories gathered by M. Germain,
the following are least familiar; to
some readers they will doubtless be
altogether new; in any case they are

well worth repeating.

«
• *

People of the world say that it is
too hard to w^ork out one's salvation ;
and yet nothing is easier. Keep the
commandments of God and the Church,
and shun the seven deadly sins. That
is all; or, if you prefer it. Do good
and avoid evil.

Here is an excellent rule of conduct:
Do only what you can offer to the good
God. Of course we can not offer Him
slanders, calumnies, hatreds, impurities,
injustices, vengeances, and the like. Yet
this is all that the world offers Him.

If we only knew the value of the
Holy Sacrifice, or rather if we had faith,
we should be more eager to assist at
it. All the pra)'ers of the Mass are
preludes to Holy Communion ; and the
whole life -of a Christian ought to be
a preparation for that sublime action.

We go to confession preoccupied with
the shame which our sins occasion in
us. We confess like a steam-engine
{h 111 vapeur). Many, it j^
to confession, not many
I believe it, my brethren,
their sins with tears <l
The trouble is that we (l

694

THE AVE MARIA

If one were to say to those who work
on Sunday, to those who get drunk,
"What have you done? You have
crucified Our Lord," they would be
amazed. Sinners do not think of this.
My brethren, if we were to remember
it, w^e should shudder; we should be
prevented from doing evil.

The way to overcome the devil when
he suggests thoughts of hatred against
those who do us injury, is to pray at

once for their conversion.

«

The Blessed Cure was once asked in a
sneering way, "What teacher did you
have in theology?" — "The same as St.
Peter," was the meek reply.

A talkative woman complained of
being prevented from speaking with him
for three days. He replied: "We shall
converse in paradise."

Another woman, a widow, more
curious than pious, wanted to know
whether her husband was in purgatory.
" I have never been there," was all that
the holy Cure would say to her.

To light-headed people who demanded
to be told their vocation, he was accus-
tomed to answer: "Your vocation is
surely to go to heaven."

To one who importuned him for relics,
the holy priest replied, with a smile,
"Make some! "

On the return, after a long absence,
of the Abbd Toccanier, his friend and
fellow - priest, the Cure welcomed him
with these kindly and gracious words:
"Ah! my friend, here you are again!
What happiness ! I have often thought
that the reprobate must be very
wretched at being separated from the
good God, since we suffer so much in
the absence of those we love."

Notes and Remarks.

It will be a day of deep disgrace for
Protestant missionaries of a certain sect
should the facts relating to their prop-
aganda in Hawaii ever be laid bare.
"That secret history," says Mr. Charles
Warren Stoddard, " is yet to be written ;
and when it is published, this new book
of revelations will appall the gentle
reader, — though it will scarcely astonish
the natives." We sincerely hope that
such a book will never see the light.
The infamy of the Rev. Mr. Hyde and
the Rev. Mr. Gage is more than sufficient,
we trust, to satisfy the generality of
readers. From letter^ published in the
Honolulu papers, and more recently
in the New York Times, it appears that
Mr. Hyde's crime is more monstrous
than was supposed. Years before his
death, he learned from a brother
missionary that his infamous charge
against Father Damien was utterly
false; and yet he failed to withdraw
it! He deserved the awful castigation
which he received at the hands of
Robert Louis Stevenson even more than
Father Damien's defender had any idea
of,- or than the public could realize.

Justice has never been more poetic
than in the case of the apostle of the
lepers of Molokai. At long last he has
been vindicated by a minister belonging
to the same sect as his traducer,— by
the reluctant admissions of the Rev.
Dr. Pond of Honolulu.

Go to Mary for the royal heart of
innocence. She is the beautiful gift of
Gbd» which outshines the fascinations
of a' bad world, and which no one
ever sought in sincerity and was dis-
appointed. — Newman.

Some remarks of Mr. Goldwin Smith
in the New York Sun, by way of reply
to a c^uestion we had ventured to put
to him — he does not answer it, — goto
show how useless it is to argue about
miracles with a confirmed unbeliever.
Mr. Smith denies the possibility of
mrracles. It is not a question of evidence
or testimony. He does not believe in
miracles, therefore no nliracles are
wrought, or ever have been wrought

THE AVE MARIA.

695

therefore again, any person, or any
number of persons, of whatever class
or condition, claiming to have witnessed
a miracle are under some sort of
delusion. After examining the proofs,
categorically set forth, of the instan-
taneous cure of a case of varicose veins
by means of the Water of Lourdes,
Huxley is said to have remarked: "If
I were to believe in a miracle at all,
I would believe this one sooner than
any miracle related in the Gospels." He
w^as not disposed to accept the proofs,
though he was disposed to ignore
them. This, according to Mr. Smith,
is the scientific temper, despite all
that has been said about the necessity
of an open mind in all scientific inves-
tigations. Predisposition either way,
to deny or to affirm about anything
extraordinary, is not the attitude of
the true scientist, however, — Mr. Smith
to the contrary notwithstanding. Mr.
Smith is under the impression that his
incredulity regarding the liquefaction
of the blood of St. Januarius nullifies
all testimony in proof of that marvel, —
which is a delusion on the part of
Mr. Smith.

In a recent number of the Fortnightly
Review, Dr. Crozier fell afoul of Mr.
H. G. WeUs, asking what the author
of "Modem Utopia" has added to
the Science of Sociology, and generally
minimizing the work of that highly
imaginative writer. In a reply to his
critic, Mr. Wells reiterates the thesis
implicitly contained in his book, —

Which thesis is that the so-called Science of
Sociology is not a science at all ; that the large,
copious writings upon Sociology of Comte, of
Herbert Spencer, of Mr. Kidd and of Dr. Crozier
are interesting intellectual experiments of ex-
traordinarily little permanent value; and that
the proper method of approach to sociological
questions is the old, various and literary way,
the Utopian way of Plato, of More, of Bacon,
and not the nineteenth century pneumatic style,
with its constant invocation to "biology" and
"scientific" history, and its incessant unjustifiable
pretension to exactitude and progress There

is no science of sociology, there is no science
of economics, but only an elaborate exjjansion
of certain arbitrary and unjustifiable assump-
tions about property, social security, and
human nature. There is also, if one may glance
at the Fabian Societj-, no "scientific" socialism.
Because writings upon any subject are recogniza-
bly not literature, it does not follow that they
are scientific. Because a work has imagination,
it does not, as Dr. Crozier seems to think, cease
to be a contribution to thought.

Mr. Wells was accused by Dr. Crozier
of ignoring the past, of not wishing to
have men learn from the past ; " and by
spelling it," says the former, "with a
capital P, he gives it a sort of technical
air, and gets an effect of really believing
that my dismissal of the scientific
claim of Sociology is a refusal to use
the material of history and anthropol-
ogy. Absolutely the reverse is the case."

In the concluding paragraph of his
reply, the imaginative author is thus
outspoken :

Please notice that I have been trailing my
coat-tail for some time, loudh- denjing scientific
authority to Sociology, emphatically disputing
dignified and respected claims, and asserting the
Tightness of the literary, poetical and Utopian
method of dealing with these things, and that
Dr Crozier's is as yet my only reply. I have
been disrespectful to Comte and Herbert Spencer,
disrespectful to Mr. Benjamin Kidd ; to all
"scientific" Socialists, my gestures go to the
very limits of permissible disrespectfulness. It is
not, however, true that I disdain the Past.

Discussing the support and encour-
agement which Catholics owe to the
distinctively Catholic press, the prelates
of Australia utter a word of warning
that is at least as timely in this
country as in that over which they
exercise immediate jurisdiction. The
latter portion of the following extract
from their recent pastoral letter is a
vigorous condemnation of a criminally
thoughtless course of action, of which
too many American Catholic parents
are unfortunately guilty:

It is to be ftared that many of our people do
not realize their responsibility in this matter.
They do not take the interest they should take
in the welfare of the Church, and so they are

090

the: AVE MARIA.

content with tlie small quantity- of news about
the Church they get in the secular papers. This
ia not as it should be. Those who can afford
to subscribe to a Catholic paper, should do so.
Some, indeed, are so heedless in this matter as to
spend their money in the support of periodicals
that are positively hostile to religion and a
danger to Christian morality; and they seem
to think it no harm to bring into their homes,
and under the eyes of their young children,
pages that must plant in unsuspecting minds
the seeds of indifference to the truth of Catholic
faith and to the sanctity of Christian virtue.
Such carelessness is criminal, and would readily
be condemned as such if it were question of the
adulteration of the bodily food of their children.
But, since it is a question of poisotiing the mind
instead of the body, they are so blind to the
spiritual welfare as not to see the harm for
which they are responsible.

Supervision of the reading of their
children is nowadays an imperative
duty on the part of Catholic parents;
and the father who is indifferent as to
the nature of the books and periodicals
habitually devoured by his sons and
daughters is either a criminal or a fool.

Not the least of the trials which con-
verts from Anglicanism have to bear is
the substitution of the Revised Version
of the English Bible, with its lucidity
and dignity and beauty of diction,
for the Douay version, the English of
which is frequently clumsy and not
infrequently obscure. In reply to a
correspondent who asks,." Why should
the Anglican Bible be forbidden to
Catholics?" the editor of the Bom-
bay Examiner makes this important
observation: "The Authorized Version
represents the best talent of the English
nation in the zenith of its literary his-
tory; while the Rheims- Douay was
produced by exiles working under the
most adverse circumstances. Moreover,
the Catholic translators took up a
principle of literalism which certainly
sacrificed elegance to accuracy, and
which cherished rather than removed
the obscurities of the original text."
Father Hull then proceeds to explain
the Church's attitude toward non-

Catholic versions of the Scripture,
showing that the prohibition which
cuts off the faithful from all connection
with the Protestant Bible propaganda
is both reasonable in theory and bene-
ficial in practice. His answer to the
lament that Catholics are deprived
by this legislation of the use of what
would greatly increase their pleasure
and understanding of the Bible, on
account of greater lucidity of style and
literary charm, must be quoted in full:
The conclusion to be drawn from this lament
is not that the Church shoiild give up her prin-
ciples or make an exception to her general laws.
The real conclusion is that we ought to set
to work at once in good earnest, and provide
ourselves with a Catholic translation which
would meet the demand, instead of going outside
for it. No one who knows the Douay version
can fail to recognize the truth of our corre-
spondent's criticism of it, as "often clumsy
and obscure." The reading of the. Epistles and
Gospels every Sunday is demonstration enough,
if demonstration were wanted, of the urgent
need for improvement in parts. No one ever
wrote so severe a stricture on our present Douay
text as Cardinal Wiseman, one of whose plans
was to put the work of a new translation into
the hands of Newman. The collapse of that
noble scheme was nothing short of a calamity ;
and we can only hope that the Church in
England will yet provide us with an authorized
edition of the Bible which shall remove from
Catholics any temptation to run outside for
what ought' to be supplied to them from within.
Haifa dozen scholars could be named in England
at the present titne who, with the immense
facilities of scholarship and previous versions
at their disposal, could accomplish the work
within two years The only wonder is. Why
has it not already been done?

The revolution in Russia, the upris-
ing of the Poles, and recent events in
other countries, recall some words of
Dr. Brownson which would be inter-
esting merely as an illustration of his
strong faith, deep sympathy with the
masses, and thorough understanding of
democratic tendencies. He wrote:

A new political order seems to us to be rendered
inevitable by the popular movements of modern
times. It seems to us that there is to follow,
perhaps throughout all Christendom, after a

THE AVE MARIA.

697

more or less protracted struggle, an era of
popular governments. The people are to take
the place of the old kings and nobles. Whether
this will be a change for better or for worse, we,
perhaps without offence, may be permitted to
regard as problematical; but that it is to be,
we regard as inevitable. The Church will con-
form, and we see that she is already conforming,
to the new state of things. It is in accordance
iivith the principles on which she has always acted
to accept the new state of things, when once
established. The new order being the popular
order, the Church will accept and sanction the
popular order. The Church, which has always
been on the side of the people, will hereafter,
we venture to predict, he on the side of what
is called popular liberty; and the triumph of
the Church and of the people will Ije celebrated
together.

These words are all the more remark-
able from the fact of having been written
tipward of half a century ago. Cardinal
Manning made a similar prediction, but
that was long afterward.

It is like refreshment in a desert land
to meet with thoughts hke the following,
after long reading of wordy books and
vapid newspapers. The most lauded
volumes often prove to be dull or
inconsequential, and the average paper
is sometimes least readable when sub-
jects of greatest interest are being
treated. It is a long time since readers
could turn from the perusal of a book of
essays to the editorial page of a news-
paper without experiencing something
like disgust. We quote from .Mr. Hamil-
ton Wright Mabie and the Rev. Henry
Van Dyke respectively:

Surely there is need that the lesson set for Job
should be studied by the men and women of
to-day, whose first impulse when any pain falls
on them is to challenge God, and whose passion-
ate response to any hardship which comes to
them in their relations with society is to tear
down and cast aside the ancient order which has
slowly and with infinite pain built up the home,
and set the family in it, and made it the shrine
of love. ,

« #

Cannil)alism is dying out among the barbarous
tribes: the Fiji Islanders have given it up; but
it still survives .-imung the most highly civilized
|x;oplc». Vou might find vimrMlfMi some difficulty

if you invited a company of friends to a feast
in which the principal dish was to be a well-
roasted neighbor. Everybody would refuse with
horror, and you would probably be escorted
to the nearest lunatic asylum. But if you wish
to serve up somebody's character at a social
entertainment, or pick the bones of somebody's
reputation in a quiet corner, you will find ready
guests and almost incredible appetites.

How cruel are the tender mercies of the
wicked! How eager and indiscriminate is the
hunger of the gossip ! How ciuick some men are
to take up an evil report, and roll it as a
sweet morsel under their tongues, and devour
their neighbors— yes, even their friends! Perhaps
some of my readers are doing it even now,
chewing the cud in secret. "Yes," you are
saying, "this passage applies to So-and-so. And
he certainly is a dreadful gossip. I remember
he told me — " Stop, friend! The passage was
written for you and me.

If all who write to be read instead
of writing against space were to take
their readers a little more seriously, and
aimed to rouse thought rather than to
provoke smiles, serious reading would
doubtless become popular,— at least a
great deal more popular than it is.

It is so seldom that the lines of our
foreign missionaries fall in pleasant
places, that unusual interest attaches to
a letter which Father Audren, C.S.Sp.,
sends from Zanzibar to the Missions
Cntholiques. As he describes it, his
district is a veritable El Dorado among'
mis.sions. "Boura, where I am," he
says, "is a missionary station in the
interior of the mysterious continent, in
the domain of lions and tigers, eighty
leagues from the Indian Ocean, and
thirty from the highest mountain in
Africa. Although only a couple of hun-
dred miles from the equator, the climate

is temperate rather than hot Here

spring is perennial ; roses bloom all the
year round, and the strawberry we
have with us always. We plant
potatoes every month ; they grow well,
and wc never eat any but those that
are 'new.' Wheat yields si.xty-fold ; and
all the other cereals, including black
corn, thrive abundantly. Very slight

698

THE AYE MARIA.

labor on our part furnishes us with
superb vegetables, and we eat cauli-
flowers from January to December.
There is excellent fishing, too. All the
fruits you have in France, and those of
torrid climes also, develop here wonder-
fully. We have two hundred coffee
plants flourishing so well that the same
stock bears both flowers and fruit."

From a governmental as well as a
climatic viewpoint, the missionaries of
Boura are singularly blessed. Zanzibar
is a British protectorate; and Father
Audren, wishing to secure a deed of the
mission property, recently applied to
the English Governor. "What area do
you ree[uire ? " asked the latter. — "Two
hundred hectares," replied the priest. —
"That's not enough, you'll find. I shall
give you five hundred." On the whole,
we think it likely that there are many
w^orse places on the home mission even
in this country than this exceptionally
pleasant corner of the Dark Continent.

Newspaper correspondents in various
parts of the country are denouncing
the customs of surgeons in calling "suc-
cessful" those operations in which the
patients die. There is some point in the
denunciation, too. While, of course, it
is quite possible that in a technical
sense the operation, as such, may be
skilfully performed, and so far successful
that the immediate result aimed at
is achieved, ordinary lay people, the
patients and their friends, will persist
in qualifying as "successes" only such
wieldings of the surgical knife as
appreciably restore the health of
those operated upon. The non- medical
man may not be speaking with
scientific accuracy when he says that
So-and-so died from an operation, which
the surgeon declares to have been,
qua operation, entirely successful ; but
w^hether death supervenes as the imme-
diate, or only the indirect consequence
of the knife, makes very little difference
to either the subject or the subject's

relatives. Smiles relates somewhere
the story of a French surgeon who
astonished an English confrere by the
statement that he had performed some
fourscore different times an exceedingly
diflicult operation which the Englishman
had attempted less than a dozen times.
The latter's patients, however, had
without exception recovered, whereas
the Frenchman admitted: "Ah! with
me the patients all die; but the opera-
tion vsras very brilliant."

Although persecution of Christians
in China has been frequent and severe
during late years, and many native
converts have been called upon to
sacrifice their lives for the Faith, we are
assured that few pagan countries at the
present day are so ready to embrace
Christianity as the Celestial Empire.
In his new book on "China and
Religion," Prof. Parker bears witness
that, in spite of all opposition, the
Church has more than maintained its
position among the Chinese. Year by
year the number of missionaries has
been augmented, and they have mightily
increased the record of converts. Mr.
Parker states that, whereas in 1866
there were 263 European and 24-2
native priests, having care over
383,580 Christians, at the present time
there are 1,063 European and 493
native priests, 4,961 churches and
chapels, and 803,000 Christians.

A notable" characteristic of Chinese
converts is their devotion to the Blessed
Virgin. The Sisters of Charity at
Ningpo, to whom we lately had the
pleasure of sending an offering for their
mission, tell us that "no good Chinese
Christian would think of retiring to
rest without chanting the Rosary, no
matter how tired or weary he might
be. In the evening we see hard-worked
fishermen kneeling in their little boats,
with their wives and children, fervently
singing away, quite regardless of their
pagan surroundings."

The Twins' Thanksgiving.

OR several days there had
been quiet in the Van
Dusen household. The very
idea of quiet in connection
with any place where the
twins were pleased to take up their
abode, was in itself a sufficient cause of
alarm. Not that they ever prolonged
that blissful state for more than a few
hours' enjoyment, anyway; for, mis-
chievous little spirits that they were,
they declared it their "solemn duty to
enliven the dulness of the neighbor-
hood" by such tricks as they alone
could devise. Everyone, however, had
noticed a most decided change in the
recent behavior of the twins.

It was remarked by the jubilant Mrs.
Van Dusen that the great change had
set in since Father McAllister's sermon
on the previous Sunday's Gospel. It
was either the text itself, or the earnest,
appealing manner in which the pastor
expounded it, or perhaps the absence
from the front pew of the fat lady
who usually attracted their attention;
but, at any rate, something had made
a deep impression on the twins.

"'Go ye therefore into the highways,
and as many as ye shall find call to
the marriage,'" they were frequently
heard to murmur, mysteriously. " Now,
what do you think that means
exactly ? We'd like your own sermon on
it, too, — that is, if it's quite orthodogs,
you know," they asked of almost every
person they met ; and would then settle
down to an animated discussion of the
opinion good-humoredly given.

The impending excitement, however,
soon reached a cri.sis. The powers had
evidently come to an agreement, and

with characteristic energy they pro-
ceeded to action.

" Mamma," said Betty, hastily enter-
ing Mrs. Van Dusen's boudoir, where
the mother was busy writing invi-
tations for a Thanksgiving dinner, —
"mamma, we've just decided to give
a little party, ourselves, in the nursery
next Thursday night. It's to be very
private, and we don't want any
inter — inter — "

"Ruptions," beamed Bobby. "Got
you there, didn't I, Betty? Yes," he
added, "and we must get lots of good
things to eat for — "

"O Bobby, that's all you can think
about ! I declare you're quite common !
No, that's not the point at all." And
Betty proceeded to settle herself with
a businesslike air, until Mrs. Van Dusen
was free to attend to her.

The mother readily agreed to Betty's
plan, and promised, much to the twins'
delight, to give the cook the necessary
instructions.

The great day arrived. Amid all
the excitement and commotion of the
preparations for the grand dinner,
the twins remained perfectly calm, as
though it were the most ordinary day
of their lives.

"We'll sit here with you," Bobby
announced to the footman at the door.
"We'll receive our friends ourselves, —
you might scare them."

"They might forget their cards," cor-
rected Betty, after a vigorous pull at
Bobby's jacket by way of reminder.

And soon their own guests did arrive,
cordially received by the twins, but
much to the bewildered footman's dis-
comfiture. Such a motley group had
never before graced the stately entrance
of Aylmer Hall. There was "Old Jim"
with his wooden leg; Mrs. Grundy,

700

THE AVE MARIA.

the apple - woman, "all stiff in thejints
with rumatiz"; the deaf sewing-girl
who lived way up in an attic, and
whose hospitality the twins especially
delighted in when "running away";
and, lastly, the little newsboy whose
friendship they had secured by taking
him home with them once before to
the pantry.

Such a- fine supper as it was, too,
with turkey, sweet potatoes, ice cream
and cake, and everything else a loving
boy's heart could suggest ; for the menu
was distinctly Bobby's charge. Betty's
hand was seen in the pretty decora-
tions about the room, and in the
little candy turkeys at each plate for
souvenirs. Her masterpiece, however,
threw a white light upon this Thanks-
giving entertainment ; for right over the
doorway on a huge paper sign were
seen these words, in much belaboi^ed
print :

"Go ye therefore into the highways,
and as many as ye shall find call to
the marriage."

"You see, it really isn't a marriage,"
they explained to the puzzled Mrs.
Grundy; "but it's a good dinner and
a feast, which, after all, is the thing;
for we went to Aunt Margaret's
wedding, and we know."

Just above the grate fire, which filled
the whole room with warmth, was
Bobby's choice of mottoes: " Many are
called but few are chosei)." And still
again was seen a mutual contribution
hanging on the wall itself: " Wedding
garment needed. Can't come without."

It was the sight of this last placard
which now roused the jubilant hosts ;
and, in spite of yearning glances
toward the table, the guests were
strictly forbidden to touch "even a
cranberry" until the twins returned.

They returned soon, however, much to
the general relief; and each guest was
presented with a mysterious -looking
white square, greatly resembling a pil-
lowcover with slits for head and arms.

"Wedding garments," the twins ex-
plained. "Put them on. We're the
waiters, and we'd have to put you out
if you didn't wear them, — see?"

" Here, Mrs. Grundy, this one's for you.
Hope it will fit. It's the biggest in the
house," continued Bobby. "I just pulled
if off the best bed." And he chuckled
at the remembrance.

Nothing abashed, but laughing mer-
rily, all sat down to the table, which
fairly groaned beneath its burden.

"Oh, it's grand! It's just grand!"
the twins agreed, while removing the
courses, which they did to perfection, —
breaking only three dishes. "Doesn't
it make you feel good only to see
them?" And they danced in delight.

Soon the guests declared that they
"just couldn't eat another thing," and
they willingly assembled around the
hearth fire to be regaled with some
of "Old Uncle Jim's" stories of times
"Before the War."

Presently they heard a knock, quickly
followed by an excited cry of ' ' Fire !
fire! The hall lamp's burst!" And all
rushed to the door.

It was Mrs. Grundy's presence of
mind that saved the day.

"Be still with you now," she com-
manded; "and be after bringing some
blankets, — quick ! "

Bobby and Betty, followed by the
sewing - girl and the newsboy, soon
appeared with comforters stripped off
the nearest beds; and "Old Uncle Jim"
wrapped them around the lamp and
extinguished the fast -spreading flames.

"My! how fortunate to think you
were passing just at that moment and
saw it—outside ! " said the startled Mrs.
Van Dusen, appearing a few minutes
later. "How can I thank you all! You
have indeed saved our house and
perhaps the lives of our children."

"Mother," exclaimed Bobby, proudly,
"these are our g'licsts ! They were
here for our party to-night." And he
formally introduced each by name.

THE AVE MARIA.

701

Though somewhat taken aback, the
mother smiled and shook hands with all.

"From the highways, you know,"
beamed Betty. "Doesn't it fit right in?
These were the only ones with wedding
garments."

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Bobby. "And
my motto fits, too ; for, you see, while
a whole lot were called to come and
eat, ours were the only ones chosen to
save us, and keep the house from being
burned down." Katrina.

Gem Lore.

BY FLORA L. STA.\FIELD.

v. — PEARtS.

The pearl, from its association with
all that is pure and innocent, has often
been termed the gem of the Blessed
Virgin. In the Ages of Faith, when it
was a common practice to leave money
or jewels to be applied to the adorn-
ment of Our Lady's statues, it was
usual to stipulate that the gems chosen
be pearls. Indeed, there have been
handed down to us many of her
gowns, girdles, and crowns of which
pearls form the chief decoration.

These beautiful gems have another
distinction — that of requiring no polish-
ing or cutting to make them perfect,
being shapely and lustrous when dis-
covered in the shell which is their home,
and proudly disdaining all aid from the
hands of artisans.

Various theories have been advanced
to account for the formation of pearls.
In the time of the ancients it was
thought that they had their origin in
drops of dew which found their way
into the shell of the pearl oyster; but
in modern times it has become generally
believed that little irritating grains of
sand are the foundation around which
a pearly secretion gathers. In fact,
certain experiments have proved this
to be true, and many pearls have

been formed after the sand has been
introduced artificially.

We read of pearls in the earliest
recorded writings; and, so far as
history goes, they have always existed.
Eastern nations being especially fond of
them. The Persian nobles were in the
habit of wearing a large pearl hanging
from the right ear ; and the gay young
men of Athens wore earrings in the
shape of small bells, a pearl forming
the clapper of each one. Similar orna-
ments have been found in the ruins of
Pompeii.

The story of the pearl dissolved and
swallowed by Cleopatra is well known.
A similar incident is related of an
English merchant, Sir Thomas Gresham,
who lived during the reign of Queen
Ehzabeth. He was enormously wealthy ;
and as he owed much of his prosperity
to his Queen, he felt called upon to extol
her on every occasion. At one time -the
Spanish ambassador was lioasting of
the wealth of his own sovereign, when
Sir Thomas remarked: "My Queen has
subjects who at one meal can expend
a sum equal to the daily revenue of
Spain." Saying this, he took from his
pocket a pearl worth 75,000 dollars,
made a powder of it, which he put in
a glass of wine and then drank to the
toast: "Queen Ehzabeth, our Sovereign
Lady ! " One can not help wishing that
so enthusiastic a champion had had a
more worthy object of devotion.

Pearl oysters are found in many parts
of the world, in both salt and fresh
water; and are procured by divers, who
prepare themselves for their dangerous
task by a severe course of training.
Their bodies are rubbed with oil, their
nostrils and ears are stuffed with
cotton, and a large stone is usualiv
fastencd about the waist to facilitate
the descent. Forty or fifty trips are
usually made in one day, the divers
of certain Eastern countries using their
toes as well as their fingers in picking
up the oysters. The stay under water

702

THE AYE MARIA.

is from one to two minutes. In recent
years the diving-bell has been brought
into use by the pearl fishers; and
doubtless the old-fashioned, dangerous
method of hunting the beautiful treas-
ures will in time be entirely abandoned.

Pearls are found of various colors,
the yellow ones being most highly prized
by some people, notably the Chinese.
In Buddhist temples, many pink pearls
are found in the ornamentation; and
sometimes a pink pearl is placed in the
mouth of the dead. "What are called
black pearls are not uncommon.

These gems are not always round,
being often formed in the most fantastic
shapes, and then called baroque pearls.
Pearls are very sensitive to surrounding
influences, and are injured by contact
with noxious vapors. The Romans
called them by the name of margarita ;
so every "Maggie" should be fond of
pearls.

The largest and finest pearl in exist-
ence to-day is in the possession of the
Shah of Persia. It is valued at some-
thing like a million dollars. The crown
jewels of the monarchs of- the Old
World contain many other wonderful
specimens of these lovely objects which
rank so high among the beautiful gifts
of God to man.

The Patron Saint of Scotland.

When Our Lord passed by John the
Baptist, who stood with two of his
disciples upon the banks of the Jordan,
the Forerunner said, " Behold the Lamb
of God ! " and the two bystanders rose
and followed Christ. One of them was
named Andrew, the son of Jonas, and
he was a fisherman of Bethsaida in
Galilee. It was he who, having become
a devoted follower of Our Lord, sought
out his brother Simon Peter and
brought him to Christ.

After the years spent in following his
Master, St. Andrew travelled far and

wide as a missionary of the Cross, —
going to Thrace, Macedonia, Epirius,
Scythia, and finally to PatrjE. There
he met his death, receiving the cross of
martyrdom in A. D. 70, at the hands of
the Roman consul. After having been
cruelly scourged he was crucified, but
w^as fastened to the cross by cords
instead of nails, so that his death might
be a lingering one of hunger and thirst.
A Christian lady of high rank,
Maximilla by name, caused the saint's
body to be embalmed and buried at
Patrte; but in the fourth century the
Emperor Const an tine removed if to
Byzantium, and erected for the remains
the Church of the Twelve Apostles.
This, however, was not their final
resting-place ; for in A. D. 368 a Greek
monk named Regulus conveyed them to
Scotland, and built a splendid church
for the relics upon the coast of Fife;
and thus St. Andrew became the patron
of Scotland. Every good Jacobite
knows the old roundelay:

St. George he fights for England,

For France is St. Den-n&,
But St. Andrew is for Scottish men

Who dwell upon the Dee.

To the Bitter End.

When a man speaks of pursuing a
course of action to the bitter end, he
means that he will follow it to the
last and direst extremity — to death
itself. While the phrase, in this sense,
has the sanction of good usage, it is
probable that originally the expression
was "to the better end." This latter
form is used properly to designate a
crisis, or the moment of an extremity.
When in a gale a vessel has paid out
all her cable, her cable has run out
to the "better end,"— the end which
is secured within the vessel and little
used. Robinson Crusoe, in describing
a terrible storm, says: "We rode with
two anchors ahead, and the cables
veered out to the better end."

THE AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

703

-In an article on "Recent Gaxtoniana," by Mr.
PoUard, in the Library for October, convincing
arguments are given in favor of the theory that a
contemporary likeness of Caxton is to be found in
an engraving there reproduced.

-We learn from the Atbenmum that Mr
Reginald Balfour is to be associated with Mr
Wilfnd Ward in the editorship of the Diihlin
Reyww, a new series of which will begin with the
next number.

-"The Decline of Darwinism" is a sixteen-page
pamphlet by Walter Sweetman. It is an excellent
exposition of the latest phases of the system with
which the name of the great evolutionist has come
to be identified. Published by the London Cath-
olic Truth Society.

Zll'' ^^a^'"i"«n Co. announce a new edition

r, I l^u '"" °^ *''" ^'"''" ^y '^-«« Agnes M.
Llerke. The work has been thoroughly revised
and largely rewritten; and novelty has been
given to the illustrations by extensive substitu-
tion, suppression and additions. It is not gen-
erally known that Miss Gierke, who ranks among
the foremost scientific writers of the day is a
native of Ireland, where she has a host of friends
not less appreciative of her worth than of her
accomplishments.

— The Rev. John Fitzpatrick, O. M I has
arranged and edited another little book of 'selec-
tions from the works of Father Faber. This time
the thoughts are on prayer, and the extracts
make a compendium of the teaching of the Church
on this subject. Among the points touched upon
are mental and vocal prayer, answers to prayer
and the power of prayer. Part II. has for a head-
ing " Distractions and their Remedies." This little
book is published by R. and T. Washbourne'
Messrs. Benziger Brothers, American agents. '
-Directors of sodalities and others whose duty
It IS to provide suitable devotions, hymns and
music for religious services in chapels, confra-
ternity rooms, etc., will welcome two books
lately issued by the Notre Dame University Press
-the "Holy Cross Hymn Book," and the piano
and organ score of the same. A large number of
beautiful hymns -some of the best of them are
new and were written for this collection-are pre-
sented ; and the music to which they are set
ongmal and selected, has been carefully revised by
a competent professor. Besides hymns, motets
etc.. the "Holy Cross Hymn Book" contains a
great variety of prayers for public services and
private use. together with an excellent Mass
book, the psalms and antiphons for Vespers the
litanies in general use, etc. etc. Both books are of

convenient size, and well printed on superior white
paper, as all such books should be. The price of
the hymn book is 75 cts.; of the musician's com-
plement, $1.50.

-Educational Brief: No. 12, just published by
the Superintendent of Parish Schools, Phila
delphia, IS the Rev. Dr. Pace's excellen paper

Modern Psychology and Catholic Education "
kT" W t'^ P;"-"''^^'-. fro- the Catholic

mend the discriminating taste evinced in the
selection of matter for "Educational Briefs," and
we congratulate the publisher on this latest mani
festation thereof.

-Another volume of Lord Acton's letters is in
preparation, and it is stated that in the new
series the essential Acton will be presented -a
student of histoid unrestingly alert'to apply' his
endless erudition to the defence and elucidation
of contemporary Christianity. His own final

m w?h rT' 'U^^"'"^' '■^"^'""^ controversies
m which he figured is set forth by himself with a

rather than by design, was somehow eluded dur-
ing his lifetim/-."

-There is consolation of a certain kind for
Catholic authors and publishers in an article pub-
hshed not long since in the New York Indepen-
dent. On all sides is heard the discouraging

[nCafh '"r."''' '" '^P'"'" '""^ '^^'^ oiintfrJt
in Catholic hterature-the small sale of our best
books and the general neglect of our most deserv-
ing penodicals): "Our people are not a reading
class. Judging from the revelation made by the
Independent, however, they do not deserve this
reproach any more than other classes of Ameri-

n^-.^ I ' ^''^' '"^J°"*y "f P*^"!-'--- i" these

United States is confined to newspaper,', general J
of the yelfow variety, and to novels mostly of
the sensational sort. This is what-i„ part-
the Independent has to say on the subject

a IwrcntaBt of read,., of ^ri„„, .„„^, ^ "" ""■ "' ™all
back uptHls a^ertion „.. not:?o:f L/ .^^1?^
Fof example, there are at least twenty thous-inrt T .. *'

pretentious public libraries in the Un fed State n^t"''' /
■ng the little ones. If one-half „f these lltht „ ' e i

book, in this count" • New Yor^T r"". ""'''''' '"' ™^''

p»b>icabta.canja^j,r--«tv:Lr:p?:

704

THE AVE MARIA.

edition of more than two hundred and fifty or three hundred
e(»pies. The rea'liuj? of one-half of the Aineriean population
consists of ephemeral novels and newspapers. The reading
of the other iialf consists of the nickel magazines and "scare
heads "

There is no jrood in mere scolding, and when
undeserved it may do a ^reat deal of harm. Our
people, like all other people, may be confirmed in
their neglect by constant reproaches on account
of it. And we doubt very much whether Ameri-
can Catholics can justly be called a non- reading
set. Not to speak of papers and magazines, of
which we have a great number, all managing
to keep afloat, numerous books deserving to be
ranked as standard are published every year;
and the sale of tliem can not be so very small,
or we should oftener hear of Catholic publishers
going into bankruptcy. We will do our people
the justice to assert that when a really interest-
ing and well -written book on any subject does
not receive due welcome from them, it is the fault,
in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, of those who
stand sponsors for it. The trouble is that too
many books of exactly the same kind are issued,
and the newest are not always the best. People
can not be expected to purchase every book that
makes its appearance regardless of those already
in their possession. Does one buy a new umbrella
every time it rains ? Our publishers would do
well to advertise more and publish less. Anyway,
there is wisdom in the old Irish proverb: "If you
want to sell only a hen, take it to the middle
of the fair ground."

The Latest Books."
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this Hit i.: to niTbrd information
concerning iwportnnt r.cn- publicut.ons of i-jkcuiI
intercut to Catholic rcr.rkrs. The latest boohs will
appear at the bead, ohler ones he ing dropped out
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and nav
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may be sent to oar OtTice or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the U:htcd
States will be imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad.
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"Prayer." Father Faber. ;iO cts., net.

"Lives of the English Wartyrs." (Martyrs under

Queen Elizabeth.) $2 7").
"Joan of Arc." Hon. Mrs \'ax .vell-Scott. 7." cts
"The Life of St. Patrick, and His Place in

History." J. B. Bury, M A $3 25, net
"The Suffering Man-God." Pftie Seraphin. 75

cts., net.
" The Immortality of the Sold " Kev. Francis

Aveling, D. D. 30 cts., net: paper, 15 cts,

net.

"The S.inctuarj- of the Faithful Soul" Ven.
Blosius, O. S. B. 75 cts , net.

" The Little Flowers of St. I rancis of Assisi."
$1.()0 , net.

" Yolanda, Maid of Burgundy." Charles .Major.
$1.50.

"Addres,ses. Historical, Political, Sociological"

Frederic R. Coudert. $2.50.
" Life of Sir Thomas More, Knt." William Roper.

55 cts., net.
" Modem Freethought." Rev. J. Gerard, S. J. 30

cts.. net; paper, 15 cts., net.
"Theosop'iy and Christianity." Rev. Ernest Hull,

S, J. 45 cts., net.
"The Crisis in the Church in France." 25 cts.,

net.
" Forget- Me -Nots from Many Gardens." 45 cts.

net. .

"The Freedom of the Will." Rev. A. B. Sharpe,

M. A. 30 cts., net.
"The Household of Sir Thomas More." Anne

Manning 60 cts., net.

"Socialism and Christianity." Rt. Rev. Wm.
Stang, D. D. $1.10.

"English Monastic Life.' Rt. Rev. Francis Aidan
Oasquet, O. S. B. $2, net.

" Health and Holiness." Francis Thompson. 55
cts.

"A Girl's Ideal." Rosa Mulholland. (Lady Gil-
bert.) $1.50, net.

Obituary.

Remember tbcm that are in 6anrfs. — Heb., xiii.

Rev. James Clare, of the diocese of Sacramento ;
Rev. Gordon Thompson, archdiocese of West-
minster; Rev. John McCourt, diocese of Leaven-
worth ; and Rev. Angelus O'Connor, O. F. M.

Sister M. Benedict, of the Sisters of St. Joseph;
Sister M. Placida, O. S. B.; Mother M. Michael,
Sisters of St. Francis; and Sister M. Ignatius,
Sisters of the Good Shepherd.

Mr. E. B. Finefield, of Davenport, Iowa; Mrs.
W. H. Hill, Norwich, Conn. ; Mr. Frank Curley,
Bridgeport, Conn. ; Miss Julia McDonald, New
York ; Mr. Richard Haas, Erie, Pa. ; Mrs. Ellen
Grimes, Batavia, N. Y. ; Mr. Thomas O'Brien,
lIouSTon, Texas; Mr. Lawrence FarrcU, Trenton,
N. J.; Mrs. Esther Cadden, Mrs. Marie Hackley,
Mr. J. N. Kelly, and Mr. Charles O'Neill, Phila-
delphia, Pa.; Mr. Frank Gray, Indianapolis, Ind.;
Mrs. Anna Reynolds, New London, Conn. ; Mr.
Eugene McCarthy and Mrs. Annie Walsh, W'ater-
burv, Conn.; Mrs. Elizabeth Archibald. Antigonish,
Canada; and Mr. E. H. Miller, Rochester, N. Y.

Requiescaat in pace!

HENCEFORTH ALL QENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUKE, I., 48.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, DECEMBER 2, 1905.

NO. 23.

[Published every Saluiday. Copyrishl : Rev. D. E. Hudson, C.S.C]

Jam Sol Recedit Igneus.

Thanslatkd by Denis Florence McCabtht.

TJg)HILE now doth sink the fiery sun,
And swiftly stride the shades of night,
Give us Thine own eternal light,
O holy Godhead, Three in One 1

To Thee our Matin hymns we raise,
To Thee our Vesper songs are sung:
Oh, be our lot to stand among

The heavenly host and sing Thy praise I

To Thee, O Father, Thee, O Son,
To Thee, O Holy Spirit, be
Glory and praise unceasingly,

While the eternal ages run 1

The Religious Orders, and Devotion to
Our Lady.

BY MARIAN NESBITT.

T has been truly said that "the
religious Orders were central
schools of devotion to our Blessed
Lady." It would be almost
impossible, indeed, to overestimate the
services rendered by them in this
matter; and the annals of England
alone sufficiently prove how strenuously
the monks, and later on the friars,
labored to promote Mary's honor,
and to make her ever more and more
widely known and loved.

Amongst the most noted Benedictines
who, though not all of them English-
men by birth, .spent many years of
their lives in promoting the cause of reli-

gion in this country, may be mentioned
St. Augustine, St. Bede, St. Bennet
Biscop, St. Dunstan, St. Egwine, St.
Oswald of Worcester ; Alcuin, the
preceptor of Charlemagne; and last,
but certainly not least, the great St.
Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury —
"the father of scholastic theology."

This high-minded, noble-hearted man
had few equals among the learned men
of his day ; whilst his devotion to
our Blessed Lady, whose Feast of the
Immaculate Conception he was the
first to establish in the West, has done
as much as his marvellous intellectual
gifts and singular personal charm to
make his "an everlasting name."

The annals of Evesham, St. Alban's,
and other great Benedictine houses,
furnish us with numerous interesting
details regarding the love of the monks
for the Mother of God. At St. Alban's
Abbey, there was a procession every
week in "honor of Our Lady, the monks
wearing surplices " ; and we read that
the eighteenth abbot, Robert by name
(1151-1166), caused to be made "a
very beautiful image of Mary' (pulcbram
Mariolam) with its appurtenances."*
Again, we are told that on the west side
of the magnificent shrine of St. Alban,
erected by Simon, nineteenth abbot
(1166-1185), there was an image, in
high relief, of the Blissful Mother of
God, which image represented her
seated on a throne, holding her Divine
Son in her lap, "and adorned with

• "Gesta Abbatum Monast. S. Albani, a Thoma Wal-
singbam," ▼. i, p. 107. Rolls Kdit.

706

THE AVE MARIA.

gems and precious ornaments of gold."
It is recorded that William, twenty-
second abbot (1214-1235), gave a most
harmonious bell to the Lady altar.
This bell was called "Saint Marye,"
and was rung three times daily, to
summon the ministers - appointed for
altar duty, — namely, the six monks
w^hom Abbot William had ordered to
sing a daily Mass of Our Lady; the
monk whom he had chosen to be the
guardian, or custos, of her altar; and
" others of the faithful of Christ and
devout humble clients of the Blessed
Virgin," who at the voice of this Mary
bell hastened to pray for the prosperity
of the Church and their own.

It is a significant proof of the honor
paid to Mary that at that time, in all
the principal churches in England, "a
Mass of the Blessed Virgin was sung
each day to note." " Furthermore, it
redounds to the praises of the same
Abbot William," continues Walsingham,
"that he presented to our church a
most lovely image of the Blessed Virgin
Marye, vsrhich the oft-mentioned Master
Walter of Colchester had .sculptured
with the most consummate skill." This
celebrated image, known as "Our Lady
the Beautiful," was "hallowed" (or
blessed) by Bishop John of Ardfert,
and stood in the south transept, near
the chapter house. The wax candles,
"w^hich," says the old chronicler, "w^e
have been accustomed to wreathe with
flowers," were lighted before the statue
on the days and nights of Our Lady's
principal feasts, and in the procession
which was made in commemoration of
the same.

It is remarked of Hugh de Eversdone,
tw^enty-seventh abbot, that he had an
especial veneration for Christ's Holy
Mother. History tells us, moreover,
that the acts of this good abbot were
always on a large and generous scale;
and with him rests the honor of having
completed "in a praiseworthy manner,"
at the east end of the church, the Ladye

chapel which had been begun many
years earlier by John de Hertford.

Ere we quit St. Alban's, we must
mention, in passing, that in this famous
abbey church there was an altar of Our
Lady called of the Four Candles, or
Quatuor Cereorum ; so named because
four candles, offered by four officials of
the abbey, were daily lighted. Again,
we find yet another altar, erected
by Brother William Wintershalle, the
almoner of the abbey, before an image
of Our Lady which stood in the nave.

At Evesham, a very renowned sanct-
uary of the Blessed Virgin, we are told
that "there were in thys same chyrche
iii or iiii images of our blessyd ladye.
Sent Marye"; and before each image
hung a lamp, which was lighted at
every principal feast through "alle the
yere, both by nyghte and by daye."
"These lamps," the old chronicler
goes on to relate, "lightened all the
chyrche aboute." Before Our Lady's
altar in the crypt one wax light and
one lamp burned continually; also one
cresset by night. Cressets, it may be
remarked, were torches fixed on poles.
At the celebration of the Marye Mass,
twenty-four wax lights and thirty-three
lamps were burned daily.

It is interesting to find that Thomas
Marleberge, or Marlbarew, who was
prior of Evesham between 1218 and
1229, showed his devotion to the
Blessed Virgin in a very substantial
manner, by buying two shops in the
centre of the high street and giving
them to the support of the lights of
Our Ladye in the crypt. It is also
recorded of him that, "whilst he was
sacristan, he arranged with the chapter
that the lamps before the high altar,
and the altar of Our Lady in the crypt,
should be continually burning"; and
that, when prior, "he bought of Adam
Peterel a piece of land, the half of which
he devoted to alms, and the other half
to the lights of Our Lady in the crypt." *

• Sea "Chron. Abb. de Evcb.," p. 207.

THE AVE MARIA.

707

Bells dedicated to God's Mother were
given by different pious abbots ; whilst
Abbot William de Cheriton (1316-1344)
built the magnificent crenelated abbey
gate, one of the most noted features of
Evesham. This gateway was adorned
by him with stone statues of our
Blessed Lady and St. Egwine.

Another famous Benedictine founda-
tion was that of St. Edmundsbury,
formerly known as Beoderic-weorth.
The glorious abbey church attached to
this monastery was erected by Cnut,
and consecrated on St. Luke's Day,
1032, by .^gelnoth, Archbishop of
Canterbury, in honor of Christ, His
Virgin Mother, and St. Edmund, king
and martyr. It is scarcely necessary
to state that Lady altars and chapels
were not wanting here,^ notably (1)
that to the north of the choir; (2) Our
Lady's altar and chapel behind the
high altar; (3) the crypt of Our Lady,
under the shrine of St. Edmund.

One of the most distinguished monks
of this celebrated abbey was Dom
Galfrid Waterton, or Watretone. He
flourished about the year 1350, and is
said to have been profoundly versed in
sacred and profane philosophy. It is
a noteworthy fact that, amongst the
five works written by him, one was a
book on the Angelical Salutation, and
another a "Mariale," or treatise in
praise of our Blessed Lady.

The very ancient monastery of St.
Augustine, in Canterbury, which was
founded in 608 by King Ethelbert and
St. Augustine of Canterbury, must not
be forgotten in the long list of venerable
Benedictine houses where devotion to
Our Lady flourished exceedingly. This
devotion, as we have seen, took concrete
form in the shape of noble chapels and
richly adorned images; and the sanct-
uary, which was ultimately to become
so famous as the shrine of St. Thomas,
the martyred Archbishop, was noted
from its very beginning for memorials
of Mary. Here Ethelbert's son and

successor, Ethebald, built the historic
chapel of Our Lady, in which eventually
he and his wife Emma were buried, and
in which St. Dunstan had his visions.

So pleasing to the Queen of Heaven
was this oratory — which stood at
the east end of the monastery — that,
"according to the English proverb, it
was called the Sacrarium, or Vestiarium
of Marye"; and, continues the chron-
icler, "in it did the Mistress of the
world often appear; in it was the
brightness of miracles made manifest ;
in it the voices of angels and the
melodious strains of holy virgins were
frequently heard."

In an ancient document describing
the enthronement of William Wareham,
Archbishop of Canterbury, we find
reference to "Our Ladye at Rolles";
but of this image or representation of
the Blessed Virgin no other particulars
have yet been found.

The most celebrated memorial of Our
Lady in Canterbury cathedral, and
one to which pilgrimages, as well as
many rich offerings, were made, was the
noted chapel of Our Ladye Undercroft,
or in the Crypt. It may be briefly
described in the words of one who
visited it in the very zenith of its fame.
"From the shrine of St. Thomas,"
says Erasmus, in his " Peregrinatio
Religionis Ergo," "we returned to the
crypt. Here the Virgin Mother has an
abode, but somewhat dark, enclosed
within a double screen of iron, for fear
of thieves; for indeed I never saw a
thing more laden with riches. When
lamps were brought, we beheld more
than a royal spectacle, which in beauty
far surpassed that of Walsingham. This
is shown only to men of high rank,
or great friends."*

We have already mentioned St. Oswald
of Worcester as one of the great Bene-
dictines specially devout to Our Lady
during the early ages of the Church in

* See "Erasmi CoUoquia Amstelodarai," 1C44,
p. 418.

708

THE AVE MARIA.

England. He it was who, in A. D. 983,
completed the new minster, which he
dedicated to the Blessed Virgin, and in
which he erected twenty-eight altars.*
This famous church, founded in 678
or 680, and originally dedicated to St.
Peter, "was soon called St. Marye's."t
Indeed, as far back as the year 743,
we find it spoken of as "St. Marye's
Minster"; and, as has just been
remarked, when Oswald finished his
new church, he dedicated it, like the
older building, to the Most Holy
Mother of God.

Pre-eminent amongst the benefactors
of Worcester's grand cathedral church
is that true model of an Anglo-Saxon
lady, Godgifu, better known as Godiva,
Countess of Mercia. This gracious
w^oman, whose remarkable piety and
strikingly attractive personality have
been recorded not alone by St. ^Elred
but by numerous other historians, was
so singularly devout to Our Lady, that
she is said to have "denuded herself of
all her treasure for the making of the
sacred images." Her exceeding beauty
of face and form was far surpassed,
say her biographers, by her many gifts
of mind and heart. Lovely as she was
exteriorly, her soul would appear to
have been even fairer still, so richly
w^as it endowed with heavenly graces.

On the death of her husband. Earl
Leofric, in 1057, "Godgifu came to the
monks [at Worcester], and gave them,
for the health of his and her soul, three
cloaks, two curtains, two coverings
for benches, two candlesticks finely
w^rought, and a library ; desiring that
she might hold certain lands promised
by Leofric, during her life, paying yearly
a stipulated sum of money, and that,
at her death, they should return to
the abbey ; to which the monks readily
assented."

It is not surprising to learn that,
after this "religious Countess sent her

* See "Mon. Angl.," vol. i, p. 568.
t See "Angl. Sacra.," vol. i, p. 469.

steadfast soul to Christ," her body was
buried in one of the porches of the
magnificent abbey church of Coventry,
not far from the noted image of Our
Lady, to whom her dying thoughts
and affections had been given. It will
be remembered that Coventry Abbey,
which was once the glory of England,
but of which not a stone now remains,
was founded by Leofric and Godgifu.

So much for the monasteries. We
must now turn to the friars, whose
love for Our Lady has ever been a
household word.

The White Friars, or Carmelites,
propagated throughout Europe the
devotion of the Scapular which had
been revealed to St. Simon Stock at
Newnham. Simon was born in the
county of Kent, and history tells us
that when only twelve years old he
left his home to live as a hermit in
the hollow trunk of a tree; hence his
name of Simon Stock, or rather Simon
of the Stock. For twenty years he
led a solitary existence, passing his
lonely days in penance and in prayer,
until in God's good time the Carmelite
Friars came to England, and he was
admitted into their Order, A. D. 1212.
Later on, in the year 1245, on account
of his great holiness, he was elected
general by the chapter held at A3des-
ford, near Rochester. It is interesting
to find that, according to an old
tradition, the White Friars were called
"Our Lady's Brothers."

The Grey Friars, or sons of St.
Francis, have ever been conspicuous for
their devotion to our Blessed Lady,
and in particular to her Immaculate
Conception. First and foremost stands
the glorious patriarch himself, who
placed his three Orders under the pro-
tection of Mary conceived without sin.
Examples of the singular love of the
Seraphic Saint of Assisi for Christ's
stainless Mother might be multiplied
almost indefinitely; whilst trooping
down the dim avenues of Time comes

THE AVE MARIA.

709

a long procession of his most noted
children, whose illustrious names shine
like stars in the crown of their holy
founder. Antony of Padua, Bonaven-
ture, Bemardine, Duns Scotus, Gabriel of
Ferreti, — we know them all. We know
how loyally they strove to enhance the
honor of their Queen, how faithfully
and unfailingly they served her cause.
The most learned members of the
Order — and they have been many —
have, like Alexander Hales, and Scotus
the Subtle Doctor, devoted their great
mental gifts, their luminous intellects
to the defence of what has been called
r opinion Franciscaine, — in other words,
the special privilege of Mary's Immacu-
late Conception.

A beautiful Franciscan devotion,
one which spread rapidly throughout
the Order, is that known as the
"Crown of the Seven Joys of the
Most Blessed Virgin, or the Franciscan
Crown." This pious practice originated
about the year 1422. St. Bernardine of
Siena was one of the first to adopt it,
and he used often to say that to it he
owed all those heavenly favors which
were so freely bestowed upon him. This
Rosary of seven decades is always
worn by the Franciscan Friars.

The Black Friars, or Friars Preachers,
as the Dominicans were called, must
not be forgotten; though, indeed, it
seems superfluous to repeat the well-
known fact that it was they who
spread far and wide the Psalter of
Our Ladye, now familiar to us under
the title of the "Rosary."

Of the Servites, too, it is unnecessary
to speak : their very name implies their
sublime mission.

In conclusion, we may mention the
Gilbertines, so called after St. Gilbert
of Sempringham, in Lincolnshire, the
founder of the Order, who, it is inter-
esting to note, ordained in the rules
which he drew up for his children that,
unless there was any urgent reason
to the contrary, all the churches of

the Order were to be dedicated to
our Blessed Lady. Before his death,
St. Gilbert saw seven hundred brethren
and fifteen hundred Sisters following
his rule; and his Order is specially
remarkable as being the only one ever
founded in England.

Thus we see that the religious Orders,
both monks and friars, formed the great
mainspring of devotion to Mary ; and
their "glory is this, the testimony of
our conscience that in simplicity of
heart and sincerity of God, and not in
carnal wisdom, but in the grace of God,
we have conversed in this world."*

The Jewel of the Comaras.

BY GABRIEL FRANCIS POWERS.

ff^ UIDO was home on furlough, —
vU an immense event, as anybody
^ in Samhene could tell you. That
morning the coach — the one solitary
coach in town — had fetched him from
the station, and many a figure appeared
in the doorways as the rattling red and
yellow thing drove by. Some insisted
they had caught a glimpse of the
long, bright cavalry sabre; many had
seen for a moment, at the window, the
brown face looking out so happily.

Guido was the youngest of Baron
Comara's sons; but, though his two
older brothers were important enough
personages in themselves, the affection
of the community, for some reason
unknown, centred in Guido. Of course
Guido was a soldier, which partly
explains this romantic interest; for
another thing, he was handsome; and,
finally, Guido had a genial smile, a
ready hand -shake, a delightful way of
saying pleasant trifles; wherefore had
he honor and glory in the land.

The Comaras were not so wealthy as
they had once been; but Vv-here name
and lineage count, they ranked among

• II. Cor., J, 12.

710

THE AYE MARIA.

the highest. They had retired to the
estate of Samhene when the Bourbons
of Naples fell. They still owned a house
here, a bit of land there, and other
sundry residues of what had once been
vast possessions ; but as to their rent-
roll, it was excessively abridged. When
Guido resolved upon a military career,
first he had to overcome much opposi-
tion, because he, who was a Baron of
the Kingdom of Naples by hereditary
right seven times renewed, could lower
himself to serve United Italy; and
secondly, when at length his father
relented there was the further difficulty
of keeping him for years at the CoUegio
Militare. But Guido was perfectly
w^illing to enlist as a private. The only
thing he objected to was his brothers'
elegant habit of inoccupation, and the
elegiac attitude of the family in general
toward the defunct Neapolitan dynasty.

Guido was born too late for certain
hereditary prejudices. The last time
the throne of Naples was mentioned in
the oration against arms, he muttered
wrathfully: "Doesn't exist!" And the
verdict was so peculiarly, if painfully,
logical he was allowed to go to
Modena. Eventually he gravitated to
that terribly exclusive regiment, the
" Cavalleria Nizza." He was beloved by
his brother officers; and, by the time he
got his first leave and came home, tall,
sinewy, very brown, and wearing with
dandified pride the handsome black
jacket and French-gray riding-breeches
of the Nizza Light Horse, the last
recalcitrant in the household w^as
compelled to admit he had chosen well.
That was three years ago.

On the morning of this latter arrival,
he flung himself out of the coach,
stooping to save his head ; kissed
everybody all round, and then: "For
pity's sake somebody give me some-
thing to eat! There was no 'diner' on
the train, and I'm nearly famished."
This pleased his mother, and there was
a scramble for the kitchen, — a raftered

place with brown beams, and a little
crucifix, and bit of olive bough on the
wall. No servants were kept, save a
peasant woman to draw and carry
water; but the mother insisted Guido
should be served in the dining-room,
where aged massive silver was prepared
in his honor, with embroidered damask
napery, that was two generations old
already and would not consent to wear
out. These contrasts in the house of
Comara are so common as to pass
unnoticed. So also guests sleep under
damask quilts, and the baronessine
make the beds. But this is aside from
the present story.

Guido uncovered his head as he
entered the hall, — perhaps because of the
coat-of-arms under its coronet hanging
on the archw^ay opposite, perhaps only
because deep-bred in the sons of this
house is a reverence for the place where
their kindred dwell. The race itself is one
that, for good reasons, worships sym-
bols. Guido they considered a radical
and a democrat. It was good, however,
to have him home. The whole of the
first day was spent, mainly, in feasting
their eyes upon him and listening to
his voice. Furthermore, apart from the
blessedness of merely looking at him,
he had a great deal to say that was
interesting. The regimental news, the
field mancEUvres, last June's review, and
a miscellany concerning town life, — for
the Nizza were stationed in a city
whose social atmosphere suited even
their fastidious taste.

It seemed to Guido's mother once or
twice that the boy looked tired, but he
laid it to his journey. After he was
safely in bed, she came into his room,
as she \v.as wont to do, setting in order
this little trifle and that. With his head
upon the pillow, she could see more
clearly how all the delicate shadows
of eye, temple, and cheek-bone were
deepened ; and how, in repose, the
countenance was graver. Wofully she
remembered his tales of the gambling

THE AVE MARIA.

711

in certain regiments (not his own, he
took care to say) ; and, after his sisters
left the room, there were other stories
of gallantries of conduct, required, it
would seem, of the officers in a garrison
town.

Guido himself had no idea how he
had disquieted the soul of his mother.
Now she came, sitting upon the bed,
and asking him why there seemed to
be a cloud upon his brow. He did not
know, unless there were rain coming.
Had he been good ? He threw back his
head to laugh, long and light-heartedly ;
then brought his brown eyes, deep with
love, to hers and said :

"Angelic!"

"When was he last at confession?"

"A fortnight since."

" Really, Guido ? You are not making
fun of me ? "

And he raised himself on his elbow
to say, rather warmly :

"Do you suppose I have forgotten
w^hat I promised you? Heaven knows
I have been laughed at enough for
an old woman and a cenobite!"

Then she said to him certain things
that it must have been rather sweet
for him to hear.

On the morrow^ mother and son were
left alone together all day. The Baron
was busy as usual among his peasant
tenants; the brothers had gone to
inspect a shooting box; the girls were
invited to a picnic, to which they
attempted in vain to drag the cavalry-
man. He had to see friends in the town ;
he would not be at home forever ; please
leave him in peace. So they lunched
alone, mother and son; and afterward
he followed her round "like a little
dog," she said ; but it made her happy.
And she watched him pick up now
this thing, now that, examine them as
if he had never seen them before, and
laugh at scraps of reminiscence attached
to them.

"You haven't proposed to visit the
Madonna yet," he said at length.

And she, quite composedly :

"I waited for you to ask."

His white teeth gleamed a moment,
as if he thought her very clever.

"May I see it now?"

She led the way to the chapel, and
again he smiled at her quietly imperious.

"Light the candles!"

Very quickly he lit the tapers, and she
opened a shutter - shrine in the wall, at
the right of the altar, and knelt down.
Her son bowed on one knee behind her,

"^ve Maria, doloiibus plena; Cruci-
fixus tecum ; lacrymabilis tu in muli-
eribus, et lacrymabilis fructus ventris
tui, Jesus."

The sonorous voice of the cavalry-
man, very low, responded:

" Sancta Maria, Mater Crucitixi,
lacrymas impertire nobis crucitixorihus
Filii tui, nunc et in bora mortis nostras.
Amen."

" Virgo Dolorosissima,"

" Ora pro nobis!"

There was silence a little while, then
the mother stood and took the statue
in her hands. Close behind, the slow
breathing of her son sounded deeper in
her ear; his arm circled her shoulders.
This was the jewel of the Comaras, for
which they would have given their last
ell of land and their money to the last
cent, — the "Madonna Addolorata," an
heirloom in the family for nigh three
hundred years; a tinted wood-carving
some sixteen inches high; of Spanish
workmanship, so connoisseurs said;
crowned head bowed in anguish, hang-
ing hands clasped, the feet bare under
the draperies, seven swords in the
breast; and, the marvel of it all, the
face, wondrously wrought to image life,
pale and wan in the agony of weeping ;
the throat seeming to rise with the
convulsion of a sob about to break.
This flexibility of expressed emotion
betokened high artistic origin : the
reality of it, the livingness of it, could
not but move the coldest spectator.

How the Madonna came to the

712

THE AVE MARIA.

Comaras w^as wrapped in mystery. A
legend exists of a saintly pilgrim on his
way to Loreto, of his begging hospi-
tality at the Palazzo Comara in Ascoli,
invoking a special benediction on the
family, and announcing future trials to
the chatelaine, a holy woman, who
served him with her ow^n hands and
washed his feet. In the morning he
was gone, unheard, unseen; and the
" Addolorata," a gift far too precious
for a night's lodging, remained.

To Guido, standing silent, came a
memory of childhood,— the most vivid
thing in his mind at that moment.
This same mother of his flinging herself
down with a half-conscious baby in her
arms and calling aloud to the Virgin
of Sorrows: "Mother, save him! —
Mother, save him!" The little body
shuddered a moment and lay still. And
the lad Guido had expected the mother
to break into screams, for he knew
what had touched and immobilized his
infant brother; but she did not: she
crept nearer the shrine, leaning her
arm and her forehead against it. She
seemed to feel there was a reason
why she should make no outcry before
that other Mother with the swords in
her breast.

It was this perhaps made Guido draw
his mother closer. Very gently, as she
put the precious object back, he asked
her if she really believed the story of
the Madonna.

" It is tradition in your house, Guido."

"I know. I am not saying it might
not be true: one has to admit the
miraculous somewhere."

"The trials came to the Comaras.
I doubt if they ever rally. And they
used to be a great race. Soldiers and
saints make a strong backing, Guido."
"You are aside from the point at
issue. But never mind. Let's go out
on the hill, mother."

It was the home-hill rising up sheer
behind the house ; and the lower swell-
ings, covered thick with green and

studded with wild flowers, were a
favorite resort. One in particular Guido
loved. A kindly knoll enabled you to
lie in the shade, while all around you
the sun drew deep aromas from the
waving grasses, and the threshing
wind made paths for itself across the
billowy surface.

"Guido," the mother questioned, after
they v(rere snugly ensconced, "why did
you ask me just now whether I believed
that?"

"Simply to find out if you did, — hey,
move a little, dear one, and let me
stretch out! "

"You don't doubt it, do you?"

"How can I doubt anything, with
my head in your lap ? Thanks to this
beastly life of mine, one has a mother
only once every year or two!"

"Guido dear, I don't believe you are
happy."

"An immense delusion, mother! Why
shouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, child. But I can feel
it in you. Something has hurt you, or
else you have done something wrong."

" Please remember that I am a full-
fledged lieutenant in the finest cavalry
regiment in the world, and don't hurt
my dignity."

"Are you in love, perhaps?"

" Fie, madam ! So direct a question ! "

Then it dawned upon her slowly,
painfully, that he was indeed full-fledged,
as he said; that the world — the brill-
iant, polished, mask -wearing world —
had set its mark upon him, and that
it was not quite her old Guido who
came home. If he had a sorrow, he
meant to keep it to himself. Her breed-
ing forbade her pressing further, even
with her own son ; but she turned
away her face that he might not see
the bitterness his first reticence caused
her. She had not reckoned that he
could look upward and, under the lids,
discover the dumb tears forming.

" Mother! " he cried, starting up from
his idle posture, — "mother, you are not

THE AVE MARIA.

713

crying ? Why, I'd tell you in a minute,
if I thought you wanted me to ! I was
afraid it would pain you, so I have been
trying hard to keep my mouth shut.
I thought if I came home and stayed
with you a while, perhaps I could get
a little manhood into me again, and
go back quietly to my work without
shifting my troubles on to you. But it
must grieve you, if it must. You shall
never think I do not trust you. In
reality, there is not very much to tell.

"You remember the English girl I
told you about last year ? That is the
whole matter in a nutshell. I was in
love with her,— you must have guessed
it. She was beautiful, of course; it's
not much use my telling you that,
because nobody believes lovers. But she
was really beautiful, she was magnifi-
cent; and good, — you don't often meet
people quite so good as she was. But
most of all she w^as fascinating, — a sort
of charm one can't explain. When you
left her, you began to w^onder whether
during those few hours your breathing
had gone on just the same.

" I know now what kind of a woman
it is that men play heaven and hell for.
But she was quite pure, you under-
stand ; and deeply religious in her own
way, — only a Protestant, of course.
I was fully determined to marry her, if
she would have me. Church legislation
about mixed marriages had grown
extremely dim in my mind ; and I felt
sure, anyway, that later on I could talk
to her, and that ten to one she would
be a Catholic right straight off, because
she was so earnest and intelligent.

"About Christmas we became en-
gaged, with the religious question still
very cloudy. That night I tried to
write to you about it; but your face
seemed to come up before me, grave
and troubled, and you were asking me
questions : Where would I be married
and by whom ? I could not write to
you, and you appeared to me as the
first dash to my joy. But I don't blame

you, mother. Perhaps some day I shall
yet thank God. In the morning I asked
Bertha about it. In the Church of
England, naturally, she said : she would
not feel married at all save by her own
minister. I went home pretty glum;
but next day, quite graciously, she
regretted she had been so abrupt, and
expressed her willingness to go through
the ceremony in my Church.

" The only matter that really troubled
me was an uncertain one in the future, —
the possible question of children. The
idea of a Protestant Comara was so
sickening, I determined to settle that
point at once. Bertha was ready for
me. Sons would, of course, follow their
father's belief, but girls the mother's.
We tussled over it a week, then one
fine day I gave in. ( Why don't you
take your hand away, mother ? ) I was
selling my conscience, and I knew it. In
cold blood, it's an incredible thing to
say. I could only pray Heaven to
send us none but sons. Then came the
festival of Our Lady of Sorrows in
April, and your letter to remind me.
You always did try to get me to the
sacraments under every pretext, but I
couldn't refuse the 'Addolorata.' Bertha
and I were going to the theatre that
evening, and, as I was on duty all day,
I had to send her Cavallotti, and slip
oflF to confession : I wouldn't have had
time in the morning.

"To begin with, this made her
angry, — as though I enjoyed doing it!
And, secondly, that Capuchin friar said
to me many and various things on the
subject of mixed marriages and on the
risking of immortal souls. You can
thank him for my final resolution: I
didn't come to it myself. I was hot
with him. I couldn't get to sleep: I
couldn't even lie down. All night I
paced my room, and all sorts of queer
things came to my mind, — mostly things
that happened when I was a boy :
Toto, when he died and you brought
him to the shrine and cried out for help

714

THE AVE MARIA.

for him, — do you remember? Then my
First Communion day, — such a heavenly
day ! And then Maria and Dolores, so
innocent in their white veils, when
their turn came. I had promised — I, I
myself— that no little daughter of mine
should ever have a First Communion
day! And what harassed me most of
all was the thought of our Madonna
in there. Foolish — wasn't it? — when
the tradition about it is mere talk, and,
as likely as not, unfounded.

"I went deliberately to Bertha in
the morning and told her that, upon
reflection, I could allow no child of
mine to be reared a Protestant. She
replied that this was of a part with
my unpardonable behavior the evening
before in sending her a substitute for
escort. I tried to explain. I had always
thought her adorable when she was
angry, but she said a few things that
it w^as a little too hard to bear. I was
going back on my given word. She
was right : I was. And in her eyes the
condition was fair and just. But, though
you may trifle ■with your conscience
sometimes, by moments, in the end it
will rise up and overpower you. I
frankly owned I had been wrong at
first, but did not mean to let a tempo-
rary weakness stamp out my honor
and self-respect. Then she knew, she
had heard, that I came of a brood
of fanatical, superstitious, medieval
tyrants; blood must tell in the end,
and she was glad I had shown my
true colors ere it was too late. She
put her engagement ring in my hands,
forced me to take it. All the " fanatic's "
blood in me oozed away from the
heart as she did, but a last glimmer of
reason allowed me to let her do it.

"There it is. Take it, mother! I have
been carrying it round in my inside
pocket like a fool because it touched
her. Don't let anybody wear it; but
you can hang it up in the shrine, if
you want to, for an ex-voto. God will
remember the cost."

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SADLIER.

XLIIL— A Rush of Events.

WHILE that singular scene was in
progress in the library of the
Manor, Lord Aylward had gone driving
with Mrs. Bretherton. The lady's face
w^as overclouded and her manner had
an unwonted tinge of despondency.
She had been deeply mortified and
inexpressibly shocked by those dis-
closures reflecting upon the fair fame of
the family, which, despite the wildness of
Reverdy Bretherton's youth, had never
hitherto been seriously compromised.
She had borne the ordeal, however, -with
outward composure, and in the presence
of her husband and son had endeavored
to conceal the extent of her distress.
With Lord Aylward she suffered this
forced attitude of serenity to relax
somewhat ; while he, on his part, made
no allusion whatever to the subject, of
which circumstances had made him
cognizant.

Lord Aylward himself was not in the
most buoyant of moods. He recognized
in what had occurred the death-blow
of his own lingering hopes with regard
to Leonora. He readily perceived that
the barrier which Eben Knox had
laboriously erected between the lovers
was about to be swept away, leaving
in its place a clearer mutual understand-
ing than had yet existed. Ver3' soon,
indeed, there would, in the sentimental
aspect at least, be room for those
two and no other upon the surface of
the green earth. For Lord Aylward,
it remained only to accept his final
defeat with his usual manly fortitude,
and to make his exit from the scene as
gracefully as possible. He felt a strong
repugnance to awaiting the culminating
act of the drama. His love for Leonora,
undemonstrative as it appeared, w^as

THE AYE MARIA.

715

yet far too deep and sincere to permit
him to assist as an impartial spectator
at her wedding, even though she were
marrying his best and dearest friend.
He, therefore, took the opportunity
afforded by the drive to broach the
subject of his intended departure to his
hostess.

"I think I shall have to be getting
away shortly," he obser\'ed. "I have
made a very long visit, and you
have all been awfully kind to me. I
shall miss Millbrook and the Manor
immensely."

"And we shall miss you," Mrs.
Bretherton declared warmly; for the
young Englishman had, indeed, endeared
himself to every member of the house-
hold. "Yes, we shall miss you exceed-
ingly, and I don't know what Jim is
going to do without you."

"It is very good of you to say so,"
he responded gratefully, ignoring, as
was wisest, the latter part of the
remark. Perhaps he reflected that Jim,
despite their mutual regard, must be
inevitably relieved by his departure
from embarrassing situations. "You
can't think how I shall regret going.
But the wrench has to be made some
time, and I fancy it had better come
now."

Possibly Mrs. Bretherton understood
that the young man was referring to
the wedding, which could not be very
long delayed now. In fact, the mother
was somewhat surprised that her son
had not hastened the event. He had
left his parents in ignorance of the
threatened separation between him and
Leonora, from a hope that circum-
stances might intervene in his favor, as
well as from a nl'jctance to converse
upon a subject so (Ueplj' painful to him.
Mrs. Bretlierton, tlierefore, took care
to lead the conversation into other
channels, and to k«jep upon the safest
of topics. Gradually, however, the
conversation drifted round to Jim ;
and Lord Aylward spoke warmly of

the attachment which /he had always
felt for him, and of their days together
at the University.

"You know, Mrs. Bretherton," said
he, "I owe a lot to Jim. He was so
very straight and all that sort of thing
at college ; and, then, we looked up to
him, don't you know ? And he was so
plucky and so clever, and came out
ahead in everything. And he stood up
for his religion. We all admired that
in him, even fellows like myself that
hadn't any."

"Yes," observed Mrs. Bretherton,
"leaving higher considerations aside,
Jim is far too thoroughbred to hesitate
for an instant about professing his
belief anywhere. But I am sorry to
hear you say, my dear boy, that you
have no religion yourself. That strikes
me as very dreadful."

" I suppose it is," Lord Aylward
replied seriously. "Jim always made
me feel as if I would like to believe;
and since I have known you all at the
Manor, and — one or two others in
Millbrook, I have often regretted my
own lack of religious training. There
isn't a bit of cant or humbug about
any of you, and you live up to what
you profess."

"We trv' to live up to it," said
Mrs. Bretherton, with a smile; "but
amongst us Catholics there is never
great room for self- laudation. There
are always so many who have pressed
on to so much loftier heights. Our
religious Orders serve that purpose,
amongst many others. They keep the
rest of us humble, when we consider
what their standard is, what they
accomplish, and the wonderful work
thej' are doing, each after its own
fashion."

"At home," said Lord Aylward, with
a sigh, "it is different. My mother is
religious, — she is very High Church,
you know ; but my father is like most
busy men nowadays: he hasn't time
for that sort of thing "

716

THE AVE MARIA

"Well, I hope you will take time,"
said Mrs. Bretherton, laying her hand
affectionately on the young man's
arm. "Try to remember that it is the
only thing really important, and find
place for it in the life that is fleeting
away. I don't want to preach, and
I should be sorry to' influence you
unduly toward Catholicity. But if
you were a Catholic, you would feel
differently toward these things."

"You Catholics have all the logic on
your side; and, by Jove, you do live
up to your faith ! I remember at college
Jim would never argue, but he always
used to say: 'We Catholics are on the
right side of the great "If," and that's
enough for me.'"

Lord Aylward paused a moment, then
he said earnestly:

"Do you know, that idea of his has
stuck in my mind ever since!"

Before the carriage drove in at the
Manor gate. Lord Aylward said :

"You needn't be surprised some day
if you hear that I'm among the 'verts
to Rome."

"If that happens," said Mrs. Breth-
erton, seriously, "your friendship for
Jim and your visit to Millbrook will
have been, indeed, worth while. Only
be faithful to the light, and don't feel
that it depends altogether on yourself.
You need a great grace to take that
step, dear boy! But 'Ask, and you
shall receive.'"

This little conversation impressed the
young man the morg that never before,
during his stay under their pleasant
roof, had any of the Brethertons spoken
to him upon the subject, or even so
much as alluded to his belief They
had gone their own way, practis-
ing their own religion with a fidelity
and exactitude which commanded the
young man's warmest admiration ; but
with a kindly tolerance toward others,
and an utter absence of anything like
bitterness or rancor. It -was, in truth,
a typical Catholic household, where

religion was in the atmosphere, — a
genuine, unaffected religion: cheerful,
lovable and sympathetic, but never
either harsh, obtrusive, or what their
visitor would have described as "psalm-
singing."

Lord Aylward, having announced his
departure, proceeded to act upon the
announcement by engaging his passage
in the outward-bound steamer for
a fortnight thence. For, as he sadly
thought, even the war on "pizon
snakes" was in a sense ended. He
had to make a brave and determined
effort to tear himself away from Mill-
brook ; but he felt that it was time
to take Jesse Craft's advice, and fly as
fast and as far as he could from the
dangerous proximity of Leonora. He
resolved to make but a flying visit
to his home in England, and thence to
proceed to South Africa, where, in the
hunt for big game and in the excite-
ment of a new existence, he might hope
to find forgetfulness.

He had not told Mrs. Bretherton
of his love, though she had surmised
how much the unspoken influence of
Leonora and the force of her example
had strengthened the prepossessions
toward Catholicity which he had
received through Jim in college days,
and through his stay at Bretherton
Manor.

Though no assistance could be had
from Eben Knox, the Brethertons,
chiefly through Miss Tabitha's good
offices, were enabled to discover the
whereabouts of the man who had
suffered so cruelly for Reverdy Brether-
ton's act. The spinster one day received
a formal visit from the father and son.
Dressed- in her taffeta gown of state,
her face pale, haggard and drawn,
trembling like an aspen leaf. Miss
Tabitha no longer resembled one of her
own pinks, but rather some faded white
blossom which had once been fair. It
was a terrible ordeal for the poor lady,
in presence of the Governor whom she

THE AYE MARIA.

so much revered, and his son whom
she loved and admired more than any
other human being, to confess her own
share in that iniquitous past.

Nothing could exceed the kindly
consideration of the Governor, or the
deferential and sympathetic attitude of
the younger man. They lifted, as it
were, a heavy burden from her shoul-
ders ; they even expressed their gratitude
for the part which she had taken, — a
part which, though reprehensible and
altogether mistaken, as the Governor
delicately reminded her, was never-
theless taken for the love of Reverdy
and out of loyalty toward the Breth-
ertons. They begged her assistance in
righting that supreme wrong, and Miss
Tabitha displayed a feverish eagerness
in racking her memory for names and
dates.

The wretched ex-prisoner was found,
destitute, broken -spirited, and gaining
a precarious living by the charity of
the compassionate. Needless to say, he
was put beyond the reach of want, and
established in comfortable quarters for
the rest of his life by the Brethertons,
who, moreover, made it a solemn duty
to interest themselves in his spiritual
welfare. He was visited from time to
time by Mrs. Bretherton, who usually
took with her on these occasions the
remorseful and anxiously solicitous
Miss Tabitha.

On the evening following the stormy
scene at the mill, Eben Knox had
returned to the mill -house at the
accustomed hour, and found Mother
Moulton alone, crouching as was her
wont over the fire. His face was deadly
pale, his eyes blazing with so baleful a
light that it might have seemed as if the
seven demons who possessed him were
gazing out through those apertures.
His appearance terrified even the crone.

She rose from her place, staring at
him with her bleared eyes, in the dim-
ness of that sordid room, and uttering
an almost inarticulate cry. She was

daugmer

717

alone; for her daugnter had never
ventured to return there since Eben
Knox had discovered the loss of the
papers. He regarded her for an instant
steadily, with a truly demoniacal hatred
and fury in his glance. Then he threw
wide open the entrance door and
pointed.

"Out!" he thundered, — "out of my
sight, and never dare to recross that
threshold, or I will kill you as sure as
the sun will rise to-morrow!"

Trembhngly, Mother Moulton moved
toward the open door. She kept as far
as possible out of the range of the
manager's arm, for she feared that he
might kill her even then; and she held
her eyes fixed upon his face while
making that wide circuit. She reached
the door, and passed from that habi-
tation which had been her only shelter
for a score of years. She presently
heard the door slammed and bolted
upon her, and in dazed bewilderment
realized that she was shelterless, under
the pitiless sky of winter.

She moved forlornly away from the
house, past the mill, which had been a
part of her existence all these years;
and, reaching the alder bushes at the
point where a path led direct to the
main road, her courage and energy
suddenly deserted her. The weight of
years seemed to crush her, and senile
tears flowed in a piteous stream from
h;reyes. Happily, Jim Bretherton, who
had felt anxious as to her and her
daughter's safety, came that way ; and
through his mediation a temporary
shelter was found for the wretched old
creature under the convent roof; The
daughter, too, was found, begging her
way with her child about the neighbor-
ing villages, and was placed for the
time being in the same secure refuge.

Then came a brief interval which was
occupied by the Governor and his son
in securing what they considered to be
the moral rights of Mother Moulton
and her heirs.

718

THE AVE MARIA.

" People so often shelter themselves
behind the legal aspect of a case," the
Governor said, "when they are com-
pelled to pay by law. They make use of
every quibble and every evasion which
can be suggested to them by the most
unscrupulous lawyers ; and they forget
the great Assizes, where only the immu-
table law of justice will avail. Let your
conscience, enlightened by faith, be your
one rule of action; and then you can
go forward, meeting even the end fear-
lessly. The bubble reputation is, after
all, only a minor part of the question.
But it is not to be despised; and it is
a great gratification to me to know,
dear lad, that 'young Mr. Bretherton'
possesses and deserves the confidence
of his associates."

"I hope they will always be able to
say, sir, that he is trying to model
himself upon his father."

While they stood thus the mother
joined them.

"You are his counterpart," said she,
laying a hand on her son's shoulder.
"But you have been so immersed in
these troublesome affairs lately, that I
scarcely seem to see anything of either
of you."

"They are nearly settled now, dear,"
said her husband. "We are allowing
Janet Maxwell a fair price for Evrard
Lennon's property, and we are investing
the money for her and her heirs safely
and profitably."

"When once that is done," observed
Mrs. Bretherton, suppressing a sigh,
"I suppose we shall be listening for
wedding bells — "

"And a joyful sound they are," inter-
posed the Governor. "After all this
darkness and misery, it will be like
sunshine in a fog."

Jim pressed his mother's hand softly.

"I shall be so happy, mother!" he
said quietly.

And that was enough for the mother.

"We shall all be happy together,
dear," she answered.

Just when the mists that had encircled
the pleasant little town of Millbrook
were clearing away, there was a general
regret felt for the departure of Lord
Aylward. He tried to slip away
quietly, but it was no use. Millbrook
got wind of his departure, and would
give him a "send-off." He narrowly
escaped the brass band.

He was brave and plucky to the last.
He went to see Miss Tabitha and her
niece and bade them both good-bye
with apparently undisturbed mien;
though his voice did falter, and he had
to gulp down a lump of emotion which
rose in his throat, when it came to
Leonora's turn.

"I'm awfully glad to have known
you!" he said to her. "And I shall be
the better for it all my life."

"You will never be forgotten by any
of us in Millbrook," Leonora said,
"even after you have long ceased to
give us a thought."

"Do you really think I shall forget
so easily?" he said. "You are wrong
there ! But it will be an awfully pleas-
ant memory, I assure j'ou."

He said no more, wringing the girl's
hand and vanishing for the time being
out of her life, as people are so con-
stantly passing out of each other's lives
till the journey of existence becomes
almost spectrally unreal.

Lord Aylward had a little private
word with Jesse Craft just upon the
platform of Millbrook station.

"You're doin' the wisest thing," said
the old man, — "flyin' fast and far.
That's my motto where womenfolk is
consarned."

"If only we could take our hearts
with usl " Lord Aylward said. "But
I'm not going to whine about it. Many
a fellow's been wounded in the fight
and lived to do good work."

"Jest so!" cried Craft, — "jest r.o!
You're game every time. I always said
that of you, you know. You're what
I call a man !"

THE AVE MARIA,

719

Lord Ay 1 ward laughed, and wrung
the old man's horny hand.

"The world is small, and sometime
we may meet again," he answered.

"And tarnation glad I'll be to see
your face agin! Good-bye and good
luck to you, and may you keep at the
same job of helpin', wherever you go, to
take the fangs out of pizon snakes!"

The old man's emotion threatened to
overcome him, and he hobbled to the
rear of the platform; while Aylward,
his tall and somewhat uncouth figure
conspicuous among the crowd, his face
a trifle pale, was pressed upon by an
eager host of well-wishers, each seeking
for a last word.

Finally he was upon the car, Jim
Bretherton following and seeing him
seated. Each felt a genuine pang of
sorrow at the separation, as their
bands met in a farewell clasp.

"Good-bye, Jimmy! Good luck to
you — and her! "

"Good-bye, Bob, old fellow!"

They looked into each other's face
a moment longer, while the warning
bell rang, and Jesse Craft raised a
shout of:

"Hooray for the Britisher!"

The shout was taken up and repeated
by the crowd on the platform, which
included many of the chief citizens of
Millbrook, as the train steamed away,
and young Mr. Bretherton stood watch-
ing it, with a look of deep emotion
upon his face.

Of course certain rumors floated into
the air of Millbrook concerning the
revelations recorded in those documents
which had fallen into Jim Bretherton's
hands. Tommy Briggs, in some myste-
rious fashion, possessed himself of a
few choice bits, more or less accurate,
for distribution at Smith Jackson's
emporium. Dave Morse talked in awed
whispers about that occasion at the
mill when "the boss was near gettin'
licked," and when there was a lot of
queer talk between him and the young

gentleman from the Manor. Curiosity
was on the alert ; but many of the older
generation who had been most deeply
interested in the events recorded had
passed away, so that the feeling aroused
was not very strong. In so far as
the disclosures were known, public
sympathy was entirely with the Brether-
tons, who were striving honorably to
atone for past wrongs. Father and
son accordingly stood higher than ever
in the general estimation.

Even to Reverdy a kindly and for-
giving thought was extended by many.
The dead are seldom severely censured,
and he was remembered as a wild blade,
who had settled down into a liberal
and affable gentleman. Poor Evrard
Lennon was but a faint memory; and
his death was, after all, the accidental
result of a quarrel.

Matters at the mill went on for a
while in precisely the oldtime groove.
The bell clanged out morning and
evening as it had done for many
years ; and the manager, fiercer, darker,
gloomier, was at his post, a terror and
a menace to every one of his employees.
He lived alone during those weeks in
the silence of the mill-house, till at last
one morning the bell did not ring. The
silence was somehow more ominous
than its discordant clangor. The mill
hands, with perturbed faces, crowded
about the door, which was locked, and
waited and waited restlessly.

At last Matt Tobin, with a blanched,
startled countenance, proceeded to the
mill -house. To his surprise, the door
yielded to his touch. He entered,
shivering with an undefined dread. Yet
nothing met his sight as he passed
from room to room. The ashes of a
fire were on the hearth ; only emptiness
and desolation filled that dreary, sordid
interior. There was nothing,
the recent presence of
nor yet his unexpected di

Matt Tobin came {o\
ineffectual search, with

720

THE AYE MARIA

still startled countenance. He kept
that look for many a day, glancing
over his shoulder every once in a while,
gazing about him, as if he expected
to see the sinister figure of Eben
Knox beside him. But he never came.
Search was made; the pond was
dragged, those upon the bank wait-
ing with nervous, intense interest. Yet
the mill-stream threw no light on the
mystery.

The Millbrook woolen mills, being
thus left without their manager and
part proprietor, presently shut down.
For the first time in the memory of
most living persons, the harsh clanging
of the bell ceased to sound at morning
and evening. The mill was closed, and
the windows had a ghostly, haunted
look, gazing out upon the mill-stream
and the alder bushes.

After some time, however, the
Brethertons and other shareholders
arranged matters. Matt Tobin was ap-
pointed manager, and the woolen mills
came to life again. Now, the mill-house
was also the property of the Manor
family, and young Mr. Bretherton held
an interview with Mother Moulton
about its being occupied.

He found the old woman still bewil-
dered, still pining for that strange
domicile which had been her home. He,
therefore, suggested to his father that
the mill-house might be put in order
and rendered more habitable, and that
Mother Moulton, with her daughter
and grandchild, should be installed
therein in perpetuity, or at least for
the old woman's lifetime. And so it
was done.

The poor creature's joy and gratitude
were unbounded when she found herself
in that familiar domain, now so vastly
improved. Every comfort was provided
for her, and she was in possession of a
comfortable income, the result of Evrard
Lennon's bequest and the Brethertons'
integrity, ^of^ a while the dark shadow
of Eben Knox was projected over the

place, and the women shuddered at
times with a sudden fear that he might
return to his old haunts, darker and
more terrifying than ever.

The late manager of the Millbrook
w^oolen mills seemed to have vanished
into space. Perhaps he had deliberately
chosen, out of his malignant will, to
leave this dark uncertainty behind him.
All sorts of rumors were current. The
theory that he had committed the
unpardonable sin, and
Rushed into the dark house of death unbidden,
was entertained for a time, but finally
dismissed as untenable, since no proof
of his demise had ever been discovered.
Many were of opinion that he had
suddenly lost his mind and had been
seized and conveyed to an asylum for
treatment.

The most probable solution of the
mystery seemed to be — and this gained
a certain confirmation after a time
from the testimony of individuals who
reported having seen him — that he had
simply lost himself, as it were, amongst
the masses of humanity. Like the
Wandering Jew of the legend, he was
seen now here, now there, in the most
unexpected of places. The glimpses of
him were always fleeting, and the
testimony concerning him more or less
vague and unsatisfactory. One thing
was certain: he had removed himself
finally from Millbrook and from those
personages with whom his destiny
had hitherto been bound up; and his
departure seemed to have removed a
blight from the landscape — or that
portion thereof surrounding the brook,
the alder bushes, and the mill.

( Conclusion next week. )

In Advent.

SHE comes, and lo! it is the dawn,

Behold the day arise !
The shadows of the night are gone,

I see sweet Mary's eyes!

THE AVE MARIA.

721

A Militant Priest.

BY BEN HURST.

THE credulous dupes who, living in
a narrow, fictitious world of their
own, believe in their oracles' declaration
that "the day of the Church is gone,"
and that "modem mankind gets on
without it," are startled from time to
time by the revelation of her potency in
the works of her members, particularly
those of her priests. The spirit of
Christ sometimes breaks forth in these
so strenuously that it can not be hidden
even from the voluntarily blind and
deaf. To those familiar with the'aims
and strivings of the Great Mother, it
is a matter neither for wonder nor
unbounded admiration when they find
in the ranks of her clergy a statesman
likeStrossmayer, an apostle likeDamien,
a savant like Secchi. The Catholic
Church counts warriors, poets, philos-
ophers and heroes among her sons
to-day as in the first centuries of her
existence. Caring little for public appre-
ciation, the foremost of these do not
always come before the world's notice ;
but there are some who perforce
receive the homage of the crowd.

Such a champion was the late
Monseigneur Lanusse, the "fighting
priest," whose record on the battle-
fields of his beloved France may be
envied by many of her marshals and
commanders. It has been erroneously
remarked that this valiant soldier
would have better suited the Middle
Ages, — as if his brethren were not found
daily on India's frontier, in far Mada-
gascar, or on the fields of Liaoyang,
doing their Master's work amid show-
ers of shot and shell, sharing cold and
hunger and fatigue as well as danger
with the objects of their ministrations.

No: the French veteran who has just
passed away was typical of the Church
as we find her to-day and shall find her

forever. Once again we repeat that
Monseigneur Lanusse was but one,
albeit the foremost, among many. The
great veneration in which he was held,
and which made even the enemies of
Christianity admire him, guaranteed
his retention of the post of chaplain to
the Military College of St. Cyr until
the day of his death. When all his
colleagues were dismissed by a "free-
thinking" government, the prospect of
depriving the French youth of such
a living example of valor made even
the godless Gambetta pause. "If it is
disciplined and courageous soldiers we
want," he said: "they can have no
better mentor than the Abb^ Lanusse."
And amid the desecrations and infamies
of succeeding irreligious governments,
not one was found bold enough to
dislodge the veteran priest until the
Great Commander called him.

How much of that Christian virtue
and stanch adherence to a persecuted
faith which characterize the oflicers of
the French army is due to the teaching
of Lanusse, may best be computed
when we contrast their lives with
those of the men produced by a godless
system of education. Vice and impiety
could not abide under the same roof
with the noble-minded Lanusse. The
sight of that erect, venerable figure,
on whose soutane glittered a row of
military medals, passing, with benig-
nant smile, to bow low in adoration
before his Master, will not soon fade
from the minds of the students of
St. Cyr. Daily intercourse with one
who had earned distinction on fields
raked by the enemy's fire will have
inculcated not only those virtues of
bravery and patriotism on which
Gambetta counted, but something else
as well : a love and veneration for that
creed whose votary was so brilliant
an example of its efficacy.

In 1865 Pcre Lanusse's enthusiasm
made him commit the fault of forgetting
to apply for his bishop's permission to

722

THE AYE MARIA

accompany the French expedition to
Mexico until it was well out at sea.
This and similar rash steps — always in
the right direction of self-sacrifice and
heroism — were pardoned by his ecclesi-
astical superiors, who made allowances
for his ardent temperament, and rated
at its proper value his influence among
the troops. The fiasco of the Mexican
undertaking sank deeply into his
patriotic soul ; but we find him, never-
theless, an undaunted participator in
the war of 1870.

A Prussian bullet broke the Cross
of the Legion of Honor which adorned
his breast, and he fell wounded at
Sedan; but it was the inward wound
of humiliated national pride that most
deeply pi.;rced the heart of the French
patriot. His name is remembered by
the participators in that disastrous
struggle, not only as that of a minis-
tering angel to the suffering and dying,
but as that of an heroic comrade who
strove with them valiantly against
the foe.

It is as the author of a remarkable
literary work, however, that. the fame
of Monseigneur Lanusse will go down
to posterity. This book, which he has
bequeathed to his compatriots, bestow-
ing it on the French National Library,
is indeed suggestive of the patient
toil and refined artistic sense of his
brethren, the mediteval monks. During
the last three decades of his life the
indefatigable priest devoted all his
leisure hours to the compilation of his
memoirs. The MS. is unique, whether
with regard to accuracy of detail or
beauty of design. The initial letters of
each paragraph are specimens of the
most elaborate illumination ; and every
word is written in his own small,
legible hand. It is illustrated by draw-
ings from memory of the different
engagements he witnessed, and por-
traits of the celebrated men with whom
he had come in contact. Such a work
is of necessity huge in size. It comprises

two hundred and twenty volumes, and
passes for the most complete history
ever compiled by an individual.

The aged chaplain's loss is deeply felt
by those who were the objects of his
spiritual care; and their mourning is
all the more acute because of the
improbability of the vacancy's being
soon filled by the present intolerant and
illiberal government of France. On the
other hand, no true son of the Eldest
Daughter of the Church will believe that
the armed guard which watched over
the mortal remains of Monseigneur
Lanusse in the chapel of St. Cyr, on the
night preceding the burial, represents
the last homage of military France to
the French priesthood.

The Opening Season of the Liturgical
Year.

PRIOR to the coming of Christ
and the establishment of the new
dispensation, the Jews were accustomed
to observe a number of feasts besides
the Sabbath for the purpose of com-
memorating various important events
in their history. The festival of the
Pasch, or Easter, for instance, perpet-
uated the memory of their departure
from Egypt; Pentecost commemorated
the giving of the law on Mount Sinai ;
and the Feast of the Tabernacles
recalled the favors of which they
were the recipients during their journey
through the desert.

In much the same way, the Christian
liturgical year is an annual commemo-
ration and representation of the life of
Christ, and of the time before and after
His birth. This liturgical, or ecclesias-
tical, year is divided into five periods,
"times," or, to use a term now obso-
lete except in composition, "tides."
There are the time of Advent; the
time of Christmas and Epiphany ;
the time of Septuagesima and Lent;
Eastertide, or the Paschal time; and

THE AVE MARIA.

723

the period of the Sundays after Pente-
cost, called also the time of Trinity.

To speak specifically of the first of
these periods or seasons, that one upon
which we are actually entering, it is to
be remarked that the word Advent was
originally employed in its primary,
etymological sense, and denoted the
"coming" of Our Lord, — that is, the
day of His birth, Christmas. In the
first centuries of Christianity, accord-
ingly, what we now call the Sundays
of Advent were styled the Sundays
before Advent. For about a thousand
years, however, the Church has given
the name Advent, not to the feast of
Our Lord's Nativity, but to the period
of several weeks preceding that great
festival, — a period during which in
special offices she prepares the faithful
for the worthy and profitable celebra-
tion of the Saviour's Birthday.

The season comprises the four Sun-
days immediately preceding Christmas ;
and its length is consequently three full
weeks, and a part at least of a fourth
week. The first Sunday of Advent is
the Sunday nearest to the feast of St.
Andrew (November 30) ; that is, it falls
on some date from November 27 to
December 3, inclusively. Formerly, the
time of Advent began uniformly on the
twelfth day of November, the morrow
of St. Martin's feast, and it lasted
for forty days, — circumstances which
account for the alternative name once
given to it, "St. Martin's Lent." An
additional circumstance still further
justifying this appellation was the
fasting — obligatory in some countries,
devotional in others — that signalized
this opening season of the ecclesiastical
year. The oldest document extant on
Advent is an ordinance of Bishop Per-
p^tue, of Tours, who in the last quarter
of the fifth century prescribed a fast,
three days a week, from St. Martin's
Day until Christmas. The ordinance
in question most probably sanctioned
a custom already in use, and did not

create a new one. It merely regulated
the manner of sanctifying the season
by the practice, on specific days
throughout the season, of the fast
theretofore undetermined.

Of more practical import than a
discussion of the origin, varying length,
and changing usages of the Advent of
old, is the consideration that, in present
ecclesiastical discipline, the season is one
of prayer and penance. The Catholic
whose spirit is really in harmonious
accord with that of Mother Church will
naturally, during the coming weeks, give
additional time and increased fervor
to his daily prayers; will endeavor to
snatch from the ordinary business or
pleasure of the day occasional moments
of genuine interior recollection ; and
will, in a number of little things at
least, curb his desires for comfort and
ease and luxury.

The grander and more important
the festival that is to be solemnized,
the more thoroughgoing and serious
should be the preparation therefor.
Advent is the ordained preparation for
the great and joyous festival of the
Man-God's birth; hence the only spirit
congruous to the season is the one that
will the most effectively make our souls
ready for the spiritual advent within
them of Christ the Redeemer. As Easter
joy comes in fullest measure to those
of the faithful who have spent the
forty days of Lenten prelude in the
most assiduous practice of prayer and
fasting and varied acts of self-denial,
so the brimming cup of Christmastide
gladness will be quaffed by those only
who generously perform during these
preparatory weeks fruitful deeds of
prayer and penance.

A GENEROUS prayer is never presented

in vain; the petition may be refused,

but the petitioner is always, I believe,

rewarded by some gracious visitation.

— R. L. Stevenson.

724

THE AVE MARIA.

Calendar Thoughts.

To remain always in one's party,
one must often change opinions.

— Card, de Retz.
Money is a good servant and a bad

master. — A. Dumas.

If we wish to be regretted, let us be
gentle. — P. Loti.

A man without patience is a lamp
without oil. — A. De Musset.

Every savant who fears not his own
ignorance is a false savant.

— E. Tbiaudiere.
Wit pleases, but 'tis the heart that

binds. — L. De Tonseau.

The smallest of enterprises is worth
the attention of a good workman.

— Nivernais.

The world is always beginning for
youths and maids of twenty.

— E. De Vogu6.

Gratitude is a flower that droops
speedily in men's hearts. — M. Du Camp.

There is always a little folly in the
make-up of genius. — Boerhaave.

Gentle raillery is a thorn that has
kept something of the flower's perfiame.

— C Doucet.

Away with those whose mouths
blow hot and cold ! — La Fontaine.

Frequent the company of the good,
and you will become good yourself

— Franklin.

The true wisdom of nations is expe-
rience.— Napoleon I.

Most men have great pretensions
and small projects. — Vauvenargues.

The foolish young man augments his
acquaintance; the wise old one sifts
his. — E. Tbiaudiere.

The years : a capital whose value
diminishes in proportion to its growth.

— Limet.

Beware of the eye of your neighbor
and of the tongue of your neighbor's
wife. — G. Obnet.

Notes and Remarks.

Even more shocking than the revela-
tions of unfaithfulness to the most
sacred of public and private trusts on
the part of men standing high in the
estimation of their fellow -citizens, is
the fact that, while admitting the
charges against them, the oflenders
deny that they have done anything
really criminal. Their contention is
that they simply took advantage of
opportunities offered, intimating that
their accusers would do the same. Of
the injustice done to their clients, of the
suffering caused to women and children,
the aged and the infirm, of blasted hopes
and ruined homes, these monsters seem
to take no account whatever. Their
insensibility is so monstrous that one
almost regrets that each and all of
them can not be branded as confirmed
criminals and forever excluded from
the society of honorable men. "There
is absolutely no hope," writes Grover
Cleveland, "for [the rehabilitation
of (?)] those who have so undermined
their consciences that they have become
victims of moral collapse. Let us fully
realize the immeasurable distance
between specific wrongful acts which
result from surrender to temptation,
and a chronically perverted moral con-
dition no longer responsive to the voice
of conscience or mindful of God and
duty." Incarceration for any length of
time w^ith prisoners guilty of but a
single violation of almost any law,
seems too light a sentence for this new
class of the enemies of society.

Were any extraneous incentives needed
to interest good Catholics in a work
of such primary importance to religion
as the Propagation of the Faith, one
might be found in the invasion of
Christian countries by non - Christian
sects. Not all our readers, perhaps, are
aware of the erection in London, on the

THE AVE MARIA.

725

Thames, opposite Westminster Abbey,
of a magnificent marble mosque for
Mohammedans. In addition, a college
for proselytes is being erected, and a
monastery will be established to teach
such Englishmen as will go out as
missionaries. It is said that the Shah
of Persia, the Khedive of Egypt, the
Amir of Afghanistan, the Nizam of
Hyderabad, and the Rajah of Rampur,
besides a number of wealthy Indian
princes, have subscribed money toward
this project for the conversion of
London. Buddhists, theosophists, and
other religionists of similar ilks, have
for years past been making tentative
proposals to establish themselves and
propagate their tenets in various Chris-
tian countries, our own included ; and
the chaotic condition to which the
progressive multiplication of so-called
Christian sects has reduced the great
body of non - Catholics gives these
Oriental proselytizers some ground for
hoping to win recruits.

There is a good deal of sane philos-
ophy in a statement made, during the
recent elections, by a candidate for a
public office in New York. " While a
real man," he said, "will endeavor to
do his duty simply because it is his
duty, whether he receives the popular
support or not, it is much easier for
him to do it with the approval of good
men than to do it standing alone."
The statement will hold true even if
made of considerably wider application
than in the instance cited. The Chris-
tian ideal is, of course, to do one's
work, no matter what it may be, for
the glory of God, according to the
counsel of St. Paul; but the average
Christian is a lamentably imperfect
being, spurred on to action by a variety
of motives; and it can scarcely be
doubted that the judicious praise of the
worthy is a genuinely powerful incentive
to renewed efforts along the arduous
path of either public or private duty.

The withholding of such encourage-
ment is often excused on the ground
that its bestowal may engender repre-
hensible feelings of vanity, may flatter
a pre-existent pride or self-conceit; but
there is commonly more exaggeration
than reality in the alleged fear of
producing such harmful results. There
is a truth well worth thinking about
in the couplet :

For every silly head by plaudits turned

There pine a hundred hearts for praise well earned.

There is apparently no end to the
experiments which the good people
within what are rather vaguely called
"educational circles" are desirous of
seeing made in our public schools. Every
new branch, subject, or course of study
that is advocated by enthusiastic prin-
cipals and superintendents is, of course,
declared to be of primary importance
because of its "educational value." As
a matter of fact, the real educational
value of many of the successive fads
that from decade to decade are taken
up, vigorously prosecuted, and then
dropped, is practically nil; while most
of these new subjects can not compare,
as actually valuable educational factors,
with the fundamental studies that are
slighted and pushed aside in order to
make room for the novelties. Com-
menting on the proposed introduction,
in grammar schools, of civics and a
course "on commerce, industrial devel-
opment, and the commercial relations
of the United States to other countries,"
the New York Sun recently said :

The Board of Education would not be sub-
jected to any violent criticism at this time if it
had failed to establish the new courses. What
there has been a good deal of detnand for is
classes of graduates who could spell correctly,
write legibly, figure accurately, and construct
grammatical sentences. If employers generally
are to be believed, this want is not filled by the
public schools just now; and those who feel
the want will be apt to show impatience at the
grafting of new excrescences upon the course
of study before it is supplied. ... It remains
extremely doubtful whether, for common school

726

THE AVE MARIA,

purposes, any topics have been or can be added
to the course which have a higher educational
value than the Three Rs themselves, thoroughly,
sincerely and practically taught. They carry with
them so much mental discipline, and they may
be made to involve such a variety of unconscious
acquirement, that he would be a rash man who
said that their possessor in a full degree was
anything short of capably educated to face the
problems and the duties of life.

This, perhaps, is somewhat exagger-
ated ; but it is the simple truth to say
that the Three Rs nowadays are being
unduly slighted in the average public
school.

We learn that, on the occasion of a
recent visit to Cardiff, the Marquis of
Bute expressed his wish to give a bronze
statue of his father to the city as
soon as the municipality decided on
a suitable site, and to be informed of
those charitable institutions of the late
Marquis which require augmentation
of territory or other improvements. It
is rumored that Lord and Lady Bute,
together with some other Scotch noble
families, have consented to reside in
Edinborough for some months each
year, and thus restore this somewhat
neglected capital to part of its former
importance. The Bute residence is one
of the most magnificent the city con-
tains. Lord Bute has ordered for the
chapel an altar of Carrara marble
similar to that in his castle at Rothesay.
The young Marquis and Marchioness
of Bute take a. personal interest in all
private and public works of charity,
and in every other way have begun to
fulfil the duties of their position.

The city of Castrogiovanni, "the
centre of Sicily," though its origin dates
back to prehistoric times, is now less
interesting for its antiquity, at least
to English Catholics, as the Rome
correspondent of the London Tablet
remarks, than for its connection with
Newman. It was there, while journeying
in Italy in 1833, that he w^as stricken

with a severe fever, which left his nerves
in a sadly shattered condition. During
his convalescence, he used to put his
head under the bedclothes so as to
avoid the clangor of the church bells, —
to the horror of his servant, who
declared that the demon in the heretic
was tormented by the sound of the
blessed bells. It is said that the Holy
Father was greatly amused on hearing
this anecdote from Archbishop Bourne,
who lately visited Sicily to participate
in the celebration of the Silver Jubilee
of Mgr. Lualdi. It would be interesting
to know^ whether the good old servant,
Gennaro, lived long enough to hear of
the conversion of his master (whom
he must have loved in spite of his
heresy), and to learn of .his being a
cardinal.

It is to be hoped that the biographer
of Newman will utilize all such obiter
dicta as this. The circumstance is
trifling in one way, yet our interest in
the career of Manning is intensified for
the moment by the remembrance that
he once preached a violent " No Popery "
sermon, — a performance which Newman
resented so much that next day he was
"not at home" to the other future
cardinal. Did the thought of that
tirade ever occur to Manning during
his audiences with Pio Nono, by whom
he was so greatly beloved, and by
whom Newman, on the contrary, was
distrusted for his alleged lack of love
for the Papac3' ?

According to a statement made by
the Rev. Father Kelley, president of the
Catholic Church Extension Society of
the United States, the first contributor
to 'the $1,000,000 fund which it is
hoped will soon be raised to carry on
the w^ork of this excellent organization,
came from a newsboy. It happened in
this way:

Father Kelley, changing trains at
Port Huron, Michigan, stopped to buy
a paper. The newsboy, who had often

THE AYE MARIA.

727

met him before, congratulated him on
the announcement that he had been
elected to the headship of the Society.
Father Kelley laughingly told the lad
to reserve his congratulations until the
$1,000,000 fund had been raised; then,
taking the paper, he boarded his train,
and settled himself to read the news.
A few minutes later the boy entered
the car selling his papers. Pausing at
the priest's seat, he leaned over and
whispered : " Every little counts on that
$1,000,000, Father?" — Father Kelley
answered without dreaming what was
to follow: "Certainly."— "Then here is
my part, and I wish it were fifty times
as much!" Before the priest could
remonstrate he felt a bill pressed into
his hand, and the boy was calling
"News, Journal!" at the other end
of the car. That one-dollar bill hangs
framed in Father Kelley's office, and is
likely to be withdrawn from circula-
tion permanently.

A recent address before a ministerial
association by the Rev. Dr. Powell, of
Kentucky, is of interest, principally on
account of some remarks by Mr. Henry
Watterson, in answer to the clergy-
man's contention that, "as a man and
a citizen, the preacher has a right to
exercise every function of any other
citizen. He may go to the primaries;
he may vote on every election day; he
may serve on committees which have
to do with the civic welfare; if he so
choose, he may stand guard at the
polls." After admitting the right of the
minister to do all which Dr. Powell
claims he has the right to do, the
Kentucky editor observes:

But when he assumed the ministerial office, he
parted with so much of his worldly character as
might obstruct his spiritual duty. He took holy
orders. He became at once a pastor and a
teacher. In a word, he laid aside ambition and
the opportunities for wealth and advancement,
to assume the part and put on the raiment of
the Shepherd, committed to the tending and

defending of his flock ; it being no part of his duty
to drop his crook and leave his flock, and to go
forth among the wolves in quest either of scalps
or glory.

Mr. Watterson was beginning to get
too rhetorical just here, but another
paragraph of his editorial is wholly
plain and simple. We are sorry he has
so poor an opinion of politicians as
is here expressed :

He who dabbleth with pitch shall be defiled ;
and, under prevailing conditions, politics is
mainly pitch. The preacher who "stands guard
at the polls" quits an arena where he may do
great good, to enter an arena where he may do
infinite harm. He puts himself upon a level with
the vilest of the vile without any compensating
advantage.

Amid much that is lamentable in
the news from France, there is an occa-
sional paragraph of somewhat hopeful
promise. It is gratifying, for instance,
to learn that the "parochial asso-
ciations" are being very generally
organized and are everywhere receiving
substantial encouragement. The Cardi-
nals of Paris and Bordeaux have given
them their authoritative sanction ; from
week to week the number of bishops
to follow the example of these prelates
is growing apace, and the Catholic
press is unanimous in its adhesion to
the movement.

Perhaps the best proof, to American
readers, that this scheme of parish
associations is really worth while, will
be found in the bitter denunciation
which the anti-Catholic, Masonic press
launches against these organizations
"having the cure as president, the
bishop as director, and the Pope as
commander-in-chief. The black army
with the supreme head at Rome, such,"
they declare, "is the work of these
associations. The danger must not be
blinked. It is the seizure of the whole
country by the clerical and reactionary
coalition. It remains, then, for us to
triumph over the Church which will
be born again on the morrow of the

728

THE AVE MARIA.

rupture with Rome, and to find, in a
new victory, strength that will anni-
hilate the conspiracy of the men in
black." The anti-clericals, according to
some of our most reliable Parisian
exchanges, are right; and the parish
association is indeed the form under
which the Church in France will take
a new birth.

It is hard to tell precisely to what
class of outsiders Mr. Goldwin Smith
belongs. In a recent communication to
the New York Sun, he says: "There is
nothing answering to the term 'super-
natural.' If we discard miracles, as
all free inquirers do," etc. This is the
language of naturalism. In a letter to
ourselves, the venerable scholar writes :
"To God of course all things are pos-
sible. I have never denied, or thought
of denying, His power of suspending
natural law." This, surely, is not the
way in which a naturalist would be
expected to speak. Mr. Smith calls
himself a "sceptic," and again we are
puzzled. Of one thing, however, we can
be sure: he is the gentlest g.nd kindest
of — let us say, critical inquirers. He
writes further: "Demonstrate to me
that a miracle has been performed, and
I will pledge myself to accept the
demonstration. You will not think it
unreasonable to ask for conclusive
evidence."

Assuredly not! That is what we
ourselves always demand ; and we can
assure Mr. Smith that some Catholics
are as sceptical as himself regarding
the translation of the Holy House of
Loreto, and other marvels to which he
refers. Is it possible that a man of
Mr. Smith's enlightenment can suppose
for a moment that in order to be a
member of the Church one must give
credence to the tradition that the House
of Loreto was brought by angels from
Nazareth? Such things do not belong
to revelation and are no part of the
Church's teaching. Would to God that

all Catholics realized, and that all
honest inquirers like Mr. Smith could
be persuaded, that in reality the creed
of the Church is a short one !

In connection with the foregoing, let
us quote some words of an address read
by the Rev. Dr. Hartmann Grisar, S. J.,
at the Scientific Congress in Munich a
few years ago. He was then professor
of Church history in the University of
Innsbruck :

For thirty years my studies have made me
occupy myself with the large number of errors
which have gradually during m8.ny centuries
slipped into the history and the outer life of the
Church, and of which some remain to this day.
Around the lives and the miracles of the saints,
around their relics and sanctuaries, a number of
unauthenticated traditions, accounts of miracles,
and fables, have clustered; some of which are
beautiful and poetic, while others are simply
ugly and tasteless. Worse still, want of knowl-
edge and judgment, and often even all sorts of
bad passions, have worked together to produce
false relics and false shrines, and to present them
for the worship of simple people. It is against
this abuse of holy things that we must fight for
the sake of truth, the honor of the Church, and
the interests of the Catholic Faith. Not only do
such things provoke the scorn of our enemies :
they may even injure the faith of less well-
informed children of the Church. I myself have
often met educated laymen to whom these foolish
traditions have caused violent temptations
against faith, — a proof, of course, that they do
not clearly realize the point; for these things
are not objects of revelation. The chief fault of
the ultra -conservative spirit in these matters is
that it does not consider the historical beginning
and development of the numerous errors which
appeared and were spread, mostly quite in good
faith, in the past.

Concluding his memorable address.
Father Grisar said :

Oui aim is clear. We want to help to build up
the Catholic life. We have no new building to set
up; but just as in our great Romanesque and
Gothic churches the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries have left their evil marks, so do we
see in the great spiritual Church here and
there a disfigurement which we must pull down.
Let us put our hands to the task! The light
of God's truth must shine pure and unmixed
throughout His Church.

From the Distant Heavens.

BY HOPE WILLIS.

CROM the distant heavens

Where the angels are,
Farther than each cloudlet

And each twinkling star,
Jesus watches o'er me

All the day and night.
Hears my least petition.

Helps me do aright.

From the distant heavens

Where the blessed stand,
Jesus smiles upon me,

Reaching forth His hand.
O Thou gracious Father,

In Thy loving sight.
Children are like angels

When they do aright!

'One of His Jewels.'

BY T. L. L. TEELING.
I.

H E was only a little shepherd-
ess,— for there are shepherdesses
still; though our young readers
may fancy them merely a name
history or nursery rhyme, like
"Little Bo Peep." Yes, Toinetta Ber-
tonini was a shepherdess in summer
time upon the high, grassy ridges of the
Maritime Alps ; and during the winter
she drove her flock of black and grey
goats through the sunny streets of
Nice or Mentone, selling foamy cups of
goat's milk to invalids and children ;
while her father bartered their kids
to the ])utcher in those cruel-looking
shops where baby lambs hung ghastly
whole in the doorway.

And Toinetta was going, as she had
done every year of her ten-year-old life

before, up to the mountains with her
father and mother, and little sister
Barberina, and the old baby Toto,
and the new baby of eight weeks old,
and the flock of goats and sheep, —
up to the cool, fresh mountains for the
summer. But something the thought
of which made her stolid little face
a wee bit excited and eager as they
passed along the streets of Mentone
this morning, was the consciousness
that she had a new companion for
the journey.

For it so happened that Antonio— or
Biancheri Antonio, as he styled himself,
putting the surname before the Chris-
tian name, as Italians do,— the sallow-
faced baker of whom Toinetta's father
bought their daily bread, had an only
son. Luigi—" Antonio's Luigi," as the
child was called,— was a small, pale,
big -eyed, gentle child of somewhere
about the same age as stout, stolid
Toinetta; and through the long, hot
summer months Luigi would pine and
droop, and refuse to eat, till his mother
would break forth in impatient lamen-
tations, and his father watch him
anxiously, and question the weather-
wise who came into his little shop as
to whether a hotter summer than
usual were prophesied, or when the
rains would come.

One day Toinetta's father, Stefano,
was standing, in his picturesque shep-
herd's dress of tight breeches, and laced
sandals with bright braid crossing and
recrossing his legs, loose jacket flung
over the left shoulder, and broad red
sash round his waist, counting the
notches in a substantial-looking brown
stick which, with many others, hung
inside the baker's door. It was his
"baker's book," the record of many
kilos of bread now owed, recorded in

730

THE AYE MARIA.

the primitive fashion which still obtains
in that part.

Stefano sighed as he fingered the
last notch, and glanced at a goodly
pile of long, brown loaves which lay
w^aiting on the counter.

"It's a long count this time, Tonio,"
he said to the baker; "and bread so
risen, too! The little ones seem to eat
more day by day, and money to come
in slower."

"'Tis far better to pay the baker
than the doctor, my friend," responded
Antonio. "There's many a one might
envy you your fine, healthy children."

"Ah, yes, yes," replied the shepherd,
"it is true! But, all the same, food is
dear. Say, Stefano, could you not take
a kid instead of money, in part payment
for this score?"

Stefano shook his head decidedly.

"I think not. A whole kid would
be too much for us, and I know^ of no
one with whom to divide it. Besides,
we eat little meat at this time of year :
a plate of macaroni and a handful of
tomatoes, that is wholesomer."

"I am going away this week, you
see," hesitated Stefano, "and so it must
be settled."

" Ah, there again you are to be
envied!" sighed the baker. "You're
going up to the fresh, cool mountain
country, while down here we stew and
pant our lives away."

"Eh, there is always something,"
muttered the shepherd, fingering his
stick. "I would rather, at the cost of
a little heat, change lots with you and
be the owner of this shop."

"It is of the little one that I am
thinking, — our Luigi," answered the
baker, shaking out the crumbs from a
large basket as he spoke. "I know not
how he w^ill bear the coming summer.
Now, if he could but go up into the
mountains, like you — "

And here Antonio broke off suddenly ;
for a thought had struck him, — too
weighty a one to be lightly uttered.

"Where did you say that you spent
the summers?" he asked, as Stefano
began stowing away the long, brown
loaves under his arm.

"In our own country, — that is, up
near Cuneo, between that and Limone."

"And it is cool there, you say?"

"Oh, yes! — cool and fresh, and full
of pleasant green pasturage, where the
kids and lambs thrive. We lead them
about all day long to browse on the
sweet herbs; and some who can afford
it even rent a field ; and then we sell
their milk to the cheese- makers."

"But you, where do you live your-
self?" pursued the baker, intent on his
own thought.

"We live in one of the villages along
there, w^here my wife came from, and
where her parents still live. They give
us house-room, and we give them
goat's milk, and a kid now and then."

" Would you have room, do you think,
for our Luigi, if he were to go up w^ith
you? Your wife is a good, motherly
woman : would she take charge of him
there for a while ? There is — the score
you know^ that could be wiped off" (he
pointed with his thumb to the much-
notched stick), "and — and maybe other
things as well, if our Luigi came back
fat and strong. Talk it over with the
wife, and she will counsel you."

And he placed on Stefano's arm a
big round ring of bread with raisins
stuck here and there upon its surface.

Stefano immediately went home and
told his wife; and she, taking up the
sleeping baby from the cradle w^here it
lay in the dark cellar which sheltered
them all, went off, there and then, to
the baker's shop and settled the matter.

And that was how it came to pass
that Toinetta had a companion on her
spring journey.

II.

Little Luigi found it difficult to keep
up with his companions at first ; for
they plodded on, hour after hour,
along the dusty roadway, — Stefano

THE AVE MARIA.

731

with a big stick driving the sheep
flock noisily, aided by his dog; the
wife carrying and tending her baby;
Toinetta hustling the kids, and giving
a hand to one of the band of little
ones who trotted soberly behind. By
and by Luigi and the little ones got
a lift from some neighborly cart as
far as Ventimiglia ; and here, on Italian
soil for the first time, they prepared
to pass the night in a room hired by
one of Stefano's friends. They penned
up the kids and goats, and sat out
near them to discuss a smoking dish
of macaroni, of which Luigi took his
share with more appetite than he had
felt for many a day; although his
limbs felt tired after their unwonted
exertion.

"We are in Italy now," nodded
Toinetta, as the two children sat
together over their macaroni. "But I
never call it Italy until we get away
into the mountains. Then you will see! "

"Do you like the mountains so
much?" asked Luigi, shyly.

"Yes, and so will you. Won't you
grow fat and strong!"

"Do you think so?" The little
face lighted up. Then he whispered :
" Toinetta, tell me, are there not wild
beasts up there? I am a little afraid."

She tossed her head contemptuously.

" What wild beasts should there be ? "

"Oh, lions and tigers, you know!
I have a book about them at home.
They live in countries far away, and
this is far away," said the little town
mouse.

" Never heard of them, never saw
them!" — again Toinetta shook her
head contemptuously.

"But, then, there are the robbers, —
mountain robbers," said Luigi, who
had heard their doings talked of in his
father's shop.

"Ah, yes, but not for us! We know
how to avoid them," said Toinetta.
" But, Luigi, you must learn to drive
the sheep straight, and not be afraid of

the dog, else you will be no good at all."
So Luigi threw Rosso, the sheep dog,
a bit of bread, by way of making
friends ; and the' next day he took up
his little stick with the rest, and hunted
and drove the old ewes and their,
bewildered lambs as they trotted along
the white, dusty roads, and scampered
hither and thither in quest of a fresh
bite of grass. And up and up they
went — sheep, goats, father, mother,
children and all, — walking with bare,
dusty feet, and heavy bundles slung
over their shoulders ; buying their bread
and a drink of wine, when they came
to one of the small villages which here
and there break the monotony of the
mountain paths.

Little Luigi, with the observant
glance of a solitary child, took many
a mental note along the way : how the
women washed their clothes in the
narrow streamlets which ran down the
village street, and under the single plank
or stone which bridged it to their doors;
how each tiny shop had its signboard
dangling or protruding over the door-
way with painted symbols showing —
for the benefit of the unlearned — how
this man made shoes and that one
sold bread; no words of "baker" or
"shoemaker" being written above the
door, but only a shoe painted upon
a signboard, or a group of loaves, or
other commodities.

And, then, the small hostelries where
they sometimes stopped to drink, what
strange and wonderful pictures swung
over their doors! "The Three Cocks,"
or "The White Bear," or "The Two
Thieves," — just the same elementary
and homely signs as those which used,
ever so long ago, to hang above the
village inns or city hostelries in early
England.

III.

One morning — it was not really long
since Luigi had cried out "Good-bye!"
to his father and mother, but it seemed
to him an eternity — Toinetta, plodding

732

THE AYE MARIA.

along the dusty road with Luigi at
her side, began to notice, with little
cries of recognition and delight, the
w^ayside landmarks here and there.

"Ah, now I know we are getting
near the tunnel! How you will stare!
I wonder will you be frightened?"

" What is it, Toinetta ? "

"A tunnel. Oh, yes, you know, of
course! Like those black holes in the
hillsides your trains rush through."

"Are there trains up here?"

"No: we walk through."

"Walk through a tunnel? Oh, I shall
not like that at all!"

"Eh, it is great fun! You will see!"

And by and by he did see. Just a
hole in the hillside, as Toinetta had
said, and you looked straight into
the darkness, w^ith just a little pinhole,
as it were, of light beyond, showing
how very, very far oif the other end,
and daylight were.

Stefano shouted, and dogs and sheep
scurried together into the dim, damp,
water-dropping cavern, with its w^et,
loose stones underfoot. It was sharp
work, driving all those stupid sheep
and goats along in the darkness,
past heavily laden carts, foot-passengers
slipping, and horses tramping ; and the
echoing din of the hollow viralls w^as
bewildering even to more experienced
travellers. Stefano called sharply to
his wife and daughter to help him with
the sheep, and Luigi was pushed and
squeezed hither and thither by the
rushing beasts until he nearly fell.

Presently a carriage came swiftly
along. Luigi saw it well, by the aid
of its two lighted lamps; and he
bethought himself of his old town
trick, dear to the heart of every
street Arab, perhaps, in Europe; and
as it passed, his active little hands
had caught on behind, and he was
soon riding on the hindmost bar, — on,
on, faster and faster, far before Tonio
and his flock of sheep. In the exhilara-
tion of being carried along he almost

forgot them for a moment; and then
he thought that he would ride on to
the light, and drop down and wait
there for them.

On, on went the whirling wheels ; the
pinhole of light grew larger ; the horses
dashed on into a blaze of light, and
they were out in the sunshine once
more. It was so delightful to the tired
little feet, after their weary plodding,
that the boy clung on still, as the horses
trotted briskly onward, down the hill,
and round its curve, toward the valley
below. Really he must alight soon, he
thought, and run back to meet the
flock of goats. But just then a savage-
looking dog sprang at the carriage,
barking; and Luigi clung on, while they
swung round a sharp corner; so
that it was yet some distance before
he finally gave the jump downward,
and stood still, a forlorn-looking little
figure, watching the friendly vehicle
bowl swiftly along out of sight.

" Perhaps they will overtake me soon,
if I wait here," he thought; "and then
I shall not have to pass that horrid
dog again."

So he sat down by the wayside and
waited, idly plucking at the grass or
throwing stones across the road, in all
the placid contentment of childhood.

Meanwhile Stefano and his flock of
children and goats had emerged from
the tunnel, and stood blinking and
laughing in the blaze of sunlight at its
mouth. The goats were bleating and
rushing eagerly about, nibbling the
little tufts of grass here and there ; the
children shouting gleefully; Toinetta
holding up a rent in her faded skirt
which some one had torn, and the
mother hushing the frightened baby.

"Come, now, we must not rest here!
Avaati, bambini, — avanti !" cried the
father to his scattered flock.

"Where is Luigi, father?" exclaimed
Toinetta, as, after gazing for some
minutes into the tunnel, she saw no
other traveller emerge.

THE AVE MARIA.

733

"Eh? What's that you say? Luigi?
Why, surely he was beside you!"

"When we went in, yes; but after — I
was too busy with the kids to notice."

"Provoking little scapegrace! He is
still in there, no doubt," said Stefano.
"Frightened, perhaps, of the dark! "

"Perhaps he has fallen, and hurt
himself, poor little fellow!" put in the
mother. "Some one had better go
back and see."

"Oh, yes, I'll go!" growled the shep-
herd, lifting his staff and going back
into the gloom, feeling half inclined to
give the boy a "taste of it" for his
lagging.

"Don't be cross to him, Fano! " called
his wife as he went on. "Remember he
is only a little one and a stranger."

Her husband remembered, too, even
more forcibly, his bread score for the
future and the necessity for kindly treat-
ment of the little hostage, or visitor.
So he only growled inarticulately, and
then shouted down the tunnel:

"Luigi! Luigi! where are you?
Hurry!"

But no answer came.

(To be continued.)

The Knight and the Cobbler.

A cobbler, dwelling in Perpignan, was
seated before his door, and sang, as he
worked, a ballad much in vogue. A
knight who was passing by stopped
to listen to the cobbler's song. At its
close, he got off his horse, went up to
the cobbler's bench, took a pair of
scissors, cut two or three pairs of shoes
all to pieces, and then withput saying
a word mounted his horse again and
rode away.

The cobbler, stupefied at first, soon
hurried after the knight, exclaiming :

"Wretch! why have you been so
cruel? I am poor; I did you no injury;
then why — oh, why have you ruined

me.'

?"

The knight quietly answered:

"My friend, you are angry with me.
You say I have done you much evil.
Come with me to the king. He is just.
You will make your complaint, and I
will give the explanation of my action.
The king will judge between us."

The cobbler consenting, both appeared
before the king. The tradesman spoke
first:

"My Lord King, this knight stopped
before my shop this morning. He took
my scissors and ruined several pairs
of ray shoes without any reason at all,
for I never did him any injury."

"My poor man," said the king, "you
are right: "he has been very cruel.
Knight, why were you so unfeeling
toward this good artisan? Defend
yourself"

"Your Majesty," said the knight,
" will you permit me to ask this man
a few questions?"

The king nodded his assent, and the
knight asked :

" Cobbler, what were you doing when
I stopped at your door?"

"I was making a pair of shoes for
a neighbor."

"What else were you doing?"

"I was singing. It is my custom to
do so. Is it not permitted to sing?
I don't sing so well as the birds, but
I sing well enough to amuse myself,
and that's sufficient for me."

"Well, 'tis not sufficient for me," said
the knight. "Whose song were you
singing?"

"The one that's all the fashion nowa-
days,—'The Silence in the Forest.'"

"Well, cobbler," rejoined the knight,
"I wrote the words and the music of
that ballad. I stopped before your shop,
because you were singing my song so
loud that the whole street could hear
you. Then when I noticed how badly
you sang, I grew angry. You didn't
sing a single note correctly. You
didn't even sing the words correctly.
You utterly spoiled my song. If you

734

THE AVE MARIA.

had been singing inside your house, I
shouldn't have minded. But you sang
out on the street, and your miserable
execution of my ballad injured my
reputation. So, as you spoiled my song,
I concluded that I had a right to spoil
your shoes ; for that ballad is my work
just as much as the shoes are yours."
The king burst out laughing, and said :
"My friends, you are both right. As
'tis scarcely fair, however, that the
poor cobbler should lose the price of his
labor, I'll pay for the shoes. 'Tis not
fair, either, that the musician's reputa-
tion should suffer; so, Sir Knight, I
invite you to sing your ballad at
court this evening, and I promise you
everybody will be there to hear how
beautiful it is."

Both knight and cobbler were de-
lighted with the decision of the king,
w^hose courtiers declared him as wse
as Solomon and as unerring in his
judgments.

The Order of Fools.

All through the Middle Ages quaint
guilds were formed for charitable pur-
poses, and none was more remarkable
than the "Order van't Geeken Gessell-
schaft" (Order of Fools). Founded by
Adolphus, Count of Cleves, in 1381, the
members of the Order were gentlemen of
high rank, and these devoted themselves
to benevolent and charitable purposes.

The knights of the Order bore an
insignia with the figure of a jester,
dressed in red and silver, a cap and
bells on his head, in one hand a cup
filled with fruits to symbolize their
charitable undertakings, in the other
a golden key to unlock their hearts
toward one another and all the world.
The brotherhood held a yearly meeting,
at which all matters pertaining to
the Order were discussed, and all dis-
tinctions of rank were laid aside,
the members meeting upon an almost
Utopian equality.

Many were the good works they per-
formed. The sick were tenderly cared
for, little children were supported, the
poor were housed, the hungry were fed ;
and the "Order of Fools" was wse
in that its members laid up treasures
in heaven.

A similar Order was instituted in
Poland in the fourteenth century,
founded by a Polish noble, and from
his estate named "Republica Binepsis."
This society was modelled upon the con-
stitution of Poland, and had its king,
its chancellor, and other officers. With
a sense of the ridiculous as keen as that
of an American college boy, the Poles
seized upon any taste of a member and
forced him to accept a corresponding
appointment in the society: one too
fond of the chase was made Master of
the Hunt, one who boasted too much
of his own deeds was made Field-
Marshal. Thus were personal faults
obliterated by raillery, and absurd
habits repressed.

Like the German society, the "Re-
publica Binepsis " devoted itself to
charity, to the suppression of all
wrongdoing, and to the redress of
many a grievance inseparably connected
with the feudal system. It became a
bright and shining light through the
Middle Ages, — one of those bright beams
which shed o'er the passions of the age
the soft lustre of Mother Church.

December.

The Romans named December from
decern — ten, — as it was the tenth
month in their calendar. Martial calls
it Fumosus, or smoky; while another
ancient Latin named it Cannus, or
hoary, from its frequent snows. The
pagan Saxons named it " Winter
Monet," or winter month; and after
their conversion they termed it "Heligh
Monat," or hol^' month, from the birth
of Christ. By the modern Germans it
is still called the "Christ Monat."

]

THE AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

735

—The Society of St. Augustine, Bruges, announce
another popular (French) Life of Pius IX. It is
written by the Rev. P. Lirabour, and revised by
Mgr. Delassus.

—The "Little Folks Annual" for 1906, pub-
lished by Benziger Brothers, will surely delight
children ; for it contains just the kind of pictures
that they enjoy, — pictures that tell a story. And
there are charming sketches also that must
appeal to young folk.

— No. 37 of the Catholic Penny Booklets issued
by the St. Anthony Truth Guild, Chicago, has for
general title "Sound Readings for Busy People."
It is made up of an address by Father Cassilly,
S. J., on "Can a State University Teach Morals?"
and a number of selections from the editorial
columns of the Catholic press.

— A French brochure of practically the same
import as the pamphlet of Father Kress, else-
where mentioned on this page, is "A Social Cate-
chism for the Use of Labor Circles." It is really
an excellent handbook of elementary social and
political economy, terse, lucid, well arranged, and
doctrinally unobjectionable. Descl&, De Brouwer
et Cie.

— It is rarely that a publisher furnishes a more
interesting literary note than the following, which
comes to us from Little, Brown & Co.:

Mrs. Francis Alexander, of Florence, Italy, who has
translated from the Italian the more than one hundred and
twenty miracle stories and sacred legends which comprise
the volume entitled "II Llbro d'Oro," is in her ninety-third
year. She was a ^eat friend of Ruskin during the latter's
staj- in Florence; and it was Ruskin who introduced to the
world Mrs. Alexander's daughter. Miss Francesca Alexan-
der, as the author of "The Storj- of Ida." Since his death
Miss Alexander has published a volume of versified Italian
legends under the title "The Hidden Servants"; while her
mother has been devoting part of her leisure to translat-
ing and engrossing the miracle stories and sacred legends,
written by Fathers of the Church and published in Italy in
the sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Mrs.
Alexander's painstaking handwriting is as legible as type-
writing.

—In the death of the venerable Henry S. Cau-
thorn, who passed away recently at Vincenncs,
Indiana suffers the loss of a notable citizen, and
the Church in America, a son of more than ordi-
nary ability and devotedncss. Mr. Cauthorn was
a member of the bar, and more than half a cen-
tury ago took an active part in organizing the
first municipal government of Vincennes. At dif-
ferent periods in his career, he held a number of
legal positions in one of the largest judicial dis-
tricts of the State, and was also a prwninent
legislator, serving in 1879 as the Speaker of the
Indiana House. As a local historian, he achieved

real distinction; and in matters connected with
ecclesiastical annals in more States than one was
a recognized authority. Dying at the advanced
age of eighty - three, he concluded a career as
honorable as it was lengthy. R. I. P.

— Comprehensive, devotional, convenient, and
attractive in size and form, — these are some of
the special qualities of the "Treasure of the
Sanctuary," arranged by the Irish Sisters of
Charity and pubHshed by Gill & Son. While this
little manual of devotions contains prayers de-
signed particularly for religious, it is admirably
suited to the needs of the faithful in general.

— "Meditations on the Passion of Our Lord"
is the general title of a little book of devotions
translated from the Italian by a Passionist
Father, and published by Benziger Brothers. The
origin of the Scapular of the Passion is explained,
and introduces the meditations, which are thirty-
one in number. In addition there are devotions
for Mass, for morning and evening, and other
occasions.

— "Questions of Socialists and their Answers"
is the title of a readable pamphlet by the Rev.
W. S. Kress, priest of the Ohio Apostolate. Within
the compass of a hundred and forty pages, the
author gives illuminative and adequate answers
to a series of genuine interrogatories found in
the "Question Box" which he established in con-
nection with his course of lectures on "Socialism,"
delivered some months ago in Milwaukee. Arch-
bishop Messmer furnishes the booklet with an
appreciative introduction. Published by the Ohio
Apostolate.

— We cull the following paragraph from the
ever-interesting literar}- gossip of the Atbenieum:

Mr. Edmund Gardner has nearJj- completed a work on
"which he has been engaged for some years. At present the
title chosen is "St. Catherine of Siena; a Study of the
Religion, Literature, and Politics of the Fourteenth Cen-
tury." The book is not a conventional life of an ecclesi-
astical saint, but a study of the work and times of one
of the greatest women in history. Mr. Gardner has been
fortunate in discovering a number of Iiitherto unknown
letters of St. Catherine herself, and it is thought that his
work will throw new light upon the religious and political
state of Italy In the epoch immediately preceding the Re-
naissance. Messrs. J. M. Dent & Co. will publish the book,
which will not be ready for some considerable time.

— It was in 1850 that Mr. A. Welliy Pugin
wrote his "Appeal for the Revival of the Ancient
Plain-Song." The little essay has just been
reprinted, and its timeliness few will deny. It is
a unique bit of earnest writing, whose every sen-
tence has an eloquent cadence. It is interesting
as an historical document, and throws an intense
light upon tiie "artificial state of ecclesiastical

736

THE AYE MARIA.

music" in England half a century ago. We may
well imagine how this sincere pleader would have
rejoiced over the Motu Propria of the present
Holy Father on Church Music. Mr. Pugin could
lay aside the cudgel argument when he wished,
for he exclaims in one place : " What noble sim-
plicity in the hymns! While the chaunt of the
Psalter has an almost sacramental power in
calming a troubled spirit and leading the soul to
God." Benziger Brothers are the American pub-
lishers of this exceptionally interesting brochure.

— Anne Warner, author of the "Susan Clegg"
stories, etc., gives this advice to aspiring authors:
"Write fifty stories, each as good as you can
possibly do. As fast as they are finished submit
them (enclosing return envelopes). When they
come back, read them carefully over; aud if possible
to improve them, do so to the best of your ability.
Have a book and keep track of where each one
goes, and send each to the different editors. When
the fiftieth story has come back the tenth time,
if not one has been accepted, it is wisest to give
up. But if one can persevere to write fifty stories
and to send each out ten times, some will he
accepted." Miss Warner declares that "if these
few directions are explicitly followed, they will
prove one talented — or the reverse." We wish
she had insisted a little more on the importance
of enclosing return envelopes, and that she
had mentioned something about the necessity of
putting postage stamps on them.

The Latest Books.,
A Guide to Good Heading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
appear at the head, older ones being^ dropped out
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editioat will not be indexed.

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will be imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad.
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"Meditations on the Passion of Our Lord." 50

cts.
"Prayer." Father Faber. 30 cts., net.
"Lives of the English Martyrs." (Martyrs under

Queen Elizabeth.) $2.75.
"Joan .of Arc." Hon. Mrs. Maxwell-Scott. 75 cts.
"The Life of St. Patrick, and His Place in

History." J. B. Bury, M. A. $3.25, net.
"The Suffering Man- God." P&re Seraphin. 75

cts., net.
"The Sanctuary of the Faithful Soul." Yen.

Blosius, O. S. B. 75 cts., net.

"The Immortality of the Soul." Rev. Francis
Aveling, D. D. 80 cts., net; paper, 15 cts.,
net.

"The Little Flowers of St. Francis of Assisi."

$1.60., net.
"Yolanda, Maid of Burgundy." Charles Major

$1.50.
"Addresses. Historical, Political, Sociological"

Frederic R. Coudert. $2.50.
" Life of Sir Thomas More, Knt." William Roper.

55 cts., net.

Obituary.

Remember tbem that are in bands. — Hbb., liii.

Very Rev. Henry Bartlett, O. P., of the English
Province.

Sister M.St. Felicianus, of the Sisters of Charity,
I. C. ; Sister Miriam, Sisters of Notre Dame;
Sister M. Elizabeth, Sisters of Charity; aud
Sister M. Josephine, Order of St. Ursula.

Mr. William Long and Mrs. M. F. Sweetman,
of Salem, Mass.; Mrs. Sarah Finley, Waterbury,
Conn. ; Miss Mary Moore, Manhattan, N. Y. ;
Mr. Henry Cauthorn, Vincennes, Ind.; Mr. Patrick
Berry, Tampa, Kansas ; Mrs. Henry Flaspohler,
Logansport, Ind.; Mr. John Hickey, Washington,
D. C. ; Mrs. M. A. Studor, Fort Wayne, Ind. ;
Mr. Bernard Egan, Cohoes, N. Y. ; Mrs. Bridget
McAuHffe, Charlestown, Mass.; Mrs. Mary Chanes,
and Miss M. Atkins, Indianapolis. Ind. ; Mrs
Elizabeth Freeman, Lima, Ohio; Mr. Bernard
Magee, Mrs. Anne Magee, Mrs. Jennie A. Hookey,
and Mrs. Catherine McLoughlin, Philadelphia, Pa.;
Mr. W. F. Banfiel, Toledo, Ohio ; Mr. C. F. Bing-
ham, Hartford, Conn. ; Mrs. Mary Donoghue,
Boston, Mass.; Mrs. Catherine McCluskey, Cam-
bridge, Mass.; Mr. D. V. Cush, Pittsburg, Pa.;
Mrs. Catherine Fitzsimmons, Lonsdale, R. I. ;
and Mr. John Witzel, Wheeling, W. Va.

Requiescant in pace '

Our Contribution Box.

"Tby Father, who seeth in secret, will repay tbee."
For two Chinese missions :

Rev. T. F., $10; Friend, Milwaukee, $5 ;
R. F. D., 50 cts.; M. A. D., $1; J. C. B., $1;
Mrs. -p. F., $2; E. D., 90 cts.; D. J. R., $1.30;
N. N., $5; Dr.T.J.C, $1; J.J. C, $1; E.J.B., $5.
To supply good reading to hospitals, prisons, etc.:

R. G., Johnsville, $5; Mrs. B. F., $5; Rev.
J. H. G., $10; Mary K., 50 cts.
For Sister M. Claver, Uganda:

Mary E. McKone, $1.
The leper priest at Mandalay, Burma:

N. N., $10; Child of Mary, $1.

HENCEFORTH ALL GENERA TlOhe SHALL CALL ME BLESBED. ST. LUKE, I., 46.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, DECEMBER 9, 1905.

NO. 24.

[ Published trrcij Satunlay. Copyrighl : Kcv. D. E. Hudson, CS.C]

Immaculata.

BY ALEX&NDER MA.SZOXI. TRANSLATED BY THB
RBV. J. F. BINGHAM, D. D.

DlSING day, and evening falling,
When noon declares the moiety,
The bronzes hail thee, ever calling
Pious crowds to honor thee.

Thee the fear-struck child invokes
In night's dark watch ; to thee, in pallor,

When danger roars its mighty strokes,
Appeals the trembling sailor.

Thy griefs each day are told with sorrow
In thousand parts; from thy content

The world, each day, doth gladness borrow
As from a new event.

Hail thou, given the second name !

Hail, salvation's Morning Star !
Bright as the sun's resplendent flame,

And awful as the pomp of warl

The Catholic Missions in New Caledonia.

■Y DOM MATKRNUS SPITZ, O. S. B.

EW CALEDONIA, the well-
known French penal colony, is,
after New Zealand and New
Guinea, the largest island in
the Pacific. It belongs to the so-called
Melanesia group, and lies between
20° 10' and 22= 25' S. lat., and between
164"^ and 167-' E. long. It is about
two hundred and forty miles long
and twenty - five miles wide, covering
with its dependencies — the Isle of Pines,
the Wallis Archipelago, the Loyalty,
Union and Belep islands — an area of

eighty-one hundred square miles. Inter-
sected as it is by high mountains and
rich valleys, adorned by magnificent
cascades and abundant pastures, New
Caledonia might be called an ocean
paradise, were it not for its man-eating
natives, the Kanakas, "brutal to an
extreme degree, who seem to have
forgotten the first principles of the
natural law"; or were it not for its
having been made a convict settlement.
Honest people are naturally reluctant
to settle down there.

Although discovered as early as
1774 by the famous Captain Cook,
who called it New Caledonia, after
the northern portion of Scotland, no
European set foot on the island for the
space of seventy years, as it was out of
the way of commercial enterprise, and,
so to say, walled oflf by an impene-
trable barrier of coral reefs and rocks.
But Catholic missionaries broke down
the barriers which separated this island
from the civilized world. It is due to their
apostolic enterprise and their researches
that we have become acquainted with
the nature of the land and its inhab-
itants, their manners, customs and
religion. Owing to its moderate climate,
the island is blest with a splendid
flora, and has become famous for its
sandal -wood and precious pine trees,
such as the kauri and araukari. The
animal world, however, is scarcely
represented there, — if we except rats
and "flying dogs," the famous New
Caledonian kagu, and also the hen-like
pigeon, notu.

738

THE AVE MARIA.

The Kanakas are treaclierous and
mistrustful, yet full of courage and
enterprise. Eager for human prey, they
are in constant warfare among them-
selves or with other tribes. Although
cannibals, they hardly ever kill a man
for food : they devour only captives.
To have eaten an enemy is the ne plus
ultra of triumph. His memory is ever
after infamous. The women, who are
kept in slavery and debasement, have
the greatest portion of labors and the
smallest share in the privileges of home,
never being allowed even to eat with
their husbands. In case the wife should
fall ill, she is immediately expelled from
the house. The Kanakas, on the other
hand, are distinguished for great hospi-
tality, which causes everything to be in
common among them; but they are
also the greatest of thieves. They know
little or nothing about the unity and
sanctity of matrimony; polygamy is
widespread, and taking and giving
away belong to the daily routine of life.

The natives believe in the existence
of one supreme god, whom they call
"Neuengut," one who is di£fei-ent from
.man and the soul of man, — eternal and
unchangeable; although this idea is'
intermingled with beliefs in many other
deities, which are mostly spirits of
departed chiefs. Prominent among these
are Kiemua, a kind of Greek Cerberus,
the evil spirit who tortures wicked
souls in Tsiabumbon, on the island of
Poob, till they have atoned for their
crimes, and, thus cleansed, are worthy
of Doibat, the good spirit and the
rewarder of rightful works in Tsiabilum,
the New Caledonian paradise. For the
natives believe in the immortality ot
the soul "Aiwan," which is something
quite different from "Dieran," or
material body.

Politically, the New Caledonians, pre-
vious to their annexation, were gov-
erned by the Teama and Mueau, the
first and second chief; and by the Tea
and Kabo, crown prince and crown

princess, who are either the son and
daughter of the Teama or children
whom he has adopted with the general
consent of the nation. The Teama is
highly venerated by his subjects, the
Yambuets; his "palace" is of a larger
size than the rest of the dwellings, and
is distinguished by a flag ; when he
appears in his official capacity, he
wears a beautifully adorned axe or
hatchet; and his death is announced
in the words: Tenan delat, — "The sun
has gone down."

It was sixty -nine years after the
discovery of New Caledonia that the
first Europeans set foot upon the island
and took up their abode among its
barbarous inhabitants ; and these first
Europeans were Catholic missionaries.
On the feast of St. Thomas, the Apostle,
December 21, 1843, the French vessel
Bucephalus, commanded by Captain
La Ferriere, landed at Port Ballad,
situated on the northeastern coast of
New Caledonia. He had on board the
first five missionaries of the Marist
Congregation, who were destined to
plant the tree of the Church in these
regions, — namely, Mgr. Douarre, titular
Bishop of Amata, Fathers Rougeyron
and Viard, and two lay Brothers.
Mgr. Douarre came as the first Vicar
Apostolic of New Caledonia. He had
to gather together and to form his
flock out of pagans roaming about,
naked in body and soul, in the dense
forests of the "slaud.

Captain La Ferriere heartily wel-
comed the native chiefs and kings,
Pakili-Puma of Koko, Taneundi of
Kuma, and Tshapea of Bonde, who
immtJiately after his arrival paid him
a visit. Tea Baiama, the chieftain of
Ballad, willingly sold the missionaries
a piece of land at Mahamata, gave
them permission to build a chapel and
a house upon it, and to preach the
Gospel to his subjects. Four days after
the arrival of the missionaries, being the
feast of Christmas, Mgr. Douarre said

THE AVE MARIA.

739

the first Mass ever offered on the island
of New Caledonia. In a letter dated
January 1, 1S4-4-, his Lordship writes:

"On Christmas Day I celebrated the
Holy Sacrifice upon the site of my cabin.
The temple was beautiful; it had for
its roof the firmament ; the altar, in its
poverty, did not ill resemble the Crib
of Bethlehem ; and the poor natives
who surrounded it in profound silence
recalled to me the Shepherds prostrate
before the Infant Saviour. 'Glory to
God on high, peace on earth to men
of good will ! ' These beautiful words
were also addressed at this moment
to my savages; at least I asked peace
for them with all my heart of the
Divine Infant."

After the festivities were over, the
crew of the Bucephalus erected a little
chapel and a house for the missionaries,
both of which were blessed by Mgr.
Douarre, January 21, 1844. The sailors
presented arms ; and I'akili - Puma,
Koko chief, addressed a few words to
his subjects; after which nine salutes
were fired by the guns of the Bucephalus.
Then the vessel sailed away, leaving
the missionaries on the lonely island,
among strangers of whose language and
manners they as yet had no knowledge.

For the first twenty months the
work of their apostolate was slow, —
a work of patience and prayer and
suffering. "We remained almost with-
out any resources and any defence, in
a country destitute of everything we
might require, amongst a ferocious
and cannibal people." Without an
interpreter, grammar or dictionary, the
missionaries had to learn the language;
being often obliged to neglect the study
of it in order to attend to the more
urgent affair of procuring a means ot
subsistence, as the provisions left them
by Captain La Ferricre — a barrel ot
salt meat and three barrels of flour —
did not last long. Nor could the mis-
sionaries count too much on exchanges
with the natives; for there were few

things to give them, and the New
Caledonians had still fewer to sell.
Mgr. Douarre and Father Rougeyron,
with the help of the Brothers, set them-
selves to earn their bread by the sweat
of their brow; they cultivated a piece
of land, and at the same time taught
the natives the elements of agriculture.

Father Viard, being acquainted with
the language of some rovers from the
island of Wallis among the natives, was
able to occupy himself in a more direct
way with the work of the mission,
and visited neighboring tribes with
some happy results. From the 1st of
November, 1844, he assembled, morn-
ing and evening, a certain number of
natives in the house of the chief of
Ballad and instructed them in the
Faith. But the rude character of the
majority, their cannibalism, and the
constant robberies which they executed
with a truly surprising skill, often .
coming to steal what they had just
sold, constituted a formidable obstacle
in the way of progress. Several serious
attacks were made on the missionaries,
in one of which Father Rougeyron
was dangerously wounded by a spear.
A native who was rebuked for his
cannibalism answered: "Well, you may
be right that it is a sin to eat one's
fellowman; but you can not say that
human flesh does not taste well, else
you would tell a lie." And he threatened
to make a meal of the Bishop. On
account of this hostile attitude, the
mission at Mahamata was transferred
to Baiao, where one of the Brothers,
with the help of Mgr. Douarre, built a
chapel and house in stone.

Nineteen months of a barren aposto-
late, with the exception of the baptism
of children, had elapsed since the landing
of the first missionaries, when on
September 28, 1845, the French corvette.
The Rhine, arrived in the harbor of
Ballad, with two other missionaries-
Fathers Grange and Montrouzier; but
it took away Father Viard, who had

740

THE AVE MARIA,

just been appointed auxiliary Bishop
to Mgr. Pompallier, of New Zealand.
Captain Berard, commander of The
Rhine, presented the missionaries with
a large dog to guard their property
against the rapacious Kanakas. But,
besides this, the dog rendered many
other good services. He had been
trained to bark at the natives whenever
they appeared unprovided with cloth-
ing. Such a thing as a barking dog
being unheard of in the island, the
Kanakas feared the animal even more
than the reproachful words of the
missionaries, and his barking inspired
them w^ith the necessary sentiments
of decency. On quitting the island,
the Captain gave the missionaries an
abundant supply of provisions; and
Father Viard left them a valuable
collection of instructions, prayers and
hymns, which he had translated into
the Caledonian language.
■ Everything now gave promise of a
brighter and better future. The new
chapel at Baiao was soon filled with
catechumens, eager to listen to the
words of salvation; and a happy
change began to take place among the
other natives. " They are less disposed
to robbery; their w^ars are of less
frequent occurrence ; they are beginning
to understand the motive which has
brought us among them; the impulse
has at last been given and the people
in general are desirous of becoming
instructed. We have sown the seed in
several other parts of the island, and
■we already reckon a small number of
disciples well prepared for baptism."*
But every work of God, in order to
be crowned with success, must be tried
by visitations. The year 1846 was
indeed a year of trials and tribulations,
while the year following witnessed the
temporary interruption of the work. At
that time English and American trad-
ing vessels frequently anchored off the
shores of New Caledonia. Protestant

• Letter, Oct. 27, 1845.

missionary agents of both nations, fear-
ing that New Caledonia might become
a centre of our holy religion in the
Melanesia group, at once began to
hurl their usual weapons of calumny
against the Church and her mission-
aries, to excite the hatred of the
natives against both. The priests were
represented as secret enemies of the
Kanakas, bent upon their destruction.
Unfortunately, a contagious disease
had broken out and wrought great
havoc among them. As the priests
had postponed the baptism of their
catechumens, they baptized them now
in the hour of death. This, of course,
was for the natives sufficient proof
that the assertions of the Protestant
agents were true; and, as a conse-
quence, baptism and baptismal water
were regarded with horror.

Two other events roused the ill-
disposed Caledonians, increasing their
hatred against foreigners in general
and against the Catholic missionaries
in particular. Some English merchants
from Australia who frequently visited
the shores of New Caledonia invited the
natives to come on board ; and as
soon as a large number had been gath-
ered, the captains suddenlj^ sailed away
to dispose of their human cargo to
European settlers in Australia. In
revenge, the Kanakas killed a certain
Mr. Sutton and devoured him; they
afterward gathered round the mission
station, threatening the missionaries
with the same fate.

In spite of all these obstacles, the
missionaries peacefully continued their
apostolic work, and Father Montrouzier
was able to found a second station at
Puebo. Not far from here the French
corvette La Seine, with two hundred
and thirty men, under Captain Lecomte,
had suffered shipwreck in 1846. Both
the officers and the crew were hospi-
tably received by their countrymen at
Puebo, where they remained for two
months, working on the mission farm

THE AVE MARIA.

741

or mapping out and surveying the
island. But the presence of so many
Europeans roused the suspicion of the
natives. Two chieftains, Buarate and
Thindin, advised their subjects to rise
and kill all the Europeans; but they
were dissuaded from doing so by the
old chieftain Goa.

Mgr. Douarre, thinking that peace
had been restored, took occasion to
return to France with the captain of
the corvette, in order to secure more
missionaries. But scarcely had he left
when the Kanakas attacked the station
at Baiao and burned it to the ground.
Mgr. Collamb, Vicar Apostolic of the
Solomon Island, with a companion,
Father Vergunt, who had just arrived
on a visit to his brethren in religion,
as well as Father Grange, then in
charge of Baiao, and Brother Bertrand,
saved themselves by flight and went
to Puebo; but Brother Blasius fell
under the blows of the assailants. A
second attack was planned upon
Puebo. Hearing of the plot in time, the
missionaries fled from New Caledonia
on August 9, 184-7. Thus the work of
four years was given up, but not the
hope of resuming it later on.

Several attempts were made to settle
at Annatom (New Hebrides), and on
the Loyalty Islands, so as to be near
the sorely tried neophytes; but all
these attempts failed. Later on, Father
Gougeon successfully opened a field at
Kumie ( Islp of Pines) ; and when in
1849 Mgr. Douarre returned with some
recruits, he resumed the work in New
Caledonia itself As the old stations of
Puebo and Baiao were in ruins, he
founded a new one at Yengen ; whilst
Father Rougeyron gathered the rem-
nants of the destroyed stations at Yate.

But the excited Kanakas had made
up their minds to root out the very idea
of Christianity, and planned another
attack. Fortunately, the plot was be-
trayed. Bishop Douarre and Father
Rougeyron left New Caledonia a second

time (1850), taking their catechumens
and neophytes to the island of Futuna,
in order to make them better acquainted
with the ideal Christian life as it was
led by those faithful and heroic children
of the sainted Father Channel.

Two years later Bishop Douarre
returned to Ballad, where he had landed
nine years before, to resume for the
third time the apostolate of his cherished
field. He met with a hearty welcome;
for the natives were now anxious to
be instructed both in religion and
agriculture. Unfortunately, however,
an epidemic broke out a few months
later, and the old prejudices regarding
baptism and baptismal water were
revived. The missionaries, who did their
utmost to help and console the natives
in every possible way, were coldly
received by the sick; whilst those in
health asked themselves and the mis-
sionaries over and over again: "How
is it that the Europeans are spared
from this disease, and why do they
not die?" It was only when Bishop
Douarre, a victim of charity in helping"
the plague-stricken, contracted the ill-
ness and died in 1853, that the hearts
of the Kanakas were softened ; they
now received with joy the consolations
and visitations of Father Forrestier.
Soon after the stations of Baiao and
Puebo were rebuilt, and a third one
was added at Tuo.

But the trials were not yet at an end.
In 1853 the work of evangelization
was threatened again, when Admiral
Febvrier-Despointes took possession of
New Caledonia in the name of France.
He built barracks at Ballad, and forti-
fied the harbor of Nura^a, the capital of
New Caledonia, which was thenceforth
called Port de France. The
Puebo hereupon urged his sub/
renounce Christianity, and
regular persecution. The nati'l
tians, wearied of the vacillation^
petty chiefs, begged Father Rougt*^
who after the death of Bishop Douarre

742

THE AVE MARIA.

acted as Pro -Vicar Apostolic, to take
them to some other place where they
might serve God in peace. Father
Rougeyron willingly complied with
their wishes, and, accompanied by one
hundred and twenty neophj'tes, left
Puebo and settled ten miles distant
from Num6a, where he founded the
station of La Concepcion. In 1857 the
pagans rose once more to blot out
the Christian religion, to kill both the
missionaries and their political rulers.
But the revolt was frustrated by an
epidemic which raged for some weeks.
One result of this fresh visitation was a
new station at St. Louis, which to-day
is the centre of the Vicariate.

Peace reigned over the island
from 1857 till 1878 ; and, in spite of
the persecutions of the natives and
the French, the repeated calumnies of
sectarian rivals and antagonists, and
the unchristian lives of many French
settlers, the missionaries celebrated
fresh triumphs. In 1864 New Caledonia
was made a French deportation colony.
On the island of Nu was established
a depot for one thousand prisoners,
in order to acclimatize them; and the
hospital which was founded there was
entrusted to the Sisters of St. Joseph of
Cluny. The prison for the convicts is
on the peninsula of Ducos. Prisoners
who have finished the time of their
penal servitude but are not allowed to
return to their native country, are kept
in separate districts as involuntary
immigrants, or scattered over the island
as free colonists.

The Vicariate of New Caledonia, since

its erection, has been governed by

Mgr. Douarre from 1843 to 1853, by

Father Rougeyron as Pro -Vicar from

-1^53 to 1873, by Mgr. Vitte from

/ 4.V^-18.73to . The present Vicar Apostolic

f*f ^s M^ir. Fraysse. The population of the
■^ 'Vicariate amounted in 1901 to 62,000
iiihabitants — natives, colonists, pris-
oners," and half prisoners. The native
population, which in 1853 amounted

to 60,000, had dwindled to 42,520 in
1892, and has been diminishing ever
since. The flock of 35,000 Catholics,
including 11,000 natives, is scattered
over 47 principal and 67 out-stations,
with 88 churches and chapels. It is
administered by a Vicar Apostolic and
61 priests of the Marist Congregation.
About 45 Brothers and 146 Sisters
(Tertiaries of the Marists, Sisters of the
Poor, Daughters of Mary, Sisters of
St. Joseph) have under their charge
one seminary, 4 colleges for boys, 3
for girls, 5 high schools, 40 elementary
schools with 5660 children, and 8
charitable institutions.

Herbert Roland's Mistakes.

BY MARIE GRACE.

ttl

ERBERT ROLAND sat in the
exquisitely appointed drawing-
room of his fiancee, Isabel
Stevens. He had sent up his card
and awaited her coming with feverish
anxiety. Only the week before Death
had stalked in and carried off Isabel's
father, the master of this house, over
which, Herbert had since learned, ruin
was impending. To Isabel, whose heart
was already oppressed with grief, the
latter news had only just come. It
viras of it and all it involved she was
thinking as she descended the hand-
some staircase so softly carpeted.

Herbert was a lawyer, and a clever
one, though yet young in his profession.
We can not call him a self- made man ;
for his making was really the work of
Isabel's father, Reginald Stevens. In
him the latter had discovered talent
which attracted him, and ever since
his college days Herbert had been
backed by the wealth and influence of
his powerful patron. So great was
Mr. Stevens' infatuation that when his
protege pleaded for the hand of his
daughter, he readily acceded. '

THE AYE MARIA.

743

I

Isabel too was nothing loath, having
likewise fallen under the spell of his
fascinations. Let us not wonder at it :
Isabel was only eighteen, and Herbert
twenty-five and very handsome. There
was one objection, however: he w^as
not a Catholic, and Isabel was. But
this objection was overruled by her
father, who, alas! attached no impor-
tance to religious matters.

Isabel's was a beautv which looked
well in any setting; and, though robed
in sombrest black now, she never looked
more lovely. Herbert was not uncon-
scious of these charms; she was the
girl of his choice. Still, in proposing
he had also taken into consideration
the fact that she was an heiress. Now
all was changed.

"You have no doubt heard the
news?" was her greeting to him.
"Poor, dear papa! He knew what
was coming, and it was heart-break,
not heart - failure, that killed him.
Utter ruin is all I see before us. You
will have to help us with your legal
knowledge, and give us a little advice.
Is there anything we can do, any step
we can take?"

"Well, Isabel," the young man replied,
"there is one step you can avoid
taking: do not rush into matrimony.
You know I am poor as yet, and have
name and fame to make ; I have noth-
ing to offer you."

Isabel was startled ; but her ready
wit took in the situation, and she
answered quickly :

"You mean, Herbert, that you do
not wish to be encumbered at the
beginning of your career by a penniless
bride. Have no anxiety on that score:
I release you. As for me, new duties
await me. My mother and young
brother are dependent on me alone.
No match, however brilliant, would
tempt me from the path of duty
before me. So, as to matrimony, your
legal advice is already accepted and
adopted."

Herbert felt the sting, and answered :

"This is hardly fair, Isabel. I .am
thinking of your good as well as my
own in this matter."

"True, Herbert. Escaping you is a
great good. This indeed I now realize.
Good-bye ! Henceforth you are free, and
so am I."

And without another word she swept
out of the room, looking like a queen
in her weeds of woe.

"It is hard to have to give her up,"
was Herbert's reflection; "but she is
right : I can not saddle myself with a
poor wife; I must marry money.'"

So, with one more glance at her
retreating figure, he deliberately turned
his back on Isabel and happiness.

He spent a wretched night ; in a frenzy
he paced the floor ; ever before his eyes
was the treasure he had let slip from
his grasp. In the dark hours of the
night passion reasserted itself, and
he cursed the hard fate which had
disunited the heiress and the beauty.
All night his love and his ambition
wrestled, but the morning's resolution
was: "I must never see her again. The
temptation would be too great, and it
would be madness to marry her."

As with the touch of the enchanter's
wand, or rather that of the cT/senchanter,
the lovely home had vanished, and the
Stevens family were settled in a little
flat in Harlem. Isabel's dainty touch
had made it, in all its simplicity, look
pretty and attractive ; and her own
bright smile was light in the darkness.
Hers was a nature which found its
greatest joy in self-sacrifice and devoted-
ness, and there came a new happiness
in the opportunities for this which her
changed position afforded. In her heart
there was no bitterness; and if she
thought of the past, it was not to
mourn over a lover lost, but to weep
over a fond illusion dispelled. That
chapter in her life was finished and
clo-sed — at least so she believed,— and
forever.

744

THE AVE MARIA

The sale of her jewels and those of
her mother had enabled them to furnish
this humble abode, and pay the first
month's rent. But other months were
coming; and Isabel knew the income
of the family would depend on her
personal efforts, and that she must
obtain some position, and that without
delay. She was a brilliant girl ; in school
days had always been looked on as a
light among her fellow-students, and
naturally therefore considered herself
competent to teach almost anything
that she had ever studied.

The next morning found her at a
"Teachers' Agency," bravely meeting
the stony gaze of the lady in charge, —
the scrutinizing gaze which conveyed
nothing but dissatisfaction and discour-
agement, as did her words likewise:

"You look so unprofessional! Teach-
ing now is a profession, and you appear
to know nothing of pedagogy. People
w^ant no one who does not under-
stand the technicalities of the art.
And, besides, you tell me that you are
a Romanist. You may, however, put
your name on the register; it might
happen that in the case of a very small
child we could place you as a nursery
governess."

Isabel colored and was about to
make a sharp retort, when she remem-
bered in what terrible straits they were,
and that she must accept some position,
howsoever menial.

" The registration fee is two dollars,"
added the agent. "Register or not, as
you see fit; there are the blanks to be
filled out." And she pointed to a table
near at hand.

Isabel seated herself and read with
dismay the long list of questions she
was expected to answer: from what
college she had graduated, what degrees
she had received, how much previous
experience she had had in teaching,
in what schools and colleges she
had been employed, etc., etc. She had
nothing but negative replies for any

of these questions; it seemed useless
for her even to register.

A gentle tap on the shoulder inter-
rupted her reverie, and a sweet voice
in her ear said :

"You here, dear Miss Stevens! How
glad I am to see you ! You are looking
no doubt for a master in some of
the arts and sciences into which you
dip so deeply?"

Isabel colored once more, and replied
truthfully :

"No, Mrs. Howard: I am looking
rather for a pupil to whom I can teach
the A B C."

"Why, what has happened?" queried
the latter, quickly. "What can you
mean?"

"Oh, don't you know," said Isabel,
"that everything we had has been
swept away ? When the crash came,
there was so much about it in the
papers I thought everybody knew."

"I never heard a word about it,"
answered Mrs. Howard. "But you
know, dear, I have been so wretchedly
ill, I have not looked at the papers,
and know nothing of what has been
going on in the world for these last
few months. Do tell me all about
it. But first tell me what kind of a
position you are really looking for.
Maybe I can help you to get it."

"Oh, I have been made to under-
stand," said Isabel, "that beggars can't
be choosers, and that I must take what
I can get! But the essential for me is
to get it quickly."

"Well, that you shall, dearie!" said
Mrs. Howard. "I just want a teacher
for my little Laura. She is eight
yeanr old, and beyond the ABC. You
can come to-day if you wish. But
we are in the country, you know,
and you will have to live with us
altogether. What a happiness it will
be to me to have you ! For sometimes I
am very lonely. Ours is a lovely place, —
deep in the pine woods. They alone
v^ill keep me alive, the doctors say."

THE AVE MARIA.

745

Isabel looked up at the beautiful
speaker. The hectic flush was there,
and it was evident that even the pine
woods could not help her for long. The
spark of life had begun to flicker.

" It is an imprudence for me to be out
this morning, but I was so anxious to
get the right kind of a teacher for my
little Laura. And I look upon it as a
real stroke of luck to have found you.
Your ill fortune has been my good
fortune. And now I am in town for
the day, and you must come to lunch
with me."

And, suiting. the action to the word,
she hurried Isabel downstairs and into
her carriage, which was waiting at
the door.

The salary Mrs. Howard off"ered was
generous, and the position an enviable
one ; but it entailed on Isabel a sacrifice
which was exceedingly painful — that of
leaving home. This, however, she gen-
erously accepted, and cheerfully entered
on her new duties. They w^ere absorbing
ones indeed; for, as the mother's life
faded away daily, the little Laura
learned to lean more and more on
Isabel, whom she called her "other
mamma." The father, too, uncon-
sciously leaned on her for support in his
hour of grief. His young and beautiful
wife was slipping away from him; he
was many years her senior, and it
was hard to lose her. But it was to
the invalid most of all that Isabel's
presence proved a boon.

As the end drew near, she knew how
to pour in words of heavenly hope and
comfort, and spoke to Mrs. Howard,
who was not a Catholic, of the one
true Church, and of its infinite treasures
of grace, its sacraments, its infallible
hopes of immortality. She listened,
and light came and grace to follow it.
On her deathl)ed she was baptized,
and received her first Communion as
Viaticum ; and as Isabel closed the
eyes of her beloved friend, she had
the unspeakable happiness of know-

ing that they would open in Paradise.

How she yearned now for the spul
of the little one! And what a trial it
was to feel that she would have to
abandon her when she seemed to need
her most ! Yet she saw no other course
open to her. Mr. Howard being now
a widower, her position in the house
as governess was no longer possible.

When the child learned that she was
to lose her second mamma too, her grief
knew no bounds. Her father feared for
her health; she had inherited much of
her mother's delicacy, and it seemed as
if this second shock would prove fatal
to her. Mr. Howard made an appeal
to Isabel : could she not remain at least
for the first year, if he opened up his
town house and invited her mother and
brother to live with her? For himself,
he had decided to go abroad for a
lengthened stay. To such an arrange-
ment she could not object, and the
Stevens family moved into the Howard
mansion.

The year passed happily and swiftly.
The companionship of Charlie Stevens
proved an excellent restorative to little
Laura; she romped and played with
him, and was very proud of her "big
brother," as she called him.

Meanwhile Mr. Howard had travelled
much, coming finally to Rome, where
he made a prolonged stay. His mind
opened readily to the Catholic influ-
ences of the Eternal City. The beautiful
death of his wife, and the visible con-
solation which the sacraments brought
her, had not failed to afifect him. He
asked for instruction, and prayed for
light and the grace of baptism. It
was accorded him; and in the church
hallowed by the relics of St. John
the Baptist he received the sacrament
of baptism, and subsequently made his
First Communion.

He wrote to Isabel telling her of all
these graces, and thanking her under
God for them. One more favor he
asked of her: w^ould she not continue

746

THE AVE MARIA.

her good offices toward him and his
little daughter, — would she not become
his wife? It would, perhaps, be a
sacrifice for her, as he was an old man
by comparison — fifty, and she twenty;
but he assured her that his heart was
»till young and full of ardent love for
her and deepest gratitude. As for her
mother and brother, she need have no
anxiety for them : his house should
always be their home.

Nothing had been further from the
thoughts of Isabel than such a pro-
posal, and it took her by surprise. She
had had her dreams of love, we know ;
and marriage without love she never
thought of. Mr. Howard's sterling
qualities, however, had not passed
unobserved by her; and all the advan-
tages which her marriage with him
would bring to her mother and brother
decided the balance in his favor. She
accepted the proposal, and shortly
after Mr. Howard's return the wedding
took place. It was not a love-match,
but love came with the years as they
rolled on happily and cloudlessly. As
her own children grew up around her,
they were not more dear to Isabel
than the little Laura of former days,
now a tall, graceful girl.

Charlie Stevens had changed too,
and looked a man indeed when, having
completed his senior year, he came
home from college with all his degrees
and loaded with honors. Laura was
proud of him, but felt that the time
had come for the joyous familiarity of
their childish friendship to cease; and
so the kiss which was their usual
greeting was omitted. But, somehow,
Charlie did not seem like his old self:
he was stiff and constrained, especially
with Laura, and the poor child was
troubled.

"Charlie doesn't care for me any
more!" she thought.

But Charlie's affection for her had
grown into love. To conceal this
and bury it deep in his heart was no

easy task. His was a sensitive nature.
Kind as Mr. Howard was, Charlie
felt the weight of the obligations
he was already under; and to aspire
to the hand of his patron's daughter
would, he thought, be unpardonable
presumption.

And now the quiet, peaceful days at
the Howard Mansion were drawing to
an end : Laura was coming out, and
society consequently coming in. She
was a sweet little rosebud, and her
debut a great success. At the reception
Isabel received with her, and it might
almost be called her "coitiing out" too ;
for at tbe time of her father's death,
ten years before, she had not yet made
her bow to society. If she was queenly
then, she was still more so now, as,
gowned in black velvet and adorned
with magnificent jewels, the gift of her
husband, she stood in the splendid salon
awaiting her guests. Mr. Howard was
enraptured, and as he looked at his wife
and his daughter, did not know of
which he was the more proud.

Among the fashionable men present
was Herbert Roland, now a lawyer of
some distinction. When introduced to
Isabel he had the audacity to say:

" I think we have met before. I knew
your father and have often been at his
house."

Isabel did not lose her self-possession,
but answered coolly :

"Possibly."

With such scant encouragement,
Herbert did not attempt to prolong the
conversation, but devoted himself for
the rest of the evening to Laura.

"What a charming girl your daugh-
ter i«!" was all he said to Isabel on
leaving.

After that he called frequently, always
to see Laura, though the girl made no
attempt to conceal her dislike for him.
He saw, however, that by her father his
suit was favored. Herbert now posed
as a wealthy man; besides the, income
from his profession, an old lady, a

THE AVE MARIA.

Uf

\

client of his, had when dying left him
half her fortune.

As for Isabel, so completely had he
gone out of her thoughts that even his
visits to the house did not disturb her.
Not so with him, however ; this meeting
with the love of his youth, so beautiful
in her maturity, had awakened to new
life the fire of his passion. Her indiffer-
ence maddened him, and his vanity
made him believe that beneath this icy
surface the old love still lived, and it
was his ambition to call it forth.

The opportunity was not easily
found, for she persistently avoided him.
It came, however, one day, and quite
by accident. He had sent up his card
to Laura, and was waiting for her in
the parlor. He had come bent on no
less a purpose than to make a formal
proposal ; and consequently, desiring
to see Laura alone, had called a little
before the usual visiting hours.

Meanwhile Mrs. Howard came in.
She had spent the morning shopping
and was tired; not expecting to find
visitors at that hour, she entered the
parlor to rest a moment before going
upstairs. Great was her astonishment
to find herself confronted by the man
whom she least wished to meet. Her
astonishment increased when, instead
of the usual formal greeting, she heard
her name repeated in ardent tones:

"Isabel, Isabel, have you not guessed
that I come here with a heart which
has never ceased to beat for you ! Tell
me that occasionally at least I have a
heart-beat of yours."

Isabel, amazed at his boldness, and
deigning no reply, moved toward the
electric bell.

"Hold!" he cried. "If you dare to
betray me, you arc undone! I will tell
our past to your husband. He will
never forgive you for letting me come
here, nor believe that I came for aught
but you, — nor did I. Why did I pursue
that phantom-like girl, or seek to grasp
her, but that I might be near you ?

Isabel, favor my suit with the little
Laura, and you are mine forever!"

"This is base!" said Isabel. "But
your threats affright me not; and rest
assured that, far from favoring your
suit, I shall combat it by every means in
my power, and shield my little girl from
such a fate, and myself from the disgust
which your presence occasions me."

There was a something in her tone
which forbade him to say more; and,
muttering words of revenge, he hastily
left the house, — this time leaving behind
him love and fortune ; for he had staked
all on this last venture, and had notes
to meet on the security of the rich
alliance he was about to contract. Its
failure of accomplishment left him a
ruined man.

The next morning Isabel's arms were
around her little daughter.

"You don't care for that horrid man,
do you, darling?" she asked.

" Mamma, I hate him ! " was Laura's
reply, and little did her mother guess
how deeply.

It happened that the day before,
worn out from the late hours of this
her first season, Laura had fallen asleep
over a book in the library, and voices
in the adjoining room had awakened
her. They were the voices of Isabel
and Mr. Roland, the whole of whose
conversation she heard.

When Mr. Howard came down to
breakfast, a great pile of mail lay by
his plate. He selected a letter directed
in the handwriting of Mr. Roland, 'rom
whom he was expecting a business com-
munication. He tore it open hastily,
and stared and stared again ; it was
undoubtedly Mr. Roland's handwriting,
and yet it began:

"Dear Isabel," — telling her that it
was the last time he would thus
address her; for that, in spite of the
past, all was now over between them.
"I have," he continued, "such respect
and veneration for your husband that
for his sake I feel I ought not even

748

THE AYE MARIA.

grant you the boon you ask — a farewell
interview, I ask you would it be wise
or conducive to your own peace of
mind ? There is nothing to be settled
between us: all is over. Do not be
offended if I tell you that in my heart
you have no place. I love little Laura,
and hope to marry her, provided her
father will consent to our living abroad.
I have found in this sweet child a rest
for mind and heart; her I hope to
make my wife. Learn to become like
her in her innocence and simplicity,
and thus become worthy of the noble
man who is your husband."

Mr. Howard stood aghast ; and,
having read the hateful page once
more, reached over to the heap of mail
by his wife's plate. Yes, there directed
to her was a letter in the same hand-
writing; and, breaking the seal, he
found the business matter which he
had been expecting. Now he saw it all.
The letters had gone in the wrong
envelopes. Only the night before Mr.
Roland had told him how absent-
minded he was, and here was a startling
proof of it, and one rich in revelations
to him. Too excited to reason further
or to see the flimsiness of the whole
affair, he strode out of the room and
out of the house, leaving his breakfast
untasted.

That evening, on coming home, Mr.
Howard sent word to his wife that
he had important business letters to
w^rite, and wished to be alone. At the
same time he sent a message privately
to Laura, saying that he wished to
see her in the library for a few minutes.

A formal summons of this kind from
her father was unusual ; but he did not
keep her long in suspense as to its
object. He told her that Mr. Roland
had asked for her hand.

"Asked you, papa? Ah, he knew
better than to ask me T'

"But, darling, I want you to accept
him. He loves you very much ; he is
a very handsome man, a very clever

man, and a fairly rich man. You can
not hope to do better. He could make
you very happy. At least promise to
receive his visits, and to try to like
him. Unless you succeed in doing so, I
shall not insist on your marrying him ;
for I need not tell you that in this
matter it is your happiness I chiefly
seek."

"Papa, I will never speak to him, I
will never listen to him, and I hope that
I shall never see him again. He is a
serpent, a viper, which you have nour-
ished in your bosom!" And Laura's
pale cheeks fairly crimsoned with rage.
"How has he dared to make this pro-
posal to you ? What think you is his
object in gaining admittance to this
house? Your Isabel, and none other!
My own ears heard his vile proposi-
tions, and heard them spurned by
mamma's lips: 'Why did I pursue that
phantom-like girl, or seek to grasp her,
but that I might be near you ? And
you have dared to spurn me, but I
will be revenged ! ' These, papa, were
his last words. Are you prepared to
aid and abet him?"

Beads of cold perspiration stood on
her father's brow.

"Darling, are you sure of this?" he
gasped.

" Yes, papa, — certain ! "

"Then call Isabel."

It was on bended knee that he
received her, and she sank into his
outstretched arms.

"Dearest, say you forgive me!" he
murmured again and again.

"There is nothing to forgive," she
answered. "I love you. I know that
your late painful thoughts were
prompted only by love for me."

"Then happiness is ours once more,"
he said. "We have nothing now to
think of but the happiness of our chil-
dren,— first that of Laura and Charlie.
How can we procure it?"

"But have you not guessed?" whis-
pered Isabel. "They love each other!"

THE AVE MARIA,

749

In the Fields o' Ballinderry.

Notre Dame des Trois Epis.

By Denis A. McCarthy.

DALLINDERRY, Ballinderry, in the opening of

the spring,
Sure 'twas there myself was merry, sure 'twas

there myself could sing !
Sure 'twas there my heart was happy (for the

world I didn't know),
In the fields o' Ballinderry, Ballinderry, long ago!

Ballinderry, Ballinderry, when the summer time

came on.
How we blessed the cooling breezes from the

slopes o' Siieve-na-mon 1
How the singing river woo'd us to its waters far

below.
In the fields o' Ballinderry, Ballinderry, long ago!

Ballinderry, Ballinderry, when the corncrake blithe

had called,
When the reapers' work was ended, and the harvest

home was hauled,
On the last load riding gaily laughed the children

in a row,
In the fields o' Ballinderry, Ballinderry, long ago I

Ballinderry, Ballinderry, in the winter cold and

white,
Glowed the hearths of Ballinderry in the darkness

of the night;
Sure the beggar-man from Kerry and the shuler

from Mayo
Found a friend in Ballinderry, Ballinderry, long ago !

Ballinderry, Ballinderry, what a change is there

to-day !
Though the places are as ever, sure the faces —

where are they?
Gone the merry-liearted maidens, gone the boys I

used to know
In the fields o' Ballinderry, Ballinderry, long ago!

However practical we deem it, that
life loses itself which fails to keep
in toucli with the invisible — with the
deepest principles which make business
more than barter, and science more
than hammering rocks and a skilled use
of the scalpel, and life more than the
baking and eating of bread.

—J. M. Taylor.

^^N H E traveller who climbs to the
^^y summit of the mountain on which
rests the village of Les Trois Epis, is
rewarded by the sight of a beautiful
and extensive panorama: the province
of Alsace lies before him. It is not
the view, however, that chiefly attracts
visitors to Les Trois Epis; nor is it
the bracing quality of the air which
plays around a summit more than two
thousand feet above the level of the
sea. It is the ancient and venerable
statue of Our Lady of the Three Ears
of Wheat, which dates back as far as
the fifteenth century.

In the year 1491, says the legend,
a reaper who was coming home from
work perceived, at the foot of an
oak tree which stood on the road
between Niedermorschwihr and Orbey,
an immense slug. This he attempted
to kill with his sickle; and not only
failed to do so, but wounded himself
so badly that he bled to death on
the spot. In memory of his sad death,
the pious countryfolk fastened to the
tree a picture of our crucified Saviour;
and, as they went to or from their
work, they would sometimes kneel and
utter a prayer for the soul of the
unfortunate reaper.

One man especially, a blacksmith from
Orbey, never failed to perform this pious
duty. He was rewarded by an appari-
tion of the Blessed Virgin on the 3d
of May, 1491. On that day, Thierry
Schoere — such was the blacksmith's
name, — happening to ride by the so-
called "dead man's oak," stopped his
horse and, dismounting, knelt accord-
ing to his custom before the picture of
the Crucifixion. He was praying thus
with great devotion when the Queen
of Heaven, surrounded by a dazzling
light, appeared to him, resplendent with
beauty and majesty. She wore a long
veil and garments of snowy whiteness.

750

THE AVE MARIA

In her right hand she held three ears
of wheat, and in her left what appeared
to be a piece of ice.

The Blessed Virgin ( so the legend
runs) spoke to the blacksmith in these
terms :

"The inhabitants of this country
offend Almighty God by their sins, and
the Lord has determined to punish
them. I, however, have interceded in
their behalf. Go to Niedermorschwihr,
and speak to the people. Urge them
to enter into themselves and to do
penance. Tell them to organize pro-
cessions, and to spread around them
the fear of the Lord. To all those
who are converted. Almighty God will
show mercy; and the three ears of
wheat which I hold in my hand signify
the goods of this world with which
He will bless them. To those, how-
ever, who harden their hearts, famine,
drought, and sickness, represented by
this piece of ice, will be sent to
chastise them."

Trembling with fear and reverence,
the pious blacksmith listened; then he
stammered :

"O Heavenly Mother, if I speak these
words to the people, how will they ever
believe me?"

"Fear not. Many will believe in
them," was the answer; and, before
the blacksmith could speak again, the
Blessed Virgin had vanished.

Thierry Schoere went down to Nie-
dermorschwihr, a prey to conflicting
emotions. If he kept silence as to the
vision, he would displease the Mother
of God ; and yet if he spoke, would he
not be taken for a madman by the
people? This latter consideration had
so much weight that he resolved to
hold his tongue.

Having reached the town, Thierry
entered the market-place and bought
some corn. As he laid hold of a sack
in order to set it upon his horse's back,
he found himself unable to lift it; and,
although the bystanders hurried to his

assistance, their combined efforts were
in vain.

Schoere took this as a warning;
and, full of repentance, he exclaimed :
"O Mother, forgive me! I have indeed
disobeyed you ; but I am truly sorry
for having done so."

Seeking out forthwith the priests
and the principal men of the town, he
related to them the vision and the
words of Our Lady. Returning after-
ward to the market-place, he was able
to lift the sack without difficulty.
Then Thierry felt that he had been
forgiven ; and, full of pious enthusiasm,
he addressed the crowd, exhorting
them to do penance, according to the
Blessed Virgin's desire. The clergy of
the town also preached to the people,
and they resolved to organize a pro-
cession to the chapel of Our Lady of
Kientsin.

In a short time, the Blessed Virgin's
warning becoming known throughout
the country, manj' persons repented
of their sins and changed their way
of living. It is said in confirmation of
the reality of the apparition, that those
who followed the motherly advice of
Our Lady were rewarded that 3'car by
an abundance of the fruits of the earth,
and were cured of their various diseases;
while those who persisted in an evil
course of life were visited by every kind
of misfortune: crops failed, diseases
broke out, deaths were frequent.

The inhabitants of Orbey and Nieder-
morschwihr, not content with obeying
the commands of Heaven, resolved to
honor, by the erection of an oratory,
the favored spot of the apparition. A
statue of the Help of Christians was
placed over the altar; and, curiously
enough, it has escaped through the
intervening centuries all dangers of fire,
robbery or despoliation. Even to this
day it is venerated by pilgrims under
the title of Our Lady of Pity.

In the progress of time, as many
graces were obtained at Les Trois

THE AYE MARIA.

751

Epis, the number of pilgrims naturally
increased. The oratory became insuffi-
cient for their use, and a larger chapel
was erected. This stood until, in 1629,
the Thirty Years' War devastated
Alsace, and the chapel wf.s first pillaged
and then burned. A portion of the
walls, however, were left standing ; and,
as has been said, the statue of Our
Lady remained intact.

In 1651 Pierre Hordel Dulys, a canon
of St. Die Cathedral, not only restored
the pilgrimage to its ancient splendor,
but, in addition to the chapel, built
a priory. This was occupied by the
Antonite Friars when the French Revo-
lution broke out in 1789. The chapel
was closed not long afterward, and
the monks were obliged to fly. Two
years later the buildings arid grounds
were sold as national property; but
they were purchased for a large sum
by the pious inhabitants of Ammer-
schwihr, among whom the famous
statue of Our Lady had already found
a hiding-place.

It was not until 1804, however, that
the priests of the diocese assembled the
people in order to restore the statue to
its ancient resting-place at Les Trois
Epis. On the night of the 1st of July,
unfortunately, a violent storm raged
upon the heights; and, when morning
broke, the road up the mountain was
concealed by a thick fog, which for
several hours threatened to stop the
procession.

Notwithstanding this difficulty, and
full of confidence in Our Lady, the
priests, followed by a great number of
people, left Ammerschwihr ; and, at the
foot of the ascent, divested themselves
of their heavier vestments in order to
carry the statue of the Blessed Virgin
up the mountain. Scarcely had they
done so when, to the delight of those
present, the fog vanished, and the proces-
sion wended its way to Les Trois Epis,
where it was met by the villagers,
with great rejoicing. The people lined

both sides of the road, and climbed
into trees and on the tops of walls,
the better to get a glimpse of their
beloved statue.

The auspicious day did not come to
an end without the granting of signal
favors by Our Lady. It was, for
instance, deemed truly miraculous that
no one was hurt by the collapse of a
wall during the procession, as many
people were standing upon it; and,
again, that a gun, fired close to the
church, burst without inflicting injury
upon anybody.

From the time of the re-establishment
of the pilgrimage, Les Trois Epis
has continued to prosper. Not only
Alsacians, but travellers from the out-
side world, flock to this little village.
Hotels and villas have sprung up among
the pine trees, and the tramway now
facilitates the ascent of the mountain.
The chapel itself has been enlarged by
the addition of part of the adjoining
convent.

Among the thousands of pilgrims who
yearly visit this hallowed spot, some
no doubt seek Les Trois Epis merely
on account of the beauty of its site,
and to drink in the invigorating air of
the mountain; but the great majority,
let us hope, go to Our Lady's chapel
in search of spiritual favors, as was
done by their pious ancestors long
centuries ago.

What is it that keeps us perpetually
straining and moiling and wearing
ourselves away, but some desire which
is not chastened, some thought of the
heart which is not dead to this worldly
state? What makes us lament the
flight of time and the changes of the
world, but that we are still a part of
it, and share its life? What makes us
die so hard, but that we leave behind
us more treasures than we have laid
up in heaven; that our hearts arc not
there but here? — Cardinal Manning.

752

THE AVE MARIA.

Young Mr. Bretherton.

BY ANNA T. SADLIER.

XLIV. — Conclusion.

PRING had come again to Mill-
brook, which truly "blossomed
white with May." It was an ideal morn-
ing indeed, upon which w^as to take
place a long-heralded and joyful event.
The trees were clothed with bravery
of living green, amongst which the
blossoms clustered thickly, and diffused
a soft, faint fragrance upon the air, —
a fragrance which recalled a thousand
pleasant things to the senses. The sky
was blue, scarcely marred by the fleecy
white flecks showing here and there
upon its surface, and sending down a
shower of molten gold, as it were, in
the broad, genial sunshine that over-
spread the entire landscape like the
smile of God. Wild flowers sprang up
from the grasses by the wayside, and
vied with their floral sisters in the
garden in giving the season's message
to all and sundry. It was spring, and
spring in its perfection, the sweetest
time of all the rolling year.

It was a gala day in Millbrook, and
Millbrook was conscious of the fact.
If Nature had done her utmost and
succeeded in producing an admirable
harmony. Art, as represented by the
townspeople, had closely imitated her
in doing utmost honor to the festival.
For example. Tommy Briggs, his per-
fervid sensibilities aglow, had freeh'
exercised his powers of invention, and
transformed the establishment of Stubbs
& Co. to the extent of its capabilities.
The emporium of Smith Jackson had
not, however, permitted itself to be
outrivalled. It was fairly resplendent.
Flags and bunting had done wonders
there, together with a judicious arrange-
ment of the various wares which
formed the staple stock-in-trade of the
"general store."

Miss Spencer had manipulated her
confectionery to such advantage that,
with the aid of green leaves and
blossoms, she had transformed her
shop into a fairy bower. Voluminously
arrayed in a faultlessly new spring
costume, she spent a considerable inter-
val of time that morning wiping her
eyes and praying blessings upon the
two who were about to start upon
their life journey together from the
radiant milestone of that May day.

Mr. Venn's assistant, with at least the
connivance of his employer, exhausted
the possibilities of bright color in the
matter of decoration; and, notwith-
standing the few sarcastic comments
which he felt called upon to make, the
butcher himself approved in the main
of the results attained. They were un-
questionably "striking." The German
was, indeed, indifferent to his opinion,
so permeated was he with the sentiment
of the moment, and the enthusiasm
aroused by the glorious weather and
the auspicious event.

These were but a few, of course, of the
principal centres of that movement of
jubilation which had seized upon the
entire town. People wore their Sunday
clothes; the very dogs barked joyously^,
as if they guessed that something
unusual was in progress ; and Leonora's
friend, the brown spaniel, wore a white
ribbon about his neck in honor of the
occasion. Everywhere there was glad-
ness. Even the mill, relieved of the
ominous presence of Eben Knox, and
the mill-house, renewed and beautified,
gave forth their own tokens. The brook
and the alder bushes, whence the
shadij.\v was lifted, glowed in the warm
sunshine. Invisible trumpets seemed
blowing through the living world that
the long night had rolled away. Nature
was celebrating the epithalamium, —
singing a sorig, joj'ous and rhythmical,
in every sight and sound.

Upon the steps of Rose Cottage,
Miss Tabitha appeared ver}- early, clad

THE AVE MARIA.

753

in festal raiment, as when she had
prepared for the coming home from
beyond the seas of young Mr. Breth-
erton. With trembling fingers, she had
taken out from the obscurity of years,
and from fold after fold of tissue-paper,
a gown which she had worn at the
Governor's wedding, and which ha 1
been the gift of the beneficent Madam
Bretherton. Perhaps that worthy lady
felt that she owed Tabitha some atone-
ment for the untimely frost cast upon
the budding of her early attachment.
In any case, when the woman, now old,
had appeared in that gown, she had
been reckoned, as she sadly remembered,
a very pretty girl, though somewhat
quaint and prim, even then, with her
ringlets and her sedate, timorous air.

It was a veritable marriage garment :
faint pink bestrewn with sprays of
white narcissus, and trimmed daintily
with lace. It invested the spinster in
some sort with a second youth, and
caused her to resemble more nearly than
ever one of her own pinks. Those pinks
had not as yet appeared in the garden,
but had sent heralds of their near
approach in the shape of tiny shoots
of green bursting through the warm,
brown earth. Miss Tabitha had grown
enfeebled in body during the late
distressing period of storm and stress ;
but since the clouds had lifted, since the
sinister vision of Eben Knox no longer
darkened the landscape, since light
had been brought into the gloom of
the brookside mystery. Miss Tabitha's
face had lost its accentuated lines, and
her eyes their scared and haggard
expression.

Upon that wedding morning of her
niece, the old woman looked smilingly
down upon the garden, with its trim
walks and its flower Ijeds, into which
it seemed but yesterday the little lad
from the Manor had come to play with
lyconora. The spinster was Ijuttoning
her gloves with a fine assumption of
dignity, befitting her new connection

with the long -descended Brethertons,
when she suddenly perceived Jesse Craft
looking through the familiar gap in the
rehabilitated sunflowers. The old man
wore a brand-new suit and a flower in
his buttonhole.

"Miss Tabithy," he observed, raising
a reverent head to the sky, "the Creator
ain't never given anything better in
the matter of weather than this here
day. I kinder feel as if twenty or thirty
years had been lifted off" my shoulders,
and as if I could join in that tune them
birds are singin' up yonder. I ain't
heerd nothin' so sweet since the veeries
that used to sing long ago in the
Vermont woods, when I was a boy."

The veteran paused, full of an emo-
tion inexplicable to the spinster, who
watched him with indulgent but at the
same time majestic gaze. His thoughts
for those few moments were not of
her or hers, but of a time, before that
grave had been dug amidst the hills
of Vermont, when he had been young
and had hoped for much in the arena
he was entering. Rousing himself
presently from his abstraction, Jesse
Craft remarked upon Miss Tabitha's
appearance.

"You look quite fine and spry your-
self, neighbor!" he exclaimed. "You've
grown young again, and purty, too."

The spinster's closely wrinkled cheek
flushed a faint pink at the compliment,
and she smiled upon Jesse Craft a
wintry smile, which was calculated to
keep him in his place. She had to live
up to the great event which was
approaching ; each minute was bringing
her nearer to that tremendous one
when she should be aunt to a Breth-
erton. Fear, remorse, which had been
banished, even the shadow of old love
which ha<l come out of the chest
upstairs v. ith the resurrection of the
gown, an 1 had caused her to steal a
glance ;it the v.ilentine of the hearts
and her love-letters, were eclipsed by
vanity. Gratified vanity had resumed

754

THE AVE MARIA.

the ascendency, and meant forever to
hold sway.

"You'll be as grand as any of the
big bugs that are comin' up from
Boston," resumed the old man. "Fine
feathers make fine birds, Miss Tabithy ,
and all them gewgaws you've got
on are powerful becomin'. You'll be
catchin' a beau yourself, I reckon."

The lady coughed, half in deprecation,
half in displeasure, at her neighbor's
familiarity ; but with a consciousness
that her appearance was impressive and
must have its effect upon Millbrook
at large.

"Gracious me!" went on Jesse Craft,
with a sigh, "it's a tarnation pity that
folks has to grow old like you and me !
If a body could keep young clear way
through the journey, and feel the heart
in his breast light as a feather, I guess
it ud suit every ticket. But as that
can't be done nohow, the next best
thing is to see the youngsters happy."

"Yes," assented Miss Tabitha, not
quite so well pleased by the palpable
allusion to her age, and keeping her
eyes fixed with some severity upon her
glove; "that is truly a compensation."

"And an all-fired blessin' it is, too,"
continued Jesse Craft, "to have the
town of Millbrook rid for good and
all of sarpents. I guess you're powerful
glad that Eben Knox has cleared out.
He scared you worse than anything ; he
made you look most all the time as if
you'd been seein' spooks."

Miss Tabitha did not like this allusion
in the least, and there was something
uncomfortable in the suggestion of her
having seen spooks even in this cheerful
landscape.. She knew, however, that
she was powerless to check her neigh-
bor's reflections, especially as he had
chanced to learn so many of the
details of that bygone melodrama.
She answered in a voice whereof the
modulation suggested vinegar:

"Mr. Knox was certainly an objec-
tionable person."

"Objectionable!" exclaimed Craft.
" He was a sarpent, a real pizon snake,
lookin' as if he'd been feedin' on the
slime of the marsh down yonder. Yes,
ma'am, he was a viper, and I reckon
you were often enough scared of his
sting. But I guess we'd better leave
him out of the discourse for this day,
anyhow. The sky above there is bright,
the smell of them flowers is mighty
sv/eet, and the air's kinder soft-like.
The blessin' of the Creator's jest on
everything, — that's the way I feel; and
I hope that there's blessin's goin' to
light on Lenora and the Governor's
son. I tell you what, ma'am, there
ain't any other two like them in the
State of Massachusetts, — no, nor in
the whole United States neither. But,
Jerusha Jane, that's the clock strikin'
eight! I guess I'd better make tracks,
if I want to get a place in the church."

The old man hobbled away; and
Miss Tabitha was left to her reflections,
which were many and various, until
it occurred to her that she had better
hasten in to see if she were needed in
giving the final touches to the bride,
who, with Mary Jane's assistance, was
donning her wedding finery.

The chtirch had been beautifully dec-
orated by the Sisters from the convent.
About the altar w^ere arranged varied
blossoms, palms, and maidenhair ferns
in profusion. The edifice was crowded
to its utmost capacity. Almost every
man, woman, and child amongst the
townspeople had proceeded thither,
crowding, jostling, 3'et merry and good-
tempered, and in fullest sympathy with
the occasion. Thornej-croft, envious,
and -none too well pleased with the
outcome of the drama which had been
enacted during the past year, was there
in force, — Thorneycroft, smiling and
perforce cordial, wearing also its very
best clothes.

The Bretherton connection was largely
represented in the front pews, and was
very stately, very imposing, and even.

THE AVE MARIA.

755

at first sight, formidable. In reality,
that connection consisted for the most
part of very delightful people, — simple,
unaffected, genial in manner, and pre-
pared to receive with the utmost
cordiality the beautiful bride whom
thoir young kinsman had chosen. She
belonged to them henceforth, and would
be taken into their best graces as into
their inner circle. Many of them had
never as yet seen her, and awaited her
appearance with an eager curiosity,
veiled as to its outward expression by
the perfection of their breeding and a
courteous deference to the sacredness
of the place.

It may be safely affirmed that none of
them were disappointed. Leonora, in
her bridal gown of white, simple, yet
so perfectly designed and adjusted, and
"worn so superbly," as some one
remarked, was radiantly lovely. Her
flower-like face, half hidden by the lace
veil, was softened and beautified both
in coloring and expression. Her eyes,
more starlike than ever, were darkened
and intensified by excitement. The
psychological moment of her entrance
had been announced by the jangling and
clanging of the bells in the steeple, —
jo3'-bells, casting out their greetings
upon the air with reckless abandon.
There had been a hush; then the
organist, as if by an inspiration remem-
bering the marriage tableaux and the
moonlit night at the Manor, began
softly to play "Amaryllis." Its passion-
ate chords thrilled to the very heart
two, at least, of those who heard.

During the Nuptial Mass Leonora's
head was bent in prayer, in which it
was evident that Jim Bretherton ear-
nestly joined, realizing the solemnity of
that crucial moment that joined their
destinies for time and for eternity. "As
they two swore at the shrine of Christ
a deathless love," the voice of the old
priest, who had known them both from
childhood, rang through tlie edifice,
pronouncing those words of dread if

blessed import, "What God hath joined
together, let no man put asunder!"

The exultant, triumphal strains of
Mendelssohn's Wedding March an-
nounced that the sacred rite was over,
and "the most beautiful bride that had
ever been seen in Millbrook," as the
assemblage with few dissentient voices
declared, passed down the aisle, leaning
upon the arm of her handsome and
distinguished -looking young husband.
Murmurs of admiration for them both
burst from even the most unwilling
lips. As the couple stood waiting to
get into the carriage, Leonora heard
a stranger ask:

"What's goin' on in this town, any-
how? It looks as if the whole place
was one big fair."

The bride distinctly heard also the
answer :

"Oh, don't you know? It's the
marriage of young Mr. Bretherton to
the handsomest girl in Millbrook."

Leonora, listening, could scarcely
realize the fact. It seemed dream -like
to her that this was really her wedding
day, and that she was no longer
Leonora Chandler but the wife of
young Mr. Bretherton.

There was the Manor carriage wait-
ing to receive them, with white favors
in the horses' ears and on the whip;
and Nort Jenkins, very spruce and
smart, in a new livery, beside the old
gray-bearded coachman. This was no
dream, but a splendid reality. Seated
in the carriage, she whispered to Jim,
half smiling, half crying:

"I am so very foolish, dear! I feel as
if some one else were being married,
or that it is all a pageant which will
fade away."

" I hope you feel one hundredth part
as happy as I do!" exclaimed Jim
•Bretherton, eagerly.

"And without one regret, dear?"

"Who could even speak of regret
on such a day, and with you at my
side!" Jim answered.

756

THE AVE MARIA.

Then further speech was rendered
impossible by the shouting of the people.
They had rushed forth tumultuously
from the church at the earliest possible
moment, and had taken advantage of
the brief delay occasioned by the seating
of the bridal party in the respective
carriages. They had hastened forward
to secure various points of vantage
for the witnessing of the procession
and joining in organized demonstra-
tions of applause. The butcher's assist-
ant, mounted on the steps, led off with
a vociferous cheer for " derjunge Herr"
and his bride; and this cheer was
taken up and never suffered to die
away again, as the carriage containing
the young couple drove swiftly by,
followed by a stream of other carriages.
Women wept, and little children, raising
up their voices, echoed the prayers and
good wishes which seemed showered
an the path of the newly wed, even
as the blossoming trees shed fragrant
buds over them in passing.

At Smith Jackson's store the acclama-
tions became deafening ; while at Jesse
Craft's quarters the veteran was there
himself, waving a flag. He set up one
hoarse cry of, " Hooray for Lenora
and the Governor's son!" It ended in
a sob ; and the old man, ashamed of
himself, hurried away with a muttered,
"God Almighty bless you!"

The wedding breakfast was to be
at the Manor; and, in passing Rose
Cottage, bride and bridegroom simul-
taneously glanced toward the familiar
place. It appeared so still and tranquil,
with the garden bursting into bloom,
the rose vines budding upon the porch,
and the quiet sunshine ]y'iag over all.
Turning, the two looked into each
other's eyes and smiled. Look and
smile were of perfect love and deepest
comprehension. It seemed to review the
past, when they had played together
within those precincts, where the young
gentleman from the Manor had been an
honored guest; and it likewise recalled

the swift passage of that summer,
crowded with events, when they had
felt the force of their expanding love
bursting into life and strength, as the
dawn ripens into glorious day.

Leonora remembered how she had
anticipated the return of her early
playmate, and had wondered what he
would be like, and if he had forgotten
her. She bethought herself, too, of
that traditional admiration for the
Brethertons which had been fostered
in her by her aunt; their long descent,
embracing so many generations of the
best American stock ; their wealth, their
connections ; their wonderful, stately
old dwelling, wherein, to her youthful
mind, they had abode as people apart
from all others. Now she was one of
them; for the handsomest, the most
attractive, the most gifted of them all
had chosen her for his wife.

Jim Bretherton, on the other hand,
reminded himself of that summer after-
noon when he had seen her first in
her young womanhood, standing upon
the steps of Rose Cottage beside Miss
Tabitha. Lord Aylward had faded out
of the picture momentarily, at least;
though a splendid wedding present
attested his reality.

So the two reviewed in happy
retrospection that entire drama of
moonlight, love and roses, while the
crowds still cheered and cheered. Flags
were waved almost in their faces. The
irrepressible Tommy Briggs, by his
vociferated hurrahs, and his too ardent
waving of flags, caused a slight panic
among the horses just before the door
of Stubbs & Co., and brought forth
sundry exclamations of dismay from
Nort Jenkins and others.

When the carriage arrived at the
iron gates entering the Manor grounds,
Leonora turned a shade paler. It seemed
momentous, driving thus into a new
sphere whence there was no returning;
and the clank of the gates shutting
them in filled her with something like

THE AVE MARIA.

757

terror. Jim Bretherton, with quick
comprehension, took her hand and held
it firmly all the way up the avenue,
and under the ancestral trees which
had witnessed the advent of many a
Bretherton bride.

" Leonora ! " he said, — " my Leonora ! "

And there was so much of pride and
happiness in the tone that it seemed to
dispel that foolish mist of fear.

The Manor lay there more handsome,
more imposing, more stately than ever ;
but it was touched by the genial sun of
May ; and upon the veranda the Gov-
ernor and Mrs. Bretherton, who had
taken a short cut home, waited smiling
and benignant, to fold the bride in their
arms and bid her welcome. As the
young couple ascended the steps, they
could hear from afar the echo of the last
cheering; for the crowds had followed
them to the very gates of the Manor.

"Hurrah!" cried a multitude of
throats in that shout, rendered faint
by distance, — " hurrah for the bride and
for young Mr. Bretherton ! "

( The End )

A Meniorial in Stone.

IT was about the time of the promul-
gation of the dogma of the Immac-
ulate Conception that Mgr. Rudigier,
the saintly and beloved Bishop of
Linz, first formed the grand design of
erecting a cathedral in the chief city
of his diocese in commemoration of
that auspicious event, as a permanent
act of homage to the Immaculate
Mother of God, — a memorial carved
in stone which should endure for ages.
During thirty years he labored inde-
fatigably for the realization of his
project, the full accomplishment of
which he did not live to witness.

The cathedral of Linz is yet unfin-
ished ; but the part of the structure
which is already completed testifies
to the piety, zeal, and energy of the
exemplary Bishop, as well as to the

liberality of the Austrian people, their
loyal attachment to the Faith, and
their enthusiastic devotion to the
Blessed Mother of God. Nowhere else
in the whole Christian world has so
grand a monument in commemoration
of the great event of December 8,
1854, been erected as in Linz, the chief
town of Upper Austria.

The votive chapel which occupies the
centre of the cathedral was dedicated
by Bishop Rudigier himself in 1869. It
contains a beautiful, highly -finished
work of art, — a statue of Mary Immac-
ulate, carved out of a block of marble
presented by Pope Pius IX. for the
purpose. It was the wish of the Bishop
of Linz and all the Austrian people
that this statue should be solemnly
crowned in honor of the Golden Jubilee
of the promulgation. Pope Leo XIII.
of happy memory, who held Bishop
Rudigier in high esteem himself, not
only approved of the project, but,
in his generosity, presented the golden
diadem, a most choice and costly one,
wherewith to adorn the brow of Mary
'Immaculate. And his successor, our
Holy Father Pius X., also sent a letter
of encouragement and approval to the
Bishop. The Cardinal Archbishop of
Salzburg was commissioned to perform
the ceremony in the name of the
Supreme Pontiff. The 1st of May was
chosen for it, that day being the one
on which, fifty years ago, Mgr. Rudigier
formally proclaimed the dogma in his
diocese.

The town was elaborately decorated
for the occasion, all the citizens vying
with one another to show their glad-
ness at the festival. The influx of
visitors not only from the immediate
neighborhood, but from distant parts
of Austria, was so unprecedented that
it was impossible to accommodate
them all : a large proportion had to
seek quarters in the nearest town.

On the eve of the festival a relig-
ious play was acted in the provincial

758

THE AVE MARIA.

theatre, at which a vast number of
people of all classes were present. The
leading idea of the drama, of which
each act was illustrative, was the
fundamental truth that, as through a
woman, Eve, sin and destitution were
brought into the world, so in the divine
counsels it was decreed that a Woman,
our Blessed Lady, should be instru-
mental in bringing into the world Him
who was to effect the redemption and
restitution of mankind. The perform-
ance w^as not over when the cathedral
bells rang out merrily, and the lofty
Gothic tower was suddenly lighted up
with Bengal fire.

The services of the day itself sur-
passed in splendor any ecclesiastical
ceremony of recent times in Austria.
In fact, some of those present who
had witnessed the consecration of the
far-famed cathedral of Cologne declared
that it was a less grand spectacle
than this at Linz.

Shortly before nine o'clock a proces-
sion of between five and six hundred
clergy, regular and secular, passed on
their way from the episcopal palace to
the cathedral. They were followed by
a great number of bishops, abbots, and
other prelates, besides a large company
of distinguished laymen, men of rank
and position, civil and military. The
Emperor was represented by the Arch-
duke Francis Salvator. Students from
the seminary had the honor of carrying
the crown, its jew^els flashing in the
sunlight.

At the conclusion of the Pontifical
High Mass, the principal ecclesiastical
and secular magnates advanced to the
votive chapel, and, while the prescribed
liturgical prayers were recited, the
crown was placed on the head of the
statue. Immediately the noble edifice
resounded with a joyous Te Deum, in
which all present joined > And when its
jubilant strains were hushed, in subdued
tones, a De Profutidis was solemnly
recited for the soul of Pope Leo XIII.,

the donor of the beauteous crown.
The crown, in old Gothic style, is
one of singular elegance, admirable
both as to design and workmanship.
It is formed of two parts. The lower
part is a wide circle, out of which rise
lilies and roses alternately, supporting
a second larger and somewhat narrower
circle, finely chased ; from it spring
slender leaves artistically intertwined,
between jewelled sunflowers and the
conventional fleur-de-lis. Above these,
resting on them, are six larger and six
smaller stars, set with diamonds and
connected by chains of seed-pearls. On
the lower circle in blue enamel are the
words: Leo XIII. Pont. Max. dono
dedit. Suspended from this circle, and
attached to it at intervals, are strings
of pearls symbolical of the Rosary, the
frequent recital of which the late Holy
Father commended so earnestly to the
faithful.

The memorable day was closed by a*
procession through the streets of the
town. They were lined with eager and
pious spectators, whose reverent and
devout demeanor was most edifying.
The numerous banners and the magnif-
icent vestments of the prelates formed
a brilliant spectacle; but the centre of
attraction was the Madonna wearing
the splendid crown. As it came in sight,
a murmur, quickly hushed, ran through
the crowd and every knee was bent in
respectful homage.

"As the crowd dispersed when all
was over," an eyewitness relates, "I
saw many a brave man — nay, even a
stalwart soldier — furtively dash from
his eye a tear of genuine emotion. ' It
has been a glorious day, praise be to
God ! ' was the ejaculation I frequently
heard. Truly the Austrian people are
faithful, loyal Catholics, devout clients
of Mary Immaculate."

Nothing so much helps toward folk
understanding one another as realizing
the grounds of their differences.

THE AVE MARIA.

759

Notes and Remarks.

As Mr. Mallock's new book, "The
Reconstruction of Religious Belief," is
sure to have a host of readers among
thoughtful people outside of the Church,
it is matter for rejoicing that the
author combats — it need not be said
with clear reasoning and felicitous illus-
tration— the views of such thinkers as
Darwin, Huxley, Spencer, and Haeckel,
whose works are in the hands of thou-
sands who still regard the arguments
there set forth as wholly unanswerable.
Mr. Mallock shows that the same kind
of scientific arguments which would do
away with God, point also to the
nonexistence of matter and motion.
He contends that, whereas now we
"see as through a glass darkly," and
can not know anything wholly, still
we do know in part, and science justi-
fies us in a belief in God.

The constructive argument of the
book is, of course, not new ; but it is
presented with much force, and a
charm of language altogether remarka-
ble. At a time when so many books of
scientific philosophy which are inimical
to theistic faith are being put forth, it
is a relief to meet with a work like Mr.
Mallock's, in which, without attempt-
ing to discredit science, it is shown
how the whole scientific argument may
be appropriated by the advocates of
established religion. The thought that
religious belief has always been con-
comitant with civilization is one of
many that will arrest the attention of
the general reader in the introductory
pages and carry him on to the close of
the book. It is to be hoped that "The
Reconstruction of Religious Belief" will
have many readers among agnostics
and scientists.

reported by the Westminster Gazette,
are worth noting. After inveighing, in
the usual strain, against the "tyranny
of the Romish Church," the preacher
bore witness that she was to-day, as
she ever had been, a missionary church.
" With evils at her heart which would
have killed off half a dozen Congrega-
tional or Baptist churches, she had
yet lived by her missionary spirit. She
had kept her marvellous continuity
during the centuries. She was to-day
the power behind the powers in the
councils of nations, not because of
her august statesmanship, her crafty
diplomacy, her innumerable agencies
working from a common centre, nor
because of a surface and imposing unity,
with its pomp and pride and gorgeous
ceremonial. Those were but the flimsy
fabric of a dream as compared with
the consecration of her sons who, on
the threshold of a splendid manhood
and on the way to the fever swamp,
can answer the questions, 'When do
you expect to return ? ' ' How long do
you expect to labor?' with the utter
self-sacrifice represented in the twofold
answer: 'Never: I expect to be dead
in two years.'"

These words must have reminded
some of the listeners of that saying of
Christ about the impossibility of an
evil tree's producing good fruit; and
they probably questioned whether there
could be so much evil at the heart of
the vigorous old Church as the preacher
would have them believe. It is a blessed
thing when a congregation of Protes-
tants is set thinking in this way ; and
such is often the case, as many a convert
can bear witness.

Some words of an address by a
Congregational minister of Glasgow, in
behalf of the Baptist Missionary Society,

The attempt made a few years ago
to place Savonarola in the same
category with Martin Luther was
nullified by an eminent American Protes-
tant scholar, who declared that it was
ridiculous to refer to Savonarola as
a pre - Reformation Protestant; that,

760

THE AVE MARIA

whatever else might be uncertain about
him, there could be no doubt of his being
a true Catholic. The Saturday Review
lately administered a similar rebuke to
numerous non- Catholic writers who
represent St. Francis as anything but
what he was in reality, — not as a real
saint of the Church, but as an ascetic
like the Buddha, with more of panthe-
ism about him than of Christianity.
Writing of a new production by one of
these Franciscan faddists, the Saturday-
Review observes:

The book is maimed and marred by the effort
to present a St. Francis who shall be less offensive
to modern susceptibilities than a real Roman
saint of the Middle Ages. What can be the
frame of mind of a writer who finds that St.
Francis resembles a Protestant Reformer in his
"positive aspects," who credits him with a "hold
on the pantheism which pervades the teaching
of his Master Jesus," who considers that "the
framing of a rule was in reality the deathblow
of the Order"? (The rule was framed by the
saint ere his twelfth companion had joined him,
so that the Order on this theory may be said
to be almost stillborn.) Five years ago this
sort of thing might have provoked merely a
passing smile, but to-day nonsense about St.
Francis comes in for review at a rate which
makes it difficult for the reviewer to maintain
equanimity.

A pen -picture of Pius X. that is
somewhat notable by reason of the
journal, the Echo de Paris, in which
it makes its appearance, is being re-
produced in a number of our French
exchanges. Henri de Noussanne sketches
the portrait ; and, among other things,
he says: "French opinion of the reign-
ing Pope is very generally erroneous.
Catholics and infidels see in him a 'good
country pastor,' raised to supreme
power contrary to every prevision of
human reason, and crushed by the
weight of the tiara. Pious souls pity

him, and miscreants mock at him

It must be stated at once — not without
confusion— that what is ordinarily said
of the Pope in the French parliament,
and what one reads about him in most

of our newspapers, is a delight to
Romans, — tickling those of the Quirinal
even more than those of the Vatican.
Rome laughs. But, still better, Berlin
exults. Not one of our political blun-
ders, probably, lowers us more in the
opinion of foreign governments than
the acts and purposes of our rulers
w^ith respect to the Holy See. We are
made simply ridiculous.

"The legend of the 'good country
pastor,' the sarcasms launched at
'Sarto,' are responsible for our being
considered veritable fools, capable of
believing that the son of a poor Italian
village laborer could become a priest.
Bishop of Mantua, Archbishop and
Patriarch of Venice, then Cardinal, and
finally Pope, without having given to
the spiritual and temporal power of
Rome strong proofs of the highest
superiority."

We should like to quote further from
so refreshingly frank a paper, and must
in any case give this appreciation of
Pius X. which M. de Noussanne attrib-
utes to the Duke of Genoa: "The Pope
never does anything or allows anything
to be done without good reason. The
man who will get the better of his
perspicacity is yet to be born. Remem-
ber the proverb : ' It takes seven Jews
to trick a Genoese, and it takes seven
Genoese to trick a Venetian.'"

The ever -memorable heroism of
Father Damien, and the notable literary
tributes paid thereto by Stevenson and
Stoddard, have invested the leper settle-
ment of Molokai with an interest
vsrh'ch our readers as well as ourselves
probably find active and enduring.
Accordingly, the half-yearly report of
the president of the Board of Health
for the Territory of Hawaii, recently
received from Honolulu, has impressed
us as being much less dr^' and insipid
than such statistical pamphlets usually
are. The superintendent of the leper

THE AYE MARIA.

761

settlement reports that, at the end of
June, of the current year, there were
living in Molokai 858 lepers— 512
males and 346 females. While more than
seven-eighths of the number are native
Hawaiians, there are still ninety -eight
lepers of other nations. Among these
are forty -two Chinese, twenty -two
Portuguese, nine Japanese, eight Amer-
icans, six Germans, three South Sea
Islanders, and one each of the following
nationalities: British, French-Canadian,
Danish, Norwegian, Swedish, Porto
Rican, Filipino, and Tahitian.

The religious charged with the care
of these unfortunates are two priests,
six Brothers and five Sisters. In his
reference to the Baldwin Home, the
residence of 112 of the male lepers, the
superintendent speaks of repairs to the
different buildings, and adds: "These
improvements, together with the careful
attention given by Mr. Joseph Button
to tree planting and improving the
grounds, make the Baldwin Home the
most beautiful place in the whole
settlement."

An explanation of the efforts now
being made to combine Protestant
agencies of propaganda in New York
city, and of the present aggressive
attitude of Jewish leaders toward
infidelity and indifferentism, is afforded
by the publication of some statistics
gathered and compiled by Dr. Walter
Laidlaw, of the Metropolitan Church
Federation. A summary of the striking
facts which these statistics establish
was presented in a recent issue of the
New York Sun. It appears that every
Protestant denomination is losing its
hereditary families, and that Jews in
ever-increasing numbers are abandoning
the religion of their ancestors.

"About one-half of the population of
New York is Protestant; but more
than a million are altogether outside
of the churches, apparently indifferent
to all dogmatic religion, even where

it is not positively rejected by them.

Less than one-sixth of the Protestants

are communicants of churches, but in

addition something more than one-fifth

are attendants on churches,— that is,

pay some heed to religious observances.

The Jewish population is now about

750,000. Add these Jews to the

'churchless Protestants,' and we get

nearly half the population, or more

than 45 per cent. The Jews number

nearly as many as the Protestant

communicants and church-goers put

together. It appears, too, from a

census made by this federation in

various Assembly districts, that a very

large part of the Jews are outside

of the synagogues, — Hebrews by race

rather than in religious belief. If we

added their number to the Protestant

population not in the communion of

churches, we should probably get a

majority of the people."

About one-third of the population of

the Metropolis is now Catholic. The

strayed sheep of all nationalities would

undoubtedly give us a large majority.

But the religious conditions of our

people are being improved year by

year. No efforts are being spared to

prevent further leakage, to reclaim those

who have fallen away, and to safeguard

the faith of immigrants, no matter from

what comer of the world they may

come. Indeed there is strong reason for

believing that the religious statistics

of New York fifteen years hence will

show a wondrous growth of the

Church.

» > •

Readers conversant with the thor-
ough Catholicism of French-Canadians
will not be surprised to learn that they
are contemplating the use, hencefor-
ward, of a distinct national emblem.
Heretofore, it seems, the tricolor of
France has always been used as a
distinctive French flag at national cele-
brations; but the changed conditions
in the old land, particularly in regard

762

THE AVE MARIA.

to the attitude toward the Church,
have given rise to a desire to have a
national emblem different from the
tricolor. What is known as the Sacred
Heart Flag ( a distinctively French-
Canadian design) has been suggested,
and is already used in many parts of
Quebec. It is interesting, in connection
with this subject, to note that the
Acadians, the French-speaking popula-
tion of Canada's Maritime Provinces,
some years ago adopted a flag of their
own, its distinctive feature, a star,
being in harmony with both their
national anthem, Ave, Maris Stella, and
their national festival, the Assumption
of the Blessed Virgin.

Whatever be the sentiments of the
general reader as to the utility or expe-
diency of the present Gaelic movement,
he will doubtless be interested in learning
just what views are entertained by
the foremost leaders of the agitation
now going on for the rehabilitation of
the Irish language. Dr. Douglas Hyde,
the right arm of the movement, said
the other evening at a meeting in New
York:

I see it said here by the more sympathetic of
the papers that Ireland is engaged upon the last
grand battle of the race for the preservation
of its language. Ob, gentlemen, gentlemen, it is
more than that, — ten times, one hundred times
more than that! We are engaged upon the last
grand battle of the Irish race for the preservation
of its own identity. We have now opened the
eyes of the entire nation to the awful chasm
into which they were about to step blindfolded :
the yawning gulf of Anglicization, which, believe
me, is only another name for national extinction.

Having called attention to the fact
that Irish journals, as far apart as the
poles on political questions, are at one
on this subject, that Catholic prelates,
Protestant dignitaries, and the leader
of the Irish Parliamentary Party, are
united in forwarding the movement.
Dr. Hyde continued :

So that, you see, we have now a great mass of
public opinion in Ireland behind us. And you

also see that we are no clique, no faction, no
party, but that we embrace some of all parties
and all factions ; and that, offending nobody
except the anti- Irishman, we stand firm upoli
the pure, immovable bedrock of Irish nationality.
In one word, we mean to de-Anglicize Ireland.

Irishmen, it is probable, best under-
stand the conditions of their own
country ; and the flippant criticisms of
sapient publicists on this side of the
Atlantic, as to the genuine worth of
the Gaelic movement, may well be dis-
regarded in any serious examination of
the movement's innate importance and
probable success. As to this last point,
the authority whom we have already
quoted says: "If we are in earnest,
and have also the moral support and
good wishes of our countrymen in the
States, we must succeed. If we are
only playing at being in earnest, we
shall lose, and the whole world will
deride us, and the historian will take
his tablet and write Finis Hibernise."

The Southern Messenger of San
Antonio, Texas, publishes, with the
permission of the recipient, a letter
written by a Catholic mother to a
married daughter living in a place
remote from religious influences, urging
her to cling to the Church and to be
faithful to the duties of her state of life.
One paragraph of this letter deserves
quoting as an illustration of how
easily young folk can be taught to love
religion and grounded in the practice
of it when the parents are practical
Christians, mindful of their obligation
to give instruction and set example
to their children. There is much for
Catholic parents to reflect upon in this
short paragraph :

If the Rosary is too long, say only a decade,
naming the mystery. It is a splendid lesson, to
know all the mysteries of the Rosary. In our old
life at R., I never neglected daily meditation
even if I had to read at dinner while the family
ate theirs; and Catechism also had its place. I
never knew of a complaint from my children
against any holy practice.

My Offering.

BY S. M. R.

^HE Christmas feast is drawing near,

The birthday of the King;
What shall I do to mark the day.

What offering shall I bring?

If every day from now till then

I do some action kind,
And if when others anger me

Excuse for them I find;

I think I'll have an offering
The Christ -Child will like best;

My wayward heart shall be a lamb,
And at His Crib 'twill rest.

'One of His Jewels."

BY T. L. L. TKELING.

IV.

\$J\HEN the tunnel and its adjacent
^mJ country had been searched and
no sign of the truant appeared,
Stefano announced to his wife and
daughter that, as no other means
suggested itself to him of finding their
little charge, there was nothing for it
but to proceed on their way, as they
were bound to reach some kind of shelter
before nightfall. This they accordingly
did, sending back word by everyone
thej' met that Luigi, should he appear,
was to be "forwarded" to the next
village on their route.

So, long before Luigi had done pluck-
ing flowers and hunting butterflies by
the wayside, and had begun to think
seriously of returning, the Biancheri
family were climbing the mountfiins in
quite another direction. Moreover, when
he did begin to retrace his 'steps, he

forgot, in his agitation, that the
carriage had turned a corner during his
impromptu ride; and so he ran on
and on, along the highroad leading
tow^ard Turin.

Presently, as he looked up and down,
uncertain whether, after all, he had
mistaken the road, since no sight of
the tunnel or of the flock of goats
appeared, a man came along, leading a
huge, mangy-looking brown bear by a
long rope. He accosted the bewildered
child with,

"Hey, boy! What's the matter?"

"I — I think I have lost my way,
signor."

"Where are you going, then?"

"I do not know, — at least I do not
know the name of the place, — up to
the mountains with Biancheri, the
goatherd," he added hastily, as he
caught a gleam of amusement in the
man's eyes.

"Well, why are you alone?"

Luigi told the story, and ended with
a sob.

"The tunnel— the Col di Tenda, that
is. You are not on that road at all,
my boy. But here, I am dead tired,
and the sun is hot. Hold this beast for
me, while I lie down and sleep a bit."

So saying, he placed the end of the
rope in Luigi's reluctant hand, threw
himself on the ground, his cloak over
his head, and in a minute was snoring
soundly.

Luigi's horror was unbounded. He
was literally speechless with fear. Here,
in good sooth, was one of the "wild
beasts" he had so dreaded to meet.
Master Bruin, however, crouched sleepily
on the ground before him, and took no
apparent notice of his new leader.

At last the man awoke, stretched
himself, and sat up.

764

THE AYE MARIA.

"Well, where is your Biancheri? Not
come yet?"

Luigi shook his head.

"And he will not. He has given you
the slip. Now, look here. I am in want
of a boy, — I have left my last at
Limone, sick of a fever. Will you come
w^ith me, and beg for soldi when my
bear dances?"

Luigi did not like the prospect at all.
But he liked still less being stranded
forlornly on the wayside, with the sun
going down, and no one in sight.

"Perhaps — perhaps we might meet
Stefano?" he hazarded.

"Perhaps so." The speaker winked
jocosely at his bear, knowing how^
remote such a chance would be. " Well? "

"Yes, I will come," said Luigi.

So that night, and for many nights
and days afterward, Luigi tramped
sadly, and for the most part silently,
behind his new master, — sometimes
leading Bruin with a rope end, or
tossing him scraps of food ; sometimes
going round with his small, faded cap
to collect the soldi dropped in at the
end of a performance by the gaping
crowd of a village street. And, strange
to say, he grew browner, taller, and
more hardy day by day.
V.

When the days shortened, however,
and winter approached, Giuseppe — the
padrone, as Luigi called him, — an-
nounced that it would soon be time to
betake themselves to Turin. Poor little
Luigi, true child of the sunny South,
seemed in this cold Northern city to
shrivel xip into half his former self.
His tattered clothes, which Giuseppe
declared himself unable to replace, hung
about him loosely, and his chilblained
feet limped painfully as he shiveringly
held out his hand for money at the
padrone's bidding. Their lodging at
night was the loft of an old stable,
and by day they tramped the streets,
through slush and icy winds and snow.

But one day — they had taken more

money than usual, and Giuseppe had
gone into a caffe to drink, leaving
Luigi and the bear in the courtyard —
a kindly waiter had beckoned the child
to a dark corner beneath the staircase,
and given him a handful of hot chest-
nuts. These the boy, curled up out of
sight, was munching in great content,
when all at once a tremendous hubbub
arose. Shrieks, oaths, cries for the
police, and presently a writhing, strug-
gling figure dragged out between two
gendarmes. It was Giuseppe; and,
from the vociferous exclamations of
the spectators, Luigi gathered that in
a fit of drunken fury he had stabbed
a comrade, and was being conveyed to
the police station.

Luigi, half fearful, half curious, fol-
lowed the crowd of shouting onlookers,
and heard their comments as the
grim doors shut behind the prisoner.
Turning back, he all at once realized
that he was alone. What should he
do ? Where should he go ? He had no
home ; he had not the necessary coppers
to pay for a night's lodging; and,
moreover, he feared to take sole charge
of Bruin, who occasionally required the
taste of his master's whip. So, hearing
that his padrone would not be set free
that night, he sauntered slowly onward,
turning over in his mind the question as
to what was to be done.
VI.

"Where are you going, little one?"
asked a voice at his side, as he
stood still for a moment to weigh the
respective merits of broad thoroughfare
and narrow byway.

"Eh?" and Luigi started and looked
round at the priestly figure which bent
toward him ; and found himself gazing
up into the very kindliest, sweetest,
yet homeliest, face he had ever seen.

"Well?" repeated the good priest's
voice, in the soft Piedmontese tongue
which was almost a patois.

"Padre, I do not know!" said Luigi,
falteringly.

T-lE AVE MARIA.

765

" No home ? Is it so, poverino ? " And
the thin, warm, wrinkled hand sought
the boy's in a firm clasp. "Come, now!
Where did you sleep last night?"
. Luigi told him, and related how he
had suddenly been left desolate.

"Why, then, you must come home
with me, little one. Come!" And he
gently drew the wondering boy along,
questioning him skilfully as they went.

And almost as he spoke, they stopped
before the door of a large, unpretentious
building, where the padre rang. His
ring was answered by a burst of joyous
laughter, as half a dozen young boys
pulled the door open together. .^.^S

" Eh, all of you, here's a new comrade !
Where's Mamma Margherita?"

"In the kitchen, making the soup,
padre!" shouted several merry voices.

And, still clasping the padre's hand,
Luigi found himself entering a warm,
light, cleanly kitchen, where a tall,
active -looking woman, in the usual
garj) of an Italian countrywoman, bent
over an enormous soup pot.

"Here, Mamma, is another child for
you!" cried his protector, pushing him
forward.

" Poor little one ! How cold he looks !
Come, then, bambino, and warm your-
self at this good fire. Here!"

And, without more ado, she had
Luigi sitting at the table, a bowl of
steaming cabbage soup before him, and
a rough wooden spoon in his hand.

"There, eat, eat, and you will feel
better. Now, Pietro, Ceccho, Domenico,
set the table. All is ready. Figlio
mio" — this to the good priest, — "you
must be weary. Will you not take
your supper?"

In clattered some twenty or thirty
boys, laughing, chattering, hungry. No
time was lost over choosing places : one
moment's eloquent pause, with each
young face turned toward the black
cassocked priest, Don Bosco, ^s he
murmured a Latin grace — and then

bowls and spoons (the latter a rarity
in that humble household) clattered
merrily.

"And now to bed!" said Don Bosco,
as each boy, after rinsing his bowl at
the tap outside, laid it on the dregser
or shelf. They clustered round him for
a farewell word, each boy kissing the
fatherly hand held out to him with
kindly looks.

Then, as Mamma Margherita (who in
reality was no other than Don Bosco's
mother) moved quietly about, washing
pots and pans, and setting all in order
for the night, her good sOn, drawing
down beside him the wondering Luigi,
began to question him gently :

"Now, mio figlio, tell me of yourself,
and how you come to be wandering
alone in the streets of Turin."

Luigi told him the story we know:
about the tunnel of the Col di Tenda,
and how he lost the shepherd's family,
and followed the bear-leader ; how they
had come to Turin for the w^inter
season, and his master had been seized
by the police.

"Well, as to that, I will go to the
police station to-morrow," said Don
Bosco, "and will ascertain what will
be done with him. And for yourself, my
little Luigi, we must see what can be
done. Now say your prayers, — do you
know them?"

" I used to say some prayers a long
time ago, padre, but — but I have for-
gotten!" stammered the child, hanging
his head.

"Well, I will tell you how to say
them. Kneel down here at my knee."

So Luigi knelt down, his two little
hands between the priest's big, thin
ones, and repeated after him the " Our
Father" and the "Hail Mary"; and
then Don Bosco blessed him, and told
him to go, and Mamma Margherita
would show him the way to bed,
and all else would be settled in the
I morning.

(To be coQlinued.)

7G6

THE AYE MARIA

Better than That.

Francis Joseph, Emperor of Austria,
was very fond of travelling alone and
incognito, and he often traversed the
streets of his capital and its suburbs.
One day he was enjoying a drive along
a country road. He had the carriage
to himself, acting as his own coach-
man. 'Twas a Sunday afternoon, and
the weather was fine, so the Emperor
met many people well dressed and
apparently enjoying themselves.

The sky, however, soon began to
grow sombre, and the rain to fall.
The Emperor, well sheltered by the
hood of his cabriolet, turned his horse's
head and started back to the city.
He had not gone far w^hen a soldier
accosted him :

"Pardon me, sir!" he said. "But
won't you permit me to drive with you ?
You are alone, I won't inconvenience
you much, and I don't want to get my
new uniform spoiled by the rain."

Francis Joseph told the soldier to
jump in, and a few minutes later they
w^ere chatting away like old friends.
The soldier, who was very communi-
cative, hastened to inform the Emperor
that he had been spending the day
in the country with a friend who
w^as a gamekeeper of his Majesty the
Emperor.

"And you bet," he concluded, "I had
a first-class dinner."

The Emperor, amused at his loquacity,
inquired :

"What did you eat that was so
very good?"

"Guess," replied the soldier, with a
mischievous grin.

"Cabbage soup?" suggested the
Emperor.

" Oh, I dare say, cabbage soup ! " cried
the soldier, contemptuousl^^ "Better
than that. Guess again."

"A calf's head?"

"Better than that."

"A good slice of ham?"

"Oh, better, a great deal better than
that!" said the soldier, with an air of
triumph. "I ate a roast, — a pheasant
roast, — a pheasant which I shot myself*
in his Majesty's forest, and which was
delicious, I tell you!"

The Emperor let on that he paid
no attention to what his companion
had said. The conversation continued
gaily enough ; the rain stopped ; and
when they reached the city, Francis
Joseph turned to the soldier, asked
his name and address, and offered to
drive him home. Delighted with this
politeness, the soldier accepted the offer
with thanks, and asked to whom his
gratitude w^as due.

The Emperor looked at him with a
smile, and laughingly replied :

"Now, then, 'tis your turn. Guess
who I am."

The soldier looked him over and
ventured :

"You are no doubt a military m&n,
sir?"

"Yes."

"Private?"

"Better than that."

"Lieutenant?"

"Better than that."

"Colonel?"

"Better than that, my man."

The soldier, surprised, hazarded
timidly :

"Perhaps, sir, you are a general?"

"Better than that."

"Then, sir, you must be the marshal,"
said his embarrassed interlocutor.

"Better even than that."

"O Vieavens!" exclaimed the terrified
soldier, "'tis the Emperor!" and he
began to murmur confused excuses,
begging his Majesty to stop the carriage
and let him out.

But Francis Joseph insisted on driving
him home, where he left him, with the
friendly counsjl not to shoot any more
pheasant in the royal forest without
first having obtained permission.

THE AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

767

— A welcome addition to the Crown Library,
published by John Lane, is "The Reformation in
England," by S. R. Maitland, author of "The
Dark Ages."

— "A racy and entertaining autobiography" is
the publishers' description of "Recollections," by
William O'Brien, M. P. for Cork. As everyone
knows, he is an interesting writer, ^nd has played
a considerable part in Irish history. His style is
wonderfully fresh, racy, and energetic; and the
volume takes it readers behind the scenes of the
Parncll movement in dramatic fashion. The
Macniillan Company announce the volume for
early issue.

— When one sees the interesting matter arranged
for modern school reading-books, one can not but
compare them with those used a few decades ago.
Naturally, too, one looks for better readers among
our young people. This, however, is not saying
that one finds them. But be this as it may, there
is no gainsaying the fact that the Eclectic Read-
ings furnished by the American Book Company
are interesting and attractive. One of the latest
additions to the series is " Stories of Great Musi-
cians," which should make reading class, not a
task, but a delight.

— It is a sign of the times, and a very gratifying
one, that some of our foremost literary reviews
are now opposing the publication of new unex-
purgated editions of bobks whose chief claim to
the attention of not a few buyers is their gross-
ness. The Athenieum often takes cjccasion to
rebuke indecency in books; and the Spectator,
reviewing a new edition of "Don Quixote," has
this to say: "That there are certain passages
in Cervantes' great work which are not in
accordance with modern ideas of decency and
cleanliness is unquestionable. These it is the plain
duty of an editor to retrench. It is a foolish
craze, if it is not worse, to insist upon having the
books of a past age complete. One might as
well insist that all the animals we eat should be
eaten as they stand."

— A new work by J. M. Stone, author of " Mary
I., Queen of England," etc., has just been pub-
lished by Messrs. Sands & Co. Its title is "Studies
from Court and Cloister," and its object is to
give general readers a right estimate of certain
persons and events often misrepresented by prej-
udiced historians, and to correct gross errors,
constantly repeated in novels and newspapers.
\Vo append the list of contents: Margaret Tudor
— Nor Wife nor Maid — A Notable Englishman —
The Catholic Reformation in Germany — Jesuits at
Court— Giordano Bruno in England —Charles the

First and the Popish Plot — The Runic Crosses at
Northumbria — A Missing Page from the "Idylls
of the King"— Foxe's Book of Errors— The Spoils
of the Monasteries — The Royal Library — The
Harleian Collection of Manuscripts. The work
contains eight full -page illustrations.

— " Mother Goose's Christmas Visit," by Edith
Thompson Langley (Samuel French, London and
New York), is an attractive and original enter-
tainment for children. All the old nursery favorites
are numbered among the characters represented;
and staging, costuming, and properties are all
suggestively outlined by the author.

— ^The intense indignation aroused among the
admirers of Edgar Allan Poe on account of his
exclusion from the Hall of Fame is fittingly ex-
pressed by Father Tabb in the following skit,
which is from the New York Times:

Unto the charnel Hall of Fame

The dead alone should go ;
Then write not there the living name

Of Edgar Allan Poe.

—Occasionally one hears a protest against fairy
tales for children, but educators, as a rule, appre-
ciate the advantage they ofler in the way of
cultivating the imagination. Among the master
story-tellers for children are, of course, Grimm and
Andersen ; and the works of these two weavers of
fancies have furnished the material for "Baldwin's
Fairy Reader," arranged for first-year pupils.
This number belongs to the Eclectic Readings
Series, and is published by the American Book Co.

— R.&T.Washbourne, London (American agents,
Benziger Brothers), have issued a new edition of
"The First Days of Jesus," a simple story of the
birth of Christ. The text is hardly needed, how-
ever, on account of the graphic, though inartistic,
pictures which represent the various events be-
longing to the m3'ster3- of the Nativity. The book
is published in two styles, — one the ordinary paper
edition, the other printed on untearable linen, a
decided advantage when the story is intended for
very young children.

— Among new publications we note three good
storybooks for Catholic children to which it is a
pleasure to call attention. " For the White Rose,"
by Katherine Tynan Hinkson, is a pretty Scotch
story, and breathes loyalty to the Church and the
heather hills of Scotland. Imprisonment in the
famous Tower, tender glimpses of home-life, court-
scenes, and heart secrets — these are the attractions
of" For the White Rose." Books like this give to
young folk the spirit of an historic movement
better than any number of text-books on the sub-
ject could do. — Any story that Mrs. Mannix

768

THE AYE MARIA.

writes for children is sure to be thoroughly
Catholic, full of information, and of absorbing in-
terest. "The Children of Cupa" is like a chapter
out of real life, and the atmosphere is a bit of
California sunshine. Boys will be interested in
the Indian element, which is strong in the story ;
and girls, too, who are brave and noble as Nellie
was, will follow the fortunes of the cherished
wards of the early missionaries. The home spirit
will appeal to boys and girls alike, especially to
those who know the privilege of "talking over"
things with mother and father.— Every boy and
girl who reads the opening pages of the pretty
Bavarian story entitled "The Violin Maker,"
and sees the little Matthias bending his ear close
to the trees to hear the vibration caused by his
hammer stroke, will not be satisfied until he has
followed the story to the end. It is an interest-
ing career, and carries one to Cremona, where
Matthias works with Maestro Amati, the great
violin -maker; to Padua, the home of Master
Railike ; and back to Mittenwald, which Matthias
Klotz makes the Cremona of Germany. The
story is like a sweet strain of music that will
linger long in the memory of the youthful reader.
All three of these books are published by Benziger
Brothers, and the price of them is forty-five cents.

"The Little Flowers of St. Francis of Assisi."

$1.60 , net.
" Yolanda, Maid of Burgundy." Charles Major.

$1.50.
"Addresses. Historical, Political, Sociological"

Frederic R. Coudert. $2.50.
" Life of Sir Thomas More, Knt." William Roper.

55 cts., net.
' Manual of Church Music." 75 cts., net.
"At the Sign of the Fox. A Romance." Barbara.

$1.50.
"Glenanaar." Very Rev. Canon P. A. Sheehan.

$150.
" Modem Freethought." Rev. J. Gerard, S. J. 30

cts., net; paper, 15 cts., net.
"Theosophy and Christianity." Rev. Ernest Hull,

S.J. 45 cts., net.
"The Crisis in the Church in France." 25 cts.,

net.
"Forget- Me -Nots from Many Gardens." 45 cts.

net.
"The Freedom of the Will." Rev. A. B. Sharpe,

M. A. 30 cts., net.
"The Household of Sir Thomas More." Anne

Manning. 60 cts., net.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning- important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
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Rev. M. N. Wagner, of the diocese of Brooklyn ;
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Reqaiescant in pace !

HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATJONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUKE, I., «.

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, DECEMBER 16, 1905.

NO. 25.

[Published every Saturday. Copyright : Rev. D. E. Hudson, CSC]

Gaining Peace.

BY MARTHA SHEPARD LIPPINCOTT.

'"THOU wilt keep him in perfect peace
Whose mind is stayed on Thee."
What comfort to the trusting heart

This promise e'er will be!
But place our confidence in God,

And peace will fill our souls.
As He will teach the loving hearts
To reach life's highest goals.

Then let us trust Him all our days,

And go where He may lead ;
He'll guide us in life's righteous ways,

Supply our every need.
Peace, peace, sweet peace will fill our souls,

And love surround our lives.
When each obeys the Father's will.

And for His blessing strives.

The Heralds of Christmas.*

BY THE REV. ET«ELRED L. TAUNTON.

GREAT O's reflect the spirit
of the Church and her feelings
during this season. I know of
no more appropriate subjects
of prayer during Advent than
these beautiful and pithy sen-
tences; and as a preparation
for Mass or Holy Communion they are
priceless. Let me now take each of
the antiphons and try to explore some
of the beauties; and perhaps I shall
succeed in making you value and love
them as I do.

• See The Ava Maria, Vol. Ivii, No. 2.5.

(1) "0 Wisdom, that camest out of
the mouth of the Most High, reaching
from end to end, ordering all things
mightily and sweetly: come and teach
us the way of prudence!"

The antiphons are made up of parts
of Scripture. In that wonderful praise
of wisdom in Ecclesiasticus (xxiv, 5)
we read: "I came out of the mouth of
the Most High." The Second Person
of the Adorable Trinity is called the
Word, the Wisdom of the Father ; and
w^e are taught that He proceeds from
the Eternal Father by way of under-
standing. Then in the Book of Wisdom
(viii, 1) Solomon tells us that wisdom
'reacheth from one: end to another
mightily, and sweetly doth she order
all things,' — a saying which the Apostle
reproduces when he declares that all
things work together for our good.
What might and sweetness are not
displayed in the Babe of Bethlehem, —
the might of His power, the sweetness
of His love !

St. John in the Apocalypse (xxii, 20)
adds his part to the antiphon: "Amen.
Come, Lord Jesus." And the princely
Isaias, who has been stirring us up
during Advent with his burning
prophecies, joins his voice (xl, 14) and
tells of "the path of judgment" and
"the way of understanding." The old
commentators love to connect these
antiphons with other things. Thus they
refer this one to Christ and to the
Holy Ghost in His Seven Gifts ; for Our
Lord came in the Spirit of Wisdom.
They also refer us to Father Adam

770

THE AYE MARIA.

as the type of wisdom ; for he was
'above all living creatures,'* and was
made to the likeness of God.

(2) "O Adonai and Leader of the
House of Israel, who didst appear to
Moses in the fire of the burning bush,
and gavest to him the Law on Sinai :
come and redeem us w^ith an out-
stretched arm!"

Each phrase is full of meaning. The
name by which God revealed Himself
to Moses on Horeb, "I Am who Am,"t
the Jews considered too sacred to
be pronounced by human lips. They
therefore used some other word. It
was called the Name, J the incommuni-
cable Name, the Name of Four Letters.
The actual pronunciation is said to
have been lost; but it is supposed to
be represented by the word Jehovah, or
the other forms, Jahveh or Yehave. The
four vowels used to point the Hebrew
word were combined into another
word, Adonai, meaning "my Lord."
The very first word of the antiphon
reminds us of the greatness of God
and of the Incarnation, whereby in a
very special manner He becomes "my
Lord," having a name, Jesus, at which
every knee shall bend.

We find traces of the antiphon in
the song which Judith (xvi, 16) sang
to the Lord after her triumph over
Holofernes : " O Adonai Lord, great art
Thou, and glorious in Thy powy!"
And when God renewed His promises
to Moses, He said: "I am the Lord
that appeared to Abraham, to Isaac
and to Jacob, by the name of God
Almighty : and My name Adonai I did
not show them."§ This blessed name
recalls hira who was the leader of
the House of Israel, Josue, the type
of Ilim who saved His people from
their sins. Also we are reminded of
David, to whom the Lord said: "I
took thee from the pastures, from
following the flock, that thou shouldst

be the ruler of My people Israel."*

It was Adonai who was in the midst
of the bush that burned and yet was
not consumed (a type of the perpetual
virginity of our ever dear and Blessed
Lady), and who from Sinai's Mount
gave forth the Law,— those ten blessed
words which reveal God's will. To
Him, therefore, as Lord and Leader,
Holy Church cries and prays to come
and redeem us as He promised to
Moses, "with' a high arm and great
judgments";! with that "stretched out
arm"$ which denotes the special exer-
cise of God's Providence on behalf of
His people. We need His outstretched
arm; for by sin we have wandered
from His fold and from the reach of
His ordinary mercies. It is only by a
miracle of grace, by a stretching out
of the everlasting arms, that we can
be brought back. Blessed be Adonai,
my Lord God ! Glory and obedience
to the divine Leader!

This antiphon is connected with the
Gift of Understanding which is dis-
played in Our Lord as Leader and
Lawgiver; and it finds its image in
Noe, who obeyed the voice of God and
was saved with an outstretched arm.

(3) "O Root of Jesse, who standest
for an ensign of the people, before whom
kings shall shut their mouths, whom
Gentiles shall beseech : come and deliver
us! Tarry not!"

This is somewhat difficult to under-
stand, but Holy Writ will be a light to
our steps. Isaias (xi, 1, 10) tells us that
" there shall come forth a rod out of the
root of Jesse, and a flower shall arise

up out of his root And in that day

the Root of Jesse, who standeth for an
ensign of the people, Him shall the
Gentiles beseech." The power of God
is sometimes spoken of as a "rod."
Thus: "Thou shalt rule them with a
rod of iron."— "Thy rod and Thy staff",
they have comforted me."§ The "Root

* Gen., i, 28.
:;: Lev., xxiv, 11.

t Kxod., iii, 14.
S Exod., vi, 2, 3.

* I Paralip., xvii, 7.
t IV Kings, xvii, 36.

t Exod., vi, 6.

§ Ps., ii, 9; xxii, 4.

THE AVE MARIA.

771

of Jesse" is used, by a figure of speech,
for Our Lord, who by mortal birth
traced His descent from the father of
David. Then again the "Root" is that
from which Jesse himself springs ; and
what can that "Rpot" be but the
Eternal Maker of all things? For,
trace we back human genealogies as
we will, at last we come to one who
" was of God," as St. Luke (iii, 38) says
of Father Adam. So here we get the
Root meaning the God -Man and the
Divine as well as the human nature.

Christ is also "the Ensign of the
People,"— that is, the trophy of victory ;
for He manifests Himself in such power
that all can recognize that He is the
power of the strong hand of God,
according to the prophet: "And He
shall set up a standard with the
nations, and shall assemble the fugitives
of Israel, and shall gather together
the dispersed of Juda from the four
quarters of the earth."* Kings before
Him shall hold their peace; for they
who have "opened their mouths wide"
against Him, shall now be forced to
recognize Him as the King of kings,
by whom they themselves reign, as
all power is from on high. And the
nations, too, shall know His power;
for "the nation and the kingdom that
will not serve Thee shall perish, and
the Gentiles shall be wasted with deso-
lation." And even the persecutors
shall be turned ; for, lo, " the children
of them that afflict tljee shall come
bowing down to thee, and all that
slandered thee shall worship the steps
of thy feet."t The cry, "Come, and
tarry not, is based on His own gracious
words, "Then said I, Behold I come"; J
and, "Surely, I come quickly: Amen.
Come, Lord Jesus." §

This antiphon is attributed to the
Gift of Counsel ; for the ensign of the
people is the Cross; and the folly of
the Cross is God's counsel against

the world with its kings and people.
Abraham is set as the type of obeying
God's counsel, even at the cost of
leaving his native land and sacrificing
his son at the word of God.

(4.) "O Key of David and Sceptre of
the House of Israel, who openest and
no man shutteth, shuttest and no
man openeth: come and lead out the
bondsman from the house of prison,
and him who sitteth in darkness and
in the shadow of death!"

The princely prophet says: "I will
lay the key of the house of David upon
his shoulder; and he shall open, and
none shall shut; and he shall shut, and
none shall open."* And the Spirit bade
St. John write to the Angel of the
Church of Philadelphia: "These things
saith the Holy One and the True One,
who hath the key of David, he that
openeth and no man shutteth, shutteth
and no man openeth: I know thy
works. Behold, I have given before
thee a door opened, which no man
can shut, because thou hast a little
strength, and hast kept my word, and
hast not denied my name."t

The key is the symbol of power.
The Lord gave "the Keys " to St. Peter.
Here we speak of one key only, but
there is no contradiction. To St. Peter
was committed the power of Christ
for the ruling of the flock; and in
human hands this needs the exercise
of justice and mercy. In God, justice
is mercy, and mercy justice ; so one key
tells us of the owner of the power
Himself He also opens the door, as
He is the one Mediator between God
and men. The forgiveness He decrees
no man can gainsay ; and no one can
break through the conditions He sets
for the opening of that door. Our
Lady, the Gate of Heaven, and St. Peter,
the bearer of the Keys, are only the
workers of His will. Once more, why
the key of David? This brings us back

• Isa., xi, 12.
X Ps., xxxix, 8.

t lb., Ix, 12-14.
I Apoc , xxii, 20.

* Is., xxii, 22.

t Apoc, iii, 7. 8.

772

THE AVE MARIA.

again to the Incarnation, and reminds
us of the cry, "Son of David, have
mercy on us!" The supreme power of
opening and shutting is divine; but it
is used by One likened to ourselves, — a
High Priest who can have compassion
on our infirmities.

The cry at the end of the antiphon is
based on the words of the prophet: "I
have given thee for a covenant of the
])eople, for a light of the Gentiles; that
thou mightest open the eyes of the
bHnd, and bring forth the prisoner out
of prison and them that sit in darkness
out of the prison house,"* — words that
Zachary had in mind when he poured
A)rth the Canticle of the Benedictus :
" To enlighten them that sit in dark-
ness and in the shadow of death."!

The commentators refer this antiphon
to the Gift of Fortitude, and take Isaac
as the type. Perhaps this is because of
his fortitude when his father told him
that he was the destined victim, and
he abode in the shadow of death as a
prisoner upon the altar. We, too, must
use this Gift of Fortitude while we wait
f )r God's good time to open the door
for us and to lead us into the light of
the land of the living.

(5) " 0 Dayspring, Brightness of Light
Everlasting and Sun of Righteousness :
come and give light to them that sit
in darkness and in the shadow of
death ! "

The prophet Zacharias (vi, 12) was
told to say to the high priest in the
name of the Lord : " Behold a man, the
Dayspring is his name." And another
Zacharias sang of that same man ' as
the Dayspring from on high which hath
visited us.'t The eternal wisdom of
God is called "the brightness of eternal
light, and the unspotted mirror of God's
majesty, and the image of His good-
ness." § For mortals could not know
God as the author of grace until He

• Isa., xlii, 6, 7.
t St. Luke, i, 78.

t St. Luke, i, 79.
§ Wisdom, vii, 26.

had revealed Himself in Christ ; even as
we are in darkness till the sun rises in
the east and, gradually mounting in
the heavens, fills the earth with the
splendors of his lifegiving beams.

Malachias (iv, 2), who foretold the
everlasting sacrifice of the Eucharist,
writes : " But unto you that fear my
name, the Sun of Righteousness shall
arise, and health in his wings: and
you shall go forth and shall leap like
calves of the herd." It is in the leadings
of the kindly Light of Christ that we
see what righteotisness is, — that justice
which sets us in the right relation to
God and our neighbor; for He is the
true Light which enlighteneth every
man coming into the world. In His
light w^e see Light, and know ourselves
even as we are known.

But why does this antiphon end up
so much like the last one? There are
two things that keep us prisoners and
in the shadow of death: a weakened
will and a clouded understanding. Both
are the effects of sin. The key of David
opens the door of liberty for our will ;
the Dayspring sheds light upon our
understanding, so that we may see our
danger and the means of escape. Thus
the commentators apply this antiphon
to that Gift of Knowledge which
removes the cloudiness of our under-
standing ; and they set forth Jacob as
the model. The patriarch knew how to
win an increase from the flock ; he
knew how to serve in order to gain his
bride; he knev^ how to obey and thus
obtain the father's blessing. He learned
how to disarm his brother. He had,
too, the knowledge how angels ascended
and descended, — that is, how created
things lead us to God ; and he foresaw
in vision the lot of his twelve sons
when they were to come forth out of
the house of bondage and the shadow
of death.

(6) "0 King of the Gentiles and
Desired thereof, and Corner-stone that
makest of two one: come and save

THE AVE MARIA.

773

man, whom Thou hast made from the
slime of the earth ! "

Here we have the Messiah's kingship
over all the earth set forth. He is
King not only of the Chosen People
but of the Gentiles; and as a comer-
stone unites two sides of a building,
so does He unite Gentiles and Jews into
one Church. Jeremias (x, 7) exclaims:
"Who shall not fear Thee, O King of
the Gentiles?" And Aggeus (ii, 8) calls
Him "the Desired of all nations."
Again, Isaias (xxviii, 16) foretold the
work of union which Christ the King
w^as to bring about: "Behold, I will
lay a stone in the foundations of Sion, —
a tried stone, a corner-stone, a precious
stone founded in the foundation." And
yet He was the Corner-stone rejected
by the Jews. His way of making two
one is described by St. Paul, who says :
"Jesus Christ Himself being the chief
Comer-stone."* And what He loves
so well and takes so much care to join
to Himself is made of the slirrtfe of
the earth. "What is man," says the
Psalmist, "that Thou art mindful of
him, or the son of man that Thou
shouldst visit him?"

This tender love of God for the work
of His hands enables the commentators
to see in this antiphon a reference
to the Gift of Piety, and they choose
Moses as the example. His piety — that
is, kindliness toward God and man —
fitted him to be the corner-stone of his
people, and to weld them into a nation.
He set up God as the King of the
Gentiles and the one Master of all.
The Unity of the Deity was, if I may
say it, his absorbing passion, and it
was this that he made the corner-
stone of the Chosen People's policy.
And who can recall the thought of
the old leader and lawgiver seeing
the Desired Land from the mountain
top— that land he himself was not to
enjoy — without the spirit of worship,

that the King of the Gentiles and the
Desired thereof had dealt so tenderly
and kindly with His servant?

(7) "O Emmanuel, King and Law-
giver, the longing of the Gentiles and
Saviour thereof: come and save us, O
Lord our God!"

As the days of Mary are again mysti-
cally being accomplished, and the Birth
is at hand, the yearning of the Church
becomes greater and more insistent.
Already she seems to be in possession
of the longed-for One ; for she addresses
Him by the sweet title of " God with us."
Already He, by grace, is the King and
Lawgiver to His children, as He was of
old when He stirred up the Gentiles to
long for His coming to be their Saviour.
They, sitting in darkness, looked for
deliverance by His grace, which had not
deserted them even in the shadow of
death. The joining of the name Emman-
uel with the titles of king and law-
giver tells us that Christ shows His
love by a rule, even as we prove ours by
obeying that rule. The name Emmanuel
was first declared by Isaias (vii, 14) in
prophecy to Achaz : "The Lord Himself
shall give you a sign. Behold, a Virgin
shall conceive and bear a Son ; and His
name shall be called Emmanuel."

Our Lady, at this hour of hours, can
not be out of the mind of the Church ;
and the thought of the Virgin is bound
up with that of "God with us." The
same prophet (xxxiii, 22) speaks of the
kingly office in these words: "For the
Lord is our Judge, the Lord is our Law-
giver, the Lord is our King. He will
save us." And St. Luke the beloved
(i, 33) says: "Of His kingdom there
shall be no end." Did not old Israel
prophesy to his son Juda that he should
not lose the sceptre "till He come that
is to l)e sent; and He shall be the
expectation of nations" ?* And we have
entered into the inheritance which they
foretold and saw but in vision. Well,

Eph., ii, 20.

Geii., xlix, 10.

774

THE AVE MARIA.

then, may we exclaim: "0 Lord our
God!"

This the last antiphon is connected
with the Seventh Gift, that of Holy
Fear. And it is well; for unless we
have this gift, we shall be over-familiar
with the Babe of Bethlehem and forget
our reverence of the mighty God who
lies in the manger. David is set as the
example, and I think because of his
abiding sense of sinfulness. "My sin is
ever before me."* Although the chosen
of God, yet holy fear, the thought
of God's unutterable holiness and his
own sinfulness, kept him from that
temptation to familiarity which might
have ensued upon building a temple.
Besides, was it in his own strength or
in the name of the Lord that he went
forth to do battle with Goliath and
slew him with the pebble from the
brook? It was the fear of God that
gave him courage, the fear of the Lord
that taught him the wisdom of trust-
ing in the divine might, and not in
his own weakness.

I have tried with feeble and hesitating
pen to set forth some of the meanings
of those glorious antiphons. There is
honey in the rock, f even if we have to
break open the stone of human words
and thoughts to reach it. The toil is
well spent; for "what is sweeter than
honey ?"t The prophet says: "Butter
and honey shall he eat, that he may
know to refuse the evil and choose
the good."§

With honey out of the rock I have
sought to satisfy the devotion of the
children of the Church who look to her
for the nourishment of their souls. In
her prayers there is safety and depth.
And she calls us to the rich banquet she
prepares for us in the Liturgy of this
season; for she bids us come, saying
in the words of Solomon: "Eat the
honey, my son, because it is good."||

A Rejected Manuscript.

BY MAGDAX.EN ROCK.

* Ps., I, .^. + Deut., viii, 8. t Judg., xiv, 18.
§ Isa., vii, 15. || Prov., xxiv, 13.

WHAT news this morning, Phil ? "
asked the girl on the sofa.
" Oh, the usual news !" Phillipa
Gray said, with a little laugh. "Verses
returned from the Citizen with polite
regrets; a story back from the World
Over; and — why, this is an article back
from Women, and without a word!"

"Oh!" Lily Gray said, sympathet-
ically.

"I didn't expect the others to be
accepted," Phillipa went on; "but I
did expect that 'Uncrowned Queens'
would have won a place; and Miss
Ashbourne usually writes when she, by
any chance, returns a manuscript."

There was a short silence. Phillipa
and Lily Gray were sisters, separated in
age by' nearly a score of years. They
were daughters of a country doctor,
whose death left them to face the world
with an annuity of eighty pounds. Lily
had been an invalid from her birth,
and Phillipa had received an education
which was of very little practical use.

The two girls had no friends to advise
them ; and they had come to London,
where Phillipa had tried to augment
their income in various ways. She had
proved herself a very inefficient music
teacher and a wretched arithmetician
in several instances before she turned
to literature. She had written a short
story one day when Lily lay ill and the
coins in her purse were few. The story
had taken a five pounds prize in the
Christmas number of a weekly paper,
and Phillipa had turned from music
and arithmetic and devoted herself to
letters.

"I am disappointed," Phillipa went
on, when a few moments had passed.
"However, it can't be helped."

She arranged the breakfast table and
pushed it toward Lily's couch- The

THE AVE MARIA.

775

sisters did not exchange many words
during the meal, and Lily sighed as she
glanced toward Phillipa's clouded face.
It was a face that had long lost the
contour of youth, and there were many
lines on the low forehead from which
the soft brown hair was drawn back.

Before breakfast was ended there
came a knock at the door. Phillipa
opened it and received a parcel from the
landlady's daughter.

"What is it?" Lily questioned when
the door closed.

"A few magazines from Mrs. Mas-
ters," Phillipa replied. Mrs. Masters
w^as a well-to-do widow who occupied
the rooms beneath.

"What are they?"

The question had to be repeated, for
Phillipa was already engaged in going
through the pages of the topmost
periodical.

"Oh, Longmans, Temple Bar, Corn-
bill, and the new magazine Old and
Young!" Phillipa at length answered.
" How kind of Mrs. Masters ! " She had
quite recovered her usual brightness.

"Yes, indeed," Lily assented; and
Phillipa turned to the editorial page
of Old and Young.

"The editor says he is anxious to
discover talent," she said. "I'll send
him 'Uncrowned Queens.' I'll only lose
a couple of stamps by doing so, and
there is just a chance of its being
accepted. I'll send it at once."

"Uncrowned Queens," accompanied
by a stamped envelope for its return in
case of its rejection, journeyed by the
next post to the office of the new
magazine, where it lay in a heap of
congenial company till its turn came
to be jjerused by Herbert Lev en. He
had cut the piece of colored twine with
which Miss Gray usually secured her
manuscripts, when the door of the
editorial sanctum was thrown open.
The editor turned in some annoyance
from his desk ; but the expression of his
countenance changed at once:

" Charlie Temple ! " he exclaimed, rising
and holding out his hand. "Where in
the world have you come from?"

"From the Hotel Metropole lastly,"
the intruder laughed. "Handed yester-
day at Southampton from India."

"Uncrowned Queens" had fallen to
the floor, and lay there while the two
friends sat and discussed the events
and changes of a decade of years.

"And you never married. Temple?"
the editor replied after a time.

"Not I. You did," Temple said.

But Leven shook his head.

"You were engaged, though, when I
sailed for India, to — wait a second.
I have a first-rate memory for names.
Yes, it was to Marion Ashbourne."

" We were not engaged exactly," Leven
corrected; "but I cared for Miss Ash-
bourne, and I thought she did for me."

"And did she not?"

"I was a fool."
, "Most of us are fools," Temple
remarked. "In what way did your
particular foolishness display itself?"

Leven hesitated.

" I don't see why I shouldn't tell you.
The Ashboumes lived in Surrey, and
one evening I bicycled to Woodford
unexpectedly. My way took me past
the little railway station, and I saw
Marion parting in a manner most afl"ec-
tionate from a young man."

"WeU?"

"I returned to London without call-
ing, and discontinued my visits."

"Without asking an explanation?"

Leven nodded.

"He might have been a relative."

"He was, as I found out later. He
was her brother, who had fallen under
parental displeasure in his youth. He
was the black sheep of the family,
and was consequently never spoken of.
When I learned this, however, old Mr.
Ashbourne was dead and Marion had
disappeared. I never could find her."

"Did you try?"

"Yes," Leven answered. "She disap-

776

THE AYE MARIA.

peared entirely. There were rumors
that her father had lost a great deal
of his money in speculations."

"And you have never thought of
matrimony since?"

Leven smiled.

"What a catechist you are, Temple!
Years have not altered you in that
respect. Do you remember hov^ you
quizzed poor Guy Berry when he first
entered our school?"

The talk now drifted to school life
and school comrades, and after an
hour or so Temple took his leave.
Leven sat idle for some minutes after
his departure; then, with a rather
impious wish concerning authors and
manuscripts, he began his work anew
by lifting Miss Gray's paper.

"'Uncrowned Queens,' "he muttered,
"and a woman's writing!" He read
through the first few pages, and made
a grimace. "Won't do!" and he threw
the manuscript aside.

As he did so, a sheet of thin paper
fluttered from among its pages to the
floor. Leven lifted it, and glanced at it
carelessly.

"Marion Ashbourne!" he ejaculated,
as he read the few kindly lines in which
the editor of Women rejected Phillipa
Gray's paper. "Marion Ashbourne!
And she is unmarried still ! Where does
she write from, I wonder?"

He examined the sheet of plain note
paper. There was on it neither an
address nor the name of the journal
that Miss Ashbourne edited.

" I'll have to interview Miss Gray,
then, whoever she may be," Leven said,
with a laugh that sounded gay in his
own ears. "No more work to-day!"

He donned an overcoat, stuck "Un-
crowned Queens" in his pocket, and
set out for the unfashionable locality
where Phillipa and Lily Gray resided.
The latter was in bed, and Phillipa
was busy remaking a skirt when the
servant handed in Herbert Leven's card.

Wild visions of future literary great-

ness, combined with a regret concerning
the untidy appearance which her
amateur dressmaking had given the
room, passed through Phillipa's mind
as she hastily rose to greet her very
unexpected visitor. Leven took the
chair toward which Phillipa motioned
him, and extracted her manuscript from
his pocket. He had time to notice that
the woman's face before him was, for
all her years and cares, bright and
sympathetic. It was owing to the
latter fact, no doubt, that Herbert
Leven found himself telling more of
Marion Ashbourne's story and his own
than he originally intended. Phillipa
forgot her disappointment in her
interest in a genuine love story.

" Miss Ashbourne edits Women,'' she
said, when Leven paused. " I wondered
a little that she had not written when
the paper was returned. She always
does. She has been very kind to me.
Do you know the periodical?"

Leven shook his head.

Phillipa scribbled an address on a piece
of paper and handed it to her visitor.

"That is Miss Ashbourne's private
address."

"Many thanks!"

Leven made his adieux, and Phillipa
hastened to tell Lily of his visit.

Three or four days later the sisters
were surprised and gratified by a visit
from Miss Ashbourne, looking, as
Phillipa declared later, years 3'ounger
than when she had seen her last.

" I have come to ask you to be my
bridesmaid," Miss Ashbourne said to
Phillipa. "Mr. Leven and I are to be
married in a fortnight. I am rather a
frien'^less sort of person, and you have
been the means of — " the speaker
paused ; but Phillipa understood, and
gladly consented.

Through the guidance and influence
of the Levens, Phillipa is now earning
by her pen an income that is not incon-
siderable. This is due, she often says,
to a rejected manuscript.

THE AVE MARIA.

777

Lonely Songs.

The Struggle for Bread.

BY SARAH FRANCES ASHBURTON.

I.N Solitude.
r\ARK the night is,— dark, with not a single star ;
Dark my thoughts are, — dark, straying and
scattered far.
No sound but that of the birds, above my head

in the fog;
The lapwing striking the air, over the lonely bog ;
And the plover, like whistle of bullets, cleaving the

gloomy night;
And the screech of the wild geese, fading as higher

they take their flight.
These are the only sounds I hear, and this is why

1 am sad.
With only the cry and the call of the birds,— oh,

how can I be glad?

Beside a Grave.

Why are you so hard, colleen?

Why are you so still?
I wonder do you pity me,

Who have cried my fill?

Lift your pretty head, Noreen,—

Let me see you smile 1
Look at me with those dear eyes,

Talk to me a while !

You went down the little road,

Narrow 'tis and dark;
Where you are', there is no light.

Not a single spark,—

Little road that up and down

Thousands fare to sleep;
Those who stop there, silent are;

Those who follow, weep.

Not a word from you, colleen 1

There is naught to do
But fall beside you where you lie.

And, weary, rest there too.

Blighted Hope.
She came to me, like a star from the west,

Through the golden clouds of a summer sky ;
And I opened my arms, and my heart was blest, —

But she never paused as she floated by!

She went from me, like a star through the mist;

And my arms fell numb, and my head drooped low.
Oh, vision of Love, unclasped, unkissed !

Why did you come, and why did you go?

• From the Old Iriib.

BY R. F. O'CONNOR.

THE pathetic picture of the sweated
seamstress which Hood draws in
his "Song of the Shirt" — that echo,
pitched in a melancholy minor key, of
"the still sad music of humanity" —
has its replica in the life of the toiling
masses in every large city ; that swarm
of overworked and underpaid white
slaves who by their daily or nightly
drudgery earn a scanty wage, a pre-
carious subsistence, which maintains
them just barely above the lower level
of the submerged tenth.

A writer in a French publication
gives us some graphic glimpses of the
workers' inner life, bidden from the
knowledge of the gay, pleasure-hunting
throng of sightseers and £aneurs who
promenade the Champs Elys^es or the
Boulevards by day, or crowd the
theatres or caf6s cbantants at night.

Leaving out of count the male bread-
winners, the number is legion of those
female workers who, in the dilapidated
dwellings in which they rent a room
or two, rise with the dawn and retire
to rest when Paris is still amusing
itself. Their whole life is one of hard,
silent, unremitting toil. At ten years
of age they are already workers,
these poor creatures ; and will continue
working until their trembling fingers,
weary and worn, shall stiffen with age,
paralyzed and powerless, or in death.

The huge army of toilers who are
fighting the battle of life in our
large cities, engaged in a hand-to-hand
struggle for bread, can count their
heroes and heroines, who battle bravely
until they die at their posts, just as
well as the armies pitted against each
other at the seat of war. The courage,
the constancy, the endurance, the self-
sacrifice, displayed in many an attic
in Paris, London or New York, are on

778

THE AVE MARIA.

a par with the like qualities exhibited
on the battlefield, though they are not
paraded in a newspaper or glorified in
a gazette.

Among the French workwomen whom
the writer visited in their lodgings —
those women for whom existence is so
hard and trying, — he did not hear a
single despairing imprecation against a
too cruel destiny; never, in the course
of conversation, caught a discordant
note of the sullen revolt of those who
are overworked, against the lucky ones
who have no need to work.

Though Misery sometimes prowls
around these women, it never sits down
at their hearths. They even seem to
laugh at it— perhaps for fear they might
weep, — and to its multiplied menaces
respond with songs. For singing is
half life to those who have never known
any happiness than that of others. It
is the song which makes the little room
au sixieme less dreary ; it is that which
makes the monotonous labor which
bends the back and breaks the spirit
less painful, which dispels for a moment
or two serious preoccupations, — solic-
itude about the rent to be paid, the bills
that are falling due.

The first toiler whom the writer
visited was a seamstress who worked
for an entrepreneuse — a contractor, — or
what they call in London a sweater.
She lives in one of the most populous
districts of Paris — the eleventh arron-
dissemeat. He found Madame C, with
her daughter-in-law, a young woman of
about thirty, in a clean, bright, cheerful
little room in the Rue des Trois-Bornes.

"You see," said she, " I'm working at
rather delicate pieces of linen. I'm now
seventy, and I have been sixty years at
this work. I've not grown rich by it,
it is true; but I've always managed
to live. It's the chief thing, isn't it?
My poor eyes, however, are now very
fatigued; and if I hadn't my daughter-
in-law to help me, I think it should go
bad with us."

"But no, mamma," put in the young
w^oman. " Your eyes are still very good,
and you get through as much work as
I do."

The old seamstress smiled, readjusted
her spectacles, and put in some little
stitches with surprising rapidity.

"And is this work well paid for?"

"Not too bad," replied Madame C.
"But what I'm doing now is good, as
we say. They are fine chemises, which
are sold for thirty francs to customers.
They pay us two francs a piece for
them. This seems a pretty kind of
chemise ; but look at these gatherings,
these little plaits, these piecings! We
two, working from fifteen to sixteen
hours, can hardly finish a couple in a
day. One must work rapidly like us
to get through with it; but it is still
more necessary to sew carefully. Our
employer is very hard to please. For
a mere nothing she'll send back the
work; and that is a loss to us, you
understand."

"But why don't you try to do w^ith-
out the contractor and work on your
own account?"

"Oh, as for that, we mustn't think
of it ! We have in our time worked
for the big houses, but we soon gave
it up. They're so exacting and there
are so many preferences. If one doesn't
please those gentlemen who take in the
work, if one is not a little coquettish,
one is exposed to the worst pestering, —
it is this which won't suit ; it is a hem
to be done again ; plaits to be changed ;
in short, a heap of little troubles which
end in discouragement. We have less
trouble with the contractor. She's a
very monied woman, and knows as
no ane else does how to get work
passed. She's certainly a little exacting,
it is true; but that's nothing in com-
parison with the superintendents who
receive the deliveries. As we are now
working, we can keep things moving.
We live poorly, but we live. In place
of having two rooms, we've only one;

THE AVE MARIA.

779

and, mn foi, the days go by without
too many cares. When my poor son
was alive, we were easier. But the
brave lad died two years ago; and
my daughter-in-law, whom you see,
wouldn't leave me. We might be hap-
pier, I know, if we could pay for a
chicken from time to time, or drink a
little good wine; but, que voulez-vous?
There are people worse off than we
are, — those who are left alone with
children. Ah, I ask myself how they
can avoid dying of hunger!"

"But, mamma," remarked the young
woman, smiling, "people don't die of
hunger so long as they have health
and courage."

"Yes, yes," replied the old dame;
"but health and courage diminish little
by little with age."

"Come, mamma, no gloomy ideas,
or otherwise you'll not get what I
promised you for your feast!"

Madame C. looked at her daughter-
in-law, and said to her visitor:

"Ah, Monsieur, it is an angel whom
the good God has sent me ! Without her,
I should perhaps be already far away."

And she resumed her stitching on the
cambric with renewed earnestness.

The next visit was paid to a large
tenement house at the top of Mont-
mar tre. Children were playing before
the door. Perceiving the visitor, they
fled like a flock of sparrows. Seeing
a gamin bolder than the rest, who
remained in the middle of the street
and was regarding him with curiosity,
the visitor said :

"Do you know Madame Golian?"

"Yes, m'sieu: she's in that house."

"On what floor?"

"On the fifth. But — stop — there is
Gaston! He's going to show you the
way; he's Madame Golian's boy."

A few minutes afterward, preceded by
Gaston, the visitor ascended the dark
winding staircase. On reaching the
fifth story, a child opened a door and
called out:

"Mamma, it's a gentleman!"

He entered. The mother, who was
machine sewing, interrupted her work
and came forward.

" Monsieur is no doubt the rent-
collector," she said. "I regret very muct
that you should have put yourself to
the trouble ; but on the 8th, I promise
you, I shall pay the quarter in arrear."

He did his best to put at her ease the
good woman, who then took him for
an inquirer from the Public Relief Office.
She gave him to understand that she
had not asked for charity. When,
however, she was quite convinced that
he was neither a rent -collector nor
a relieving officer, she laughed at her
double mistake.

"You know," she said, "I'm poor,
but I don't need any one's assistance.
I have two children — the elder who
brought you here, and the one you
see at this table about to take his
soup, — but I have always succeeded in
providing them with all they want.
Unfortunately, there's always some-
thing in life which goes awry. One
works, one falls ill, and suddenly sick-
ness takes hold of one. That's my case,
sir. Three months ago I was seized
with pains and had to take to bed.
Ah, Pve suffered much! The sickness
was nothing, but what troubled me
was the little ones. Happily, a good
neighbor cared for them as if they
were her own children. There are still
some good people, you see. Now Fm
fixed up. Pve only one quarter in
arrear, but I shall pay it on the 30th.
I don't want for work, but Pm some-
what fatigued again. It's chiefly the
limbs which are not very well, and in
my trade the limbs are everything.
Think how one must knit to get
through a day's work ! I machine
sew for the dressmakers, the finishers,
and housekeepers. 1 quilt petticoats,
mantles, jackets, nightdresses, — every-
thing in fact ; and I get a sou (half-
penny) per metre."

780

THE AVE MARIA.

"A halfpenny per metre? And you
manage to live?"

"It must be done. First of all, I've
a very cheap lodging: one hundred
and twenty francs a year, — that's just
thirty francs a quarter. And, then, I
spend nothing on myself, since I never
go out. It is I who manage for the
little ones. There are only boots and
stockings, oil, food, and rent. And,
taking everything into account — time
lost on this and that, work refused, dull
season, indispositions not too serious
but which oblige one to give up, — I
succeed in making on an average from
sixty to sixty-five francs a month."

"It's poor, with this burthen of two
children."

"Ah, my darlings! if I hadn't them
I should perhaps be discouraged. But
those boys — that gives me courage
and hope. It is they who force me to
live. When I lost their father, I really
thought it was all up; I didn't think
I should be able to struggle all alone.
But we must never despond. I took
this little lodging, I installed myself
here with my machine, and now things
are going ahead ; and if I wasn't afraid
of some serious illness, I should be
almost happy. But we mustn't think
of that. I shall toil as long as I can,
until the day comes when my strength
leaves me. But the boys will then be
big; and, as they're very fond of me,
I think when they'll become workers
in their turn, they'll perhaps wish I
should rest."

And the good mother caresses her two
little ones, who lovingly embrace her.

There, you see, is resignation ; but a
resignation which has nothing sorrow-
ful about it, and inspires hope, still
distant, of better days. When the
children shall be big! There is the
consoling thought, the real happiness,
the sole ideal of that woman, whose
strength is daily wasting, but whose
heart never grows weak.

The third visit was paid to three

women in the Rue des Bauches, in the
midst of Passy. Their poverty touched
misery, but it was a cheerful poverty.
Mother and daughter were boot-
stitchers. The grandmother was bed-
ridden. These women had been in
almost easy means. They were formerly
teachers, but pupils became scarce and
trouble ensued. They first sold some
articles of furniture, then some more ;
finally, the landlord came and took
what remained, leaving them ■ only
three beds.

Then these women became workers;
for they were not ashamed of what
some people would consider a downfall.
They installed themselves, along with
the old grandmother, in a more than
modest lodging, and began the arduous
labor of boot-stitching. Soon the white
hands became hardened, but their gaiety
never deserted them.

At the moment when their visitor
knocked at the door, he heard a sweet,
fresh voice singing very prettily the
cavatina from "Mignon." On his
entrance, the mother, a woman of fifty,
with a fine, intelligent face, ceased
stitching the leg of a boot, and, at his
request, began to give him details of
her trade.

"It's hard enough, as you may see.
Kid and calf are easily sewed ; but with
patent leather, particularly cowhide,
it's quite another thing. One breaks
more than one needle. You can not
imagine how the polish fatigues the
sight, particularly at night, in the glare
of the light. At first I couldn't get my
hand into it. My eyes were dazzled.
And one must be very careful about
what one is doing. You see all those
stitches ? They must be very regular
and very carefully done; fc we work
for a big house whose customers, like
all who pay well, are very hard to
please."

"And it is to this house you go to
seek w^ork?"

"No, sir. We formerly worked directly

THE AVE MARIA.

781

for boot factors, but we had to give it
up. We had to go look for boots, wait
a long time, then bring them back and
stand for hours before receiving our
work. Everything taken into account,
two days every week on an average
were lost. Then we found a bootmaker
who lives in the neighborhood, and
who gives us as much work as we
can well do. We are paid less, it is
true; but we haven't to stand so long
waiting on coarse, surly bootmakers,
sometimes very humiliating."

"And you make — ?"

"That depends. I've told you that
the polished leather is very hard to
sew. When we have that— as now, for
instance, — we are distressed. Above
all it is the buttoned boots that are
difficult. The buttonholes must first be
pierced, and the hand is soon fatigued
at this work. Then we must work the
edges of these buttonholes with the
needle, and sew in the buttons. My
daughter and I, however, contrive to
earn, each of us, nearly ten pence a
day ; but we mustn't read the paper
or remain half an hour at table."

"Why don't you do linen work or
finishing? That, perhaps, would be less
laborious?"

" We have tried, but we prefer making
boots. Linen work is less hard, it is
true; but now people have become so
exacting that that work does not bring
as much. If one works for a big house,
one is liable every instant to see the
work returned ; if one works for a
contractor, it's the same thing. As to
ladies' boots, it's very rarely they're
refused."

"So you don't complain too much?"

"What would be the use of that?
At first my daughter and I often cried
over this wretched work ; but we took
heart of grace. My daughter is very
cheerful: she sings continually; and,
ma foi, we work, and laugh and forget
our misfortune."

"Besides," interposed the young girl,

"if we were sad, what would grand-
mamma say?"

And on the snow-white bed, to which
she has been confined for eight years,
the grandmother, who can no longer
speak, gently shook her head and smiled
at the two women with a grateful air.

Some hard things have been said
and written from time to time against
the sweaters, as the middle -men or
middle-women of the labor market are
called. But it is apparent from the
glimpses we have here of the relations
between employer and employed in
one of the busiest European capitals,
that there is something to be said
in their favor; that, perhaps, without
them, the position of the poorest of
the poor toilers in rooms and attics
might be even harder than it is.

'The House of the Fairy Tale.'

BY MARY B. UANNIS.

IT was a square cottage, low-roofed
and low -ceiled, set solidly upon a
low granite foundation. The windows
and doors were low and broad, and a
wide porch ran along the front.

On this porch, on an iron settee,
badly in need of a coat of paint, sat a
young man and young woman. He was
tall, handsome, and square -shouldered,
with honest, smiling blue eyes, that
looked out upon the world as though
he had found it, so far, a very pleasant
one to live in. He could not have been
more than twenty-six or twenty-seven
years of age. She, his junior by several
years, had a petite figure and a charm-
ing face, with a wealth of light chestnut
hair that almost covered her small
head, around which it was wound in
two thick braids like a crown.

Above the door, directly
them, where they restec^
backs to the sea, which
cliffs not three hundred

782

THE AVE MARIA

into the wood of the dwelling, was a
picture of St. Elizabeth and the roses,
painted on a dark brown panel. The
artist had no reason to be ashamed
of his work. The autumn perspective,
the two figures in the foreground —
Elizabeth and Louis, her husband, —
were finely executed. The look of
astonishment on his face was equalled
by that of shy surprise on hers, as
the roses, red, pink, yellow and white,
came tumbling out of her apron to
the ground.

"But what a marvel!" exclaimed
the young man for the fifth time at
least. And when one heard his voice,
one knew that English was not his
native tongue, though his enunciation
was both excellent and cultured. "To
think that in this place we should
have found the exact counterpart of
our picture in the hall at home! We
must stay here, heart's dearest! This
shall be our dwelling while we remain
in this ideal seaside spot, — the prettiest
w^e have seen in America."

"But there is no furniture, Louis,"
answered the girl, with a smile that
turned all her cheeks into bewitching
dimples. "And we have no servant.
You have heard how it is in this
country. If they know, they do not
stay; and if they stay, they do not
know. And — I do not know myself,
to teach anybody."

"Furniture! That is easy to buy,
Lieschen. And there must be some place
to get meals in this village, I should
think."

Before the girl could reply, two ladies
turned the corner of the house and
began to ascend the steps.

The gentleman rose, cap in hand.

"Excuse us," he began. "You are
perhaps the owners of this pretty place.
My wife and I admire it so much that
we would like to rent it."

"It is not for rent," answered the
taller of the newcomers, politely. "We
are going to occupy it ourselves — for

the first time. We have never seen it
before to-day."

" Ah, that is too bad that we can not
rent it!" rejoined the young man, in a
disappointed tone. "But it is good for
you to see it, is it not?- A lovely old
house, I think."

"It is that which especially recom-
mends itself to us," observed his wife,
pointing to the picture. "I, too, am
Elizabeth."

"You know it, then?" said the
younger and smaller of the girls. "Yet
it is that, they tell us, which has kept
it vacant when other houses less desir-
able have been occupied. People in
this neighborhood are rather prejudiced
against Catholics, and do not care for
St. Elizabeth's Cottage."

"That is strange," replied the young
man. "We are not Catholics, yet we
love the dear St. Elizabeth. My wife
is even — very far back — of her family;
and she has been said to resemble her."

"Not so much, Louis, as this young
lady," said his wife, who had been
intently regarding the younger girl.

The latter laughed and turned to
her sister.

"A strange coincidence, is it not,
Grace?" she said. Then addressing
herself to the young couple, she added :
"And we are said to be of the same
family, also very far back, — at least
that is the legend which has been
handed dow^n to us."

Husband and wife exchanged glances.

"You are Germans?" inquired the
gentleman.

"Three hundred years away," an-
swered the elder girl.

"Your names, if I may be so bold?"

"Our name is Anat."

" And ours Anhalt," said the gentle-
man, after a slight hesitation. "They
were perhaps originally the same."

"No doubt," rejoined the elder sister;
while the younger fingered a seal that
hung from her watch-chain.

" Perhaps you may know this coat-of-

THE AVE MARIA.

783

arms," she said, detaching and handing
it to the stranger.

"It is our own," he replied gravely,
passing it to his wife.

"Yes, the very same!" she said.

"We must be cousins, then," con-
tinued the younger girl, smilingly.
" Poor relations together!"

Her sister looked at her reprovingly.

"Elizabeth is thoughtless sometimes,"
she remarked. "But she means no
discourtesy."

"Elizabeth? That is my name also," .
repeated the young wife.

"And you are alike!" exclaimed her
husband.

It was true : as they sat side by side
on the iron settee, looking up at the
picture, they certainly resembled it and
each other.

"Ah, what a pity it is that we can
not live together in St. Elizabeth's
Cottage!" exclaimed the girl. "It
would be like a fairy story."

"And why not?" asked the young
man. "Would there not be room?"

"But there is no furniture," rejoined
the elder sister. " I will tell you just how
we are situated. This cottage was left
to us by our great -aunt, who was
Elizabeth's godmother. She — another
Elizabeth, by the way,— treasured the
picture which has been in the family
for generations. There is a story of a
younger son who married a peasant
girl, was diso^Tied by his father, and
came to this country. But that is all
past and gone; it does not matter
now ; and we are first of all Americans.
My sister and I have been teaching
school for several years. We are worn
out with work. But we have managed
to save enough to enable us to live in
idleness for at least a year. We intend
to spend it in our cottage. We came
down this morning, bringing with us
only the most necessary articles of
furniture, simply because we can not
afford to bu}' any more. We shall have
to be very, very economical. There! I

have been frank with you— for the sake
of our relationship," she added, with a
merry laugh, in which everyone joined.

The young man and his wife spoke
in German for a few moments, then
he said :

"I, too, will be frank. We are here
for a year's stay, I hope ; like yourselves,
glad to get away from arduous duties.
We are in love with this place. If you
will allow me, I agree to furnish the
house, simply but suitably, at my own
expense, on condition that you receive
us as boarders. When we leave, I
promise that we will make an arrange-
ment as to the furniture which shall be
satisfactory. Our tastes are very simple.
Whatever suits you will please us
equally well. And we feel sure that
we shall get on together — for," he con-
cluded, with an air of good-fellowship,
"blood is thicker than water."

The proposed arrangement appealed
to all. In a few moments the party
were inside selecting rooms, and every-
body smiling and delighted. It was
decided that the long, wide hall should
be common property, — a kind of recep-
tion and drawing-room. On one side
were a bedroom and dining-room, which
could be used as a sitting-room for the
sisters. On the other, two small bed-
rooms, and a little apartment which
the young wife at once laughingly called
her "boudoir," were reserved for the use
of the guests. The tiny kitchen served
for all necessary uses.

When all was settled, the women-folk
went to the hotel for a few days, while
the man of the household repaired to
the city to purchase the furnishings. He
must have given carte blanche to the
tradesmen; for in a very short time
the cottage presented a homelike and in
some respects a luxurious appearance.

As soon as they were installed, the
sisters showed their genius for house-
keeping. Never was there a happier
family than that now domiciled under
" St. Elizabeth's " roof: the husband

784

THE AVE MARIA.

and wife in perfect union of thought
and sentiment; the two girls affec-
tionate beyond the fashion of ordinary
sisters; the entire quartette congenial
and amiable. Young Mr. Anhalt worked
daily in the garden, soon transforming
it into a bower of beauty. All their
leisure time was spent out of doors,
walking, sitting on the rocks, swim-
ming, and sailing.

Somehow, it had come to be a fixed
opinion in the minds of the sisters
that the Anhalts were people of
moderate means; like themselves, on
a necessary but limited vacation. The
board they insisted on paying seemed
exorbitant to their hostesses, who had
qualms of conscience about accepting it.

Thus passed six happy months, when
one morning Mr. Anhalt suddenly
uttered an exclamation, dropped the
daily paper he had been reading, and
w^ent indoors. In a few moments he
reappeared with his wife, both looking
serious and disturbed.

"We must go," said the young man,
abruptly. "We must leave you, and
at once. This is totally unforeseen,
but what, after all, might have been
expected. We have passed here, in
this delightful spot and your delightful
company, hours which we shall never
forget. Remember us, dear friends ; and
we, too, shall always remember. As
to the furniture, the small sum we
paid you for our board was never
sufficient. We beg that you will accept
these poor household goods as extra
compensation. For them we can not
take money. Say not a single word
against it, if you love us — as we think
you do."

Then came tears and regrets, but no
questions. The Anhalts went as they
had come — quietly, almost mysteri-
ously,— and the sisters were left alone.

Letters came from London, Paris,
and Berlin; but as the travellers had,
strangely enough, given no address, the
letters had to remain unanswered.

At the expiration of a year, when
the sisters were beginning to wonder
whether they should not be obliged
to rent "St. Elizabeth's Cottage" and
fare forth again to labor for their
daily bread, a communication arrived
from New York saying that the sum
of ten thousand dollars was awaiting
their disposal in a certain bank, in
payment of an old legacy which had
been in the German courts for years.
They had not known of any such
legacy; but, being able to rent their
cottage, went at once to New York,
were identified, drew a tenth of their
legacy, and betook themselves to Europe
for a holiday.

For several months they wandered
frugally about, reserving to the last
their visit to the whilom domains of
the dear St. Elizabeth. They drank, at
Erfurt, from the cup the saint's lips had
so often touched, plucked a handful of
grasses from her ancient garden, and
stood thoughtfully and prayerfully
beside the ruins of "St. Elizabeth's
Fountain."

And then one morning, having tarried
overnight at an ancient and curious
mountain inn, they rose very early in
order to make ready to pursue their
homeward journey. The sun was just
peeping from behind the farthest
hilltop when Elizabeth stepped forth
into the little balcony in front of
their many-paned window. Suddenly
an open carriage, drawn by two
magnificent black horses, appeared at
a bend of the road, coming from the
direction of the castle. The driver and
outrider were in rich, plain livery ; inside
sat a lady and gentleman. Both glanced
upwartl at the same moment, their
eyes meeting those of the girl on the
balcony. Pleasure, surprise, regret were
mingled in the look of recognition with
which they greeted her. She leaned
forward, as though to speak; they
bowed, still smiling, and the carriage
speeded quickly onward.

THE AYE MARIA.

785

The innkeeper was standing in front
of the hostelry.

"Tell me," said Elizabeth from the
balcony, — "tell me, good sir, who were
that lady and gentleman?"

"That lady and gentleman!" ex-
claimed the host. "Why, the Duke and
Duchess, of course ! Who else, gaadiges
Frauleia? You know them not? They
are on their way to catch the train.
They go to England, to the Golden
Jubilee of their cousin, Queen Victoria."

"The Duke and Duchess of what?"
asked the girl, as soon as she could find
w^ords To speak.

"Of Hesse -Anhalt and Dessau, — our
most kind and gracious sovereign."

"Do they travel much?" inquired
Elizabeth, after a moment's pause.

'Not now, though fonnerly they
were always travelling. But since the
death of the old Duke, who was the
uncle of our Louis and his Elizabeth
also — for they are cousins, — they have
remained at home till now."

"Ah!" murmured Elizabeth, almost
speechless, as she turned to find her
sister, who had seen and heard all,
standing behind her at the window.

The sisters are living happily once
more in their cottage by the sea, which
the3^ now call "the house of the fairy
tale." Yet, such simple souls are they
that they have never for a single
moment connected with the Duke and
Duchess of Hesse -Anhalt and Dessau
the " legacy " which enables them to live
in content and ease.

The Hour Comes.

As when the tide has slowly ebbed away,

Leaving all bare the shining strand.
Then turns, and flinging wide its spray

Rushes impetuous up the sand,
Thus Israel's hope had reached the farthest deeps.

When suddenly the tide of waiting turned,
And expectation rose with eager sweeps,.

Bearing the hour for which men yearned.

A Catholic Composer's Masterpiece. —
Vienna's Verdict.

THE elite of the musical world, the
cultured music -lovers of Vienna,
have set the seal of their approbation
on Sir Edward Elgar's oratorio, "The
Dream of Gerontius." The musical
setting of Cardinal Newman's sublime
poem was already known and appre-
ciated in England ; but, since it is of
a nature that appeals rather to the
classes than the masses, it had not gone
much farther afield. The enthusiasm
with which the first performance was
received in the city of Mozart — not
prone to confer its favors lightly —
is the leading theme of Austrian and
German journals at the present moment.
The great Musikverein Saal, the most
spacious hall in Vienna, was, on Thurs-
day, November 16, filled to overflowing
by critics and musicians eager to hear
the most famous work of one whose
previous compositions had aroused
intense interest.

Sir Edward's string quartette had
won a favorable reception last year;
but the serious public of Vienna has
prejudices against English music, which
generally presents itself to their notice
in the form of trivial and superficial
light operettas; so that the artists
who undertook the rendering of the
"Dream" had to face a keenly critical
audience. It was a Russian tenor,
Mr. Senius, who sang the part of
Gerontius, and his magnificent organ
did full justice to the beauty of Elgar's
melodies. Herr Rychard Mayr, of the
Vienna Court Opera, took the bass;
and Madame Rose Swertka, as Angel,
thrilled the enchanted listeners by the
sweetness of her notes.

An orchestra of eighty instruments,
a chorus of two hundred and fifty
superbly-trained voices, and the inspired
leadership of Herr Franz Schalk, com-
bined to give a fitting presentment

786

THE AYE MARIA.

of the English composer's beautiful
conception. Among the audience, the
unusually large attendance of priests
(alas, to them, as to all worshipers of
the Sublime and Pure, how often are
the doors of theatre and opera closed ! )
excited considerable notice, and in many
instances they led the applause.

Among the scores which aroused
most enthusiasm is the harmonious
change from the scale of D major to
that of B major, in which the attendant
priest intones his brief prayer at the
dying man's bedside. Indeed, Vienna's
musicians remain struck beyond all
else at the perfectly original transfer
chords and unwonted modulations
which reveal such undreamed-of possi-
bilities in the ancient art of music.
Gerontius' soft appeal, "Into Thy
hands, O Lord!" was a masterpiece of
delicious intonation, and left a pro-
found impression on heart, ear, and
brain at the close of Part I.

In the second part, the solo of
Gerontius, who learns that his soul
has yet to be cleansed, and the duet,
"I see not the Wicked," were perhaps
most effective; but the climax of
judicious and puissant orchestration
reached in the chorus, "Praise to the
Holiest in the Highest," envelops all
else in its inimitable grandeur. The
hymn, at first softly murmured by the
harps, and graduall}' swelling till it
makes the very roof "overflow with
harmony," remains one of the noblest
tributes ever offered from humanity to
its Creator.

The perfect stillness that followed
the last note was the most eloquent
appreciation as yet received bj' Elgar
in any land. But the earthly feelings,
for a while awed by heavenly sym-
phonies, only broke forth with more
violence after having been suppressed. "
The storm of applause was deep and
prolonged. Not this, however, but the
significant pause at the close, marks
the beginning of a new musical era.

To cull the chief of the critics' eulogies
is not possible at the present moment,
when discussions and technical explana-
tions of the oratorio's merits are in
full swing. Here are, however, some of
the characteristics noted by the Viennese
masters: an entire absence of effort or
wish to create a startling impression,
as evidenced in the natural and easy
handling of the most complicated and
brilliant passages; an unaccentuated
softness and beauty in rich, pregnant
fugues; and a masterly graduation of
sound which leads to the tremendous
force of the choirs.

After due allowance is made for the
fascination exercised by the illusion of
a momentary glimpse of Paradise, it
remains admitted that Sir Edward
Elgar, who can not be traced to any
known school of modern music, has
produced a work which — while it would
sufhce for his fame that he had not
fallen below the elevation of his theme —
ranks as one of the greatest, if not the
greatest, composition of modern times.

B. H.

■ » •

Lessons by St. Francis.

THERE is nothing more noticeable
in the character of the Saint of
Assisi than his exquisite tenderness
toward the temporal needs of his
brethren, the wise temperateness with
which he ordered and arranged every-
thing pertaining to their physical
well-being, or the simplicity of his
directions in the matter of each indi-
vidual requirement. He even went so
far as to say that mortification,
when carried to that excess which
incapacitated a man from performing
his duties with exactness, was really
self-indulgence. His general teaching
is to the efifect that, as the body is
to be used only as an instrument
of the spirit, it should be guided in
such manner that it will be as useful
and perfect an instrument as possible;

THE AVE MARIA.

787

inasmuch as if a servant does not
nourish himself, or is not given, by his
master, sufficient nourishment and care
to render him capable of doing his
duty, he can be neither a good nor a
faithful servant.

We have in the beautiful "Fioretti"
a vivid picture of the manner in which
the Seraph of Assisi made a practical
application of this wise and prudent
doctrine.

"Once on a time," writes Brother
Leo, that quaint and delightful chron-
icler, "when blessed Francis began to
have Brothers, and was staying with
them at Rivo Torto, near Assisi, it
happened one night, when all the
Brothers were asleep, about midnight,
one of them called out and said : ' I
am dying,— I am dying!' And all the
Brothers woke up in horror and fear.
And blessed Francis got up and said :
'Arise, Brothers, and kindlea light.' And
when the light was kindled, he said:
'Who is he that said, "I am dying"?'
The Brother replied: 'It is I.' And he
said to him : ' What is wrong with you.
Brother ? ' And he said : ' I am dying of
hunger.' Then blessed Francis had a
meal prepared at once; and, as a man
full of love and discernment, ate with
him, lest he might be ashamed to eat
alone; and at his desire, all the other
Brothers ate also.''

Could anything have been more
exquisitely kind, courteously discreet,
and at the same time more winningly
simple than this action on the part of
St. Francis, through love and care for
the Brother, who might have been
"ashamed to eat alone"? And when
all was finished, he made them a little
discourse, which he concluded as
follows: " M}' will is, and I enjoin it
upon you, that each of the Brothers, as
our poverty allows, satisfy his body
according to his need."

An incident still more touching, and
bearing upon the same subject, occurred
also at Rivo Torto.

"Another time, when blessed Francis
was at the same place, a Brother, who
was very spiritual, was ill there, and
very feeble. And blessed Francis, taking
note of him, was moved with pity
for him; but because at that time
Brothers in health and sickness treated
poverty as abundance, vsrith great joy-
ousness, and used no medicines in their
infirmities, and even felt no need of
them, but rather preferred to take
things harmful to the body, blessed
Francis said within himself: 'If the
Brother were to eat some ripe grapes
in the very early morning, I believe it
would do him good.' So he reflected
and acted accordingly.

"For he got up one day in the very
early morning, and called that Brother
secretly, and took him to a vineyard
which was near the colony. And he
chose a vine on which there were good
grapes for eating; and, sitting with
the Brother near the vine, he began to
eat some grapes, for fear that the
Brother should be ashamed to eat
alone. And while they were eating,
the Brother was set free [meaning that
his ailment departed] ; and together
they praised the Lord."

Incidents such as these, recorded by
an eye-witness, never lose their flavor,
but come down to us through the
centuries that have elapsed since the
son of Peter Bernadon cast aside his
raiment in the streets of his native
city, and, in the sight of his former
frivolous companions, went forth to
enter upon the mission of love and labor
he was never to lay down till he cast
aside the body which had hampered
him, and went forth to Paradise, singing
psalms and praising God.

It was the great St. Augustine that
said: "They are the most uncharitable
toward error who have never experi-
enced how hard a matter it is to come
at the truth."

788

THE AYE MARIA

Notes and Remarks.

The final abolition of the Concordat
relieves to a great extent the situation
in France. The thing is done, and at
last all parties can breathe freely. It
was the inevitable, w^hich a French-
man alvirays knows how to accept.
But the vote of the Senate, 181 to 102,
shows that the opinion of the members
on this much-vexed question was more
evenly divided than had been supposed.
The radical press was confident that
only a few members would be found
to oppose the measure after the last
debate. To all French Catholics, the
prudence of the Pope in avoiding any
word or act calculated to precipitate
matters must now be plain. He becomes
master of the situation, and at last has
a free hand. That he will act with
promptness, energy and wisdom, there
is no reason for doubting. The French
government stands convicted before
the world of monstrous hypocrisy and
injustice. But the Church can with-
stand this as she has often done in the
past; and her enemies in France will
see before many years that what was
intended to work injury has made for
amelioration. The time had come for
separation of Church and State in
France; and although retardment may
be the immediate outcome of the
rupture, greater progress of the Church
will be the ultimate result.

I need not say that the coming of your mission-
aries in sufficient numbers would be of great
advantage to the Church here, and to our holy
religion. It breaks my heart to see so many
thousands of souls imploring for priests and
dying without the sacraments. Your Fathers
would have to come out at their own expense;
at the present moment the bishops can not afford
to give any money, as they have to struggle
themselves to keep things going. Now, Very
Rev. Father, please give this matter your most
earnest consideration; and for the love of God,
and the many thousands of souls here deprived
of spiritual help, do your best and give this
appeal a favorable answer. I have had many
disappointments: do not give me another if
you can help it.

Father Henry states that he could
send seven or eight priests to the
Philippines before the end of the year, if
he had the money to pay their passage.
The mere statement ought to be enough
to raise the needed cash in short order.
If Mgr. Agius has been appealing to
bishops and the heads of religious
Orders in the United States, we have not
heard of it. We hope that the disap-
pointments to which he refers were not
occasioned in this country, where — at
least in many places— there are priests
to spare and money to bum.

An appeal that is sure to go straight
to the heart of the hierarchy and clergy
of the United States is contained in a
letter of the Apostolic Delegate in the
Philippines, addressed to the superior of
St. Joseph's Foreign Missionary Society,
London. Mgr. Agius writes :

There is a very large field for labor out here.
Hundreds of parishes are vacant, the whole
population is Catholic, and entire provinces are
at the mercy of schismatics and of Protestants,
who work with a zeal worthy of a better cause.

Members of the Protestant Episcopal
Church, more especially the section
known as Anglo - Catholics, are not
pleased with the Russian Archbishop
of New York; and it is probable that
for a long time to come we shall hear
little about the "friendship and loving
brotherhood" said to exist between
Anglicanism and the Russian Greek
Church. The story of the unpleasant-
' ness may be told in a few words. For
some reason or other, an Episcopalian
clergyman in Pennsylvania fell out with
his bishop, and applied for admission
into the Orthodox fold and ministry.
He would have nothing further to
do with Bishop Talbot. Instead of
recognizing the applicant's orders,
the Russian prelate treated him as
an ordinary layman, giving him Con-

THE AVE MARIA.

789

firmation, and advancing him to the
priesthood by the usual steps. The
only deviation from the custom of the
Russian Church was that the candidate
was not required to pass a year as
deacon before being ordained priest.
Hence the present coolness between
the Protestant Episcopal bishops and
clergy and the Russian worthy, and the
chagrin of the Anglican laity, who
have been taught to believe that the
orders of the Church of England were
recognized by the Church of Russia.

Our Anglican brethren have been
deceiving themselves, and we must be
allowed to remark that it is not quite
nice of them to say the things they are
now saying about the wily Greeks.
Many years ago, as everyone knows
and as our Protestant Episcopal friends
should remember, the Russian reply to
overtures from the Anglican side toward
intercommunion was: "First be recon-
ciled to your own Patriarch in the
West, and then come and talk to us."
Apropos of the recent action of the
Russian Archbishop, the editor of the
Lamp does not hesitate to say: "It
was sage advice. The way of Reunion
for Anglicans is first of all with the Holy
See direct, and not via St. Petersburg."

It is estimated that no fewer than
forty million persons, one - half the
population of the United States, are
affected by the management of life-
insurance companies. In view of this
fact and of recent revelations of flagrant
dishonesty on the part of prominent
financiers, it is probable that no portion
of the President's message to Congress
will be read with more general interest
than his recommendation of federal
supervision for insurance corporations.
On this subject he says, in part :

Recent events have emphasized the importance
of an early find exhaustive consideration of this
question, to see whether it is not possible to
furnish l)etter safeguards than the several States
have been able to furnish against corruption

of the flagrant kind which has been exposed.
It has been only too clearly shown that certain
of the men at the head of these large corpo-
rations take but small note of the ethical
distinction between honesty and dishonesty ;
they draw the line only this side of what may
be called law honesty, — the kind of honesty
necessary in order to avoid falling into the
clutches of the law. Of course the only complete
remedy for this condition must be found in
an aroused public conscience, a higher sense of
ethical conduct in the community at large,
and especially among business men, and in the
great profession of the law, and in the growth
of a spirit which condemns all dishonesty,
whether in rich man or in poor man, whether
it takes the shape of bribery or of blackmail.
But much can be done by legislation which is
not only drastic but practical. There is need
of a far stricter and more uniform regulation
of the vast insurance interests of this country.

We fancy most persons will be of
President Roosevelt's opinion that if
the Federal Government has no power
with respect to domestic transactions
in insurance of an interstate character,
legislation to confer such power is an
urgent need.

Under the caption, "Chasing a Relig-
ious Rainbow," the Chicago Jnter-Ocean
deals with the effort to introduce into
the schools of Jamaica what is called
" undenominational religion," in the
form of a short catechism which pur-
ports to set forth " the Christian
doctrine and moral teaching commonly
held by most, if not all, Christians."
We are less interested in the Jamaica
plan than in some of the Inter-Ocean's
comments thereon. One admission we
are glad to see it make is this: "Of
course all real statesmen recognize that
morals must have a religious sanction
in order to be efficient for public or
private righteousness."

Its next sentences are not so clear.
" But for the State to attempt to enforce
the acceptance of this sanction by its
citizens would be to make God no
longer universal but national. Hence
it is difficult to understand why it
should be regarded as a duty of the

790

THE AVE MARIA.

schoolmaster, an employee of the State,
to teach religion." Yet it should not
be difficult to understand that, if a
parent furnishes his child with both
the secular instruction which the State
exacts of its citizens and the morals
that have a religious sanction, then
the State is in honesty bound to relieve
the parent from the onus of paying
for the education of other people's
children. The Chicago paper's view-
point is thus set forth in its concluding
paragraph :

To supply the religious sanction for morals
is a duty which has been shifted, through the
changed conception of the State, from the State
to the home and the Church. Religion is no
longer a benefit which they receive from the
State: it is a benefit the State receives from
them, and which it is their duty to the State to
confer. Attempts to shift this duty back upon
the State, and to relieve the Church and the home
of their responsibility, are efforts to turn the
stream of history backward, and are, in effect,
merely the chasing of a religious rainbow.

Even on t;Jie supposition that this
viewpoint is correct, the State in this
country still owes the Catholic Church
for the instruction, other than religious,
which is being given to the children in
our parochial schools.

It is regrettable that better facilities
do not exist for the education of
Catholic Negroes in this country.
While about ninety of the fifteen hun-
dred students at Booker Washington's
Tuskegee Institute are Catholic, as
are also several women among the
one hundred and twenty colored
instructors at that normal and indus-
trial college, there ought to be at least
one such institution under purely
Catholic auspices. Instead of that's
being the case, however, the following
is the actual condition. We quote from
a letter of the Rev. Joseph Butsch:

While j'oung Negroes have many opportunities
in secular and Protestant colleges, which are
thronged by them, there are scarcely any Catholic
colleges for them. St. Joseph's College, of Mont-
gomery, Ala., admits Negro students, giving

them a training to fit them for catechists and
teachers. This college, however, has not sufficient
financial support. It seems almost incredible,
but it is a fact that St. Joseph's College, about
the only Catholic college in the country for
young colored men, is hampered and sometimes
distressed by a lack of funds. Unlike the secular
and Protestant colleges, it has no wealthy
patrons. At present it receives no support from
any society or association. It is solely dependent
on small contributions sent in by charitably
disposed Catholics of moderate means. The
college has now about twenty-five students. At
present only a small board and tuition fee can
be required of them, and some are too poor to
pay anything.

Here, we submit, is an opportunity
for excellent work on the part of
wealthy American Catholics whose
charities do not apparently, save in
exceptional cases, grow as rapidly as
their millions.

Archbishop Bruchesi, of Montreal, has
received from the Holy Father a con-
gratulatory letter, warmly applauding
the Canadian prelate's action in giving
a religious character to the annual civil
holiday known as Labor Day. "That"
says Pius X., "is assuredly a useful
work. Thanks thereto, the laborers,
we have grounds for hoping, will more
vividly remember the benefits which
in every age the Church has lavished
upon them. They will learn, too, that
to secure prosperity even in this world,
they have only to take for the rule
of their conduct the Gospel, and for
their model Jesus Christ, who, having
made Himself poor, passed a great
part of His life in a carpenter's shop."

The Sovereign Pontiff's letter, and
the action which prompted its writing,
suggest the thought that the cause of
anarchy, or of that socialism which
is merely anarchy in disguise, is not
likely to make much headway among
the laboring classes of Montreal.

The case of George IV. and Mrs.
Fitzherbert is a lesson in caution to
readers and a striking rebuke to reckless

THE AVE MARIA.

791

writers. Since 1785 this unfortunate
woman has been under a cloud, reviled
by politicians and the press, insulted
by both the elite and the mob. At long
last, however, truth has prevailed.
Indisputable proof of her marriage is
presented in Mr. W. H. Wilkins' new
book, "Mrs. Fitzherbert and George
IV." The author does full justice to
the injured lady, showing how her real
devotion to her husband personally,
as well as a sense of his interests as
sovereign, influenced her in refusing to
take any step in vindication of her
honor so long as George IV. lived. It
was necessary that a parson should
officiate at the marriage ceremony ; but,
as Mrs. Fitzherbert was a practical
Catholic, it is more than probable that
the union was blessed by a priest,
although no documentar>- proof of this
has as yet been discovered. If the
researches of Mr. Wilkins do not change
the established view of George IV. as
the least estimable of his family, they
reflect credit on the present King of
England, by whose permission they
were published.

In support of our reiterated conten-
tion that the fundamentals of education
are being neglected in the public schools,
we quote the following from the letter
of a New York gentleman, whom the
Freeman's Journal humorously styles
"a benighted parent," to an ireful
school principal:

The best proof that our public schools fail to
equip boys for a sphere of usefulness in mercan-
tile houses is the fact that from one end of the
city to the other business colleges have sprung
up where young men go, and are obliged to go,
and at theii; own expense, in order to acquire
that knowledge of bookkeeping, penmanship,
spelling and grammar, letter-writing, arithmetic,
and business methods, which should have been
imparted to them in our schools, and which
could be taught to them if there was not so
much time devoted to fads that have become
the laughing-stock of the community. It is a
lamentable fact that thousands of dollars are
spent in teaching boys to sew buttons on pieces

of cloth and to make ornamental kindling wood ;
in the study of "the structure of a soup bone,"
"the gall bladder of an ox," "the intestines of a
sheep," "the stomach of a pig," "corpuscles of
frog's blood," and "the circulation of the blood
in the tail of a tadpole."

Lest the reader should take the
concluding portion of the foregoing
paragraph for a piece of rhetorical
exaggeration, it may be well to state
that the specific deficiency for which
the gentleman's son was censured by
, the principal was the boy's failure
to explain how the blood circulates in
a tadpole's tail. Biology in the first
grade; and, we suppose, psychopathic
physiology in the Kindergarten.

In connection with a recent note on
the continuance of latent life, for hours
even, after the moment of apparent
death, our readers may be interested
in the following paragraph which we
quote from the Burial Reformer, a
journal published in London:

One of the stock arguments of those medical
men who cast ridicule upon the subject of
" Premature Burial," and who pooh-pooh all idea
of the possibility of people being buried alive, is
that the recorded instances are all more or less
based upon the stories of irresponsible persons,
and are void of reliability or means of verification.
Now, if this ^were true, medical men would
themselves be numbered prominently amongst
the culprits in this respect; in fact, they would
stand out amongst the most irresponsible and
unreliable of the persons involved. For what do
we find? On carefuUy analyzing the recorded
instances of actual premature burial, and of
narrow escapes from premature burial, we
discover the significant fact that hundreds of the
cases are derived from none other than medical
sources, a point which our medical friends would
do well to bear in mind in the future. Apart from
all the other literature on the subject, one book —
namely, "Premature Burial and How it may be
Prevented," second edition, — contains the follow-
ing cases, all of them from medical sources :

Buried alive 149

Narrow escapes from burial alive 219

Di8.sected alive 10

Narrow escapes from dissection alive 3

liurnert alive i

Rmbalmcd alive 2

Total cases from medical sources '384

The \A^under- Kreuz.

A LEGEND OF THE TYROL.

N that olden time there were
still chamois on the moun-
tains, and railroads had not
been invented. The princes of
Lichtenstein had a great castle on the
Schwattra, which defended the church
and the village. But the castle— I forget
now in what war it was — was burned
down.

Well, one day Guntz the hunter came
to the cabin of an old woman who
lived at the foot of the Silberberg
with a daughter named Efflam. Guntz
was very poor. He couldn't chase the
chamois any longer because of the
autumn fever which gave him the chills.
As he was hungry, he asked for a piece
of bread, and the old woman replied :

"Lad, I have only the -share of
Efflam my girl, who will soon be back
from the fields where she is minding
other people's sheep."

Anon the maiden Efflam entered, clad
very poorly, 'tis true, but crowned with
a wealth of golden hair brighter than
the diadems of queens.

She crossed the room to take her
bread ; and, breaking it, held out half
to the hunter with the remark:

"It is with good will."

Before accepting the bread, Guntz
brushed with his lips the little hand
that offered it. And, ill as he was, he
climbed the mountain, praying to God :

"Lord, let me gain something with
which to repay that bread given with
good will."

For the first time in a long while he
was fortunate in the chase. He brought
back a chamois on his shoulders, sold

it, and spent the price in a bouquet of
balmy herbs, which he offered to the
old woman, saying:

"Mother, I dare not speak to the
maiden Efflam, who has the aureole
of the saints about her brows; but
God inspires me with the thought of
asking you to let her be my wife, and
so you will have a son."

They were married, Efflam and Guntz,
in the church of Kaunitz, by the old
pastor who had baptized both of them ;
and they were very happy. They
loved each other, you see, with all the
strength and purity of their souls.

Guntz had regained his health, and
with the produce of his hunting he
alone supported the old mother, his
young wife, and the pastor of Kaunitz,
too ; for the priest had had nothing to
live on ever since the war had burned
down the castle and ruined the houses
of the laborers. May God in His mercy
preserve us from war!

Well, the people kept on leaving the
country one after another. You could
no longer see flocks out on the plains,
where the soldiers built great fires of
the trees which they daily felled. Soon
the soldiers, too, went away, because
they had ravaged the land like a
swarm of locusts.

And Efflam's old mother died of grief.
Then Guntz said :

"Let's go look for fields that have
not been devoured by war."

Efflam was willing enough; but the
pastor refused to go, saying:

"When my children return, they must
find their father here."

So Efflam said to Guntz:

"We must not leave him. What
would he do all alone?"

On Sundays, after they had buried
the old woman, there were only three

THE AVE MARIA

793

persons in the little church, which began
to look large, — the priest to say the
Mass, and Efflam and Guntz to hear it.
At Holy Communion, the two went up
to the altar rail, received and returned
to their pew. Then the pastor would
preach a sermon full of tears, to which
th;y tearfully listened.

One Sunday Guntz came to Mass
alone, and knelt alone at the Com-
munion rail. Slow fever had attacked
Efflam and she was not strong enough
to go. And the next Sunday nobody
came. The pastor said Mass as usual,
though the two rows of empty pews
seemed to watch him in eloquent silence.
With the wine and water mixed in the
chalice he drank some of his own tears ;
but he said: "Lord my God, Thy holy
will be blessed!"

After Mass, he took the ciborium
from the Tabernacle and carried it
to Guntz's cabin, where Efflam, sweet
and beautiful, was dying, her pale
little hands pressing the crucifix to her
bosom.

The pastor knew well enough why
no one had attended Mass, but he
expected to find Guntz kneeling at
Efflam's bedside. She, however, was
alone. Where could Guntz be? Efflam
told him with an attempt at a fmile:

"Father, on the summit of Silberberg,
Guntz has found the doe of a chamois
wth her kid. I thought I'd like some
of her milk, and Guntz set off before
daylight to get it for me."

And, as it happened, just as Our Lord
was come to Efflam in her cabin, Guntz
was pursuing the doe on the very
summit of the mountain.

"Don't fear!" he cried to the animal,
without knowing perhaps that he was
speaking. "I don't want to kill either
you or your little one. I will never
kill anything again, — I whom Death
threatens in the dearest half of my
heart. Give me only some drops of your
milk for her who has been all my joy
here below."

And then, raising his eyes, he added:

"O Lord Jesus! O Virgin Mother,
don't leave me alone, I pray you, in the
home where she will be no longer!
Grant that we may go to you together,
the Sacred Host upon our lips, to be
united again in the bliss that knows
no ending! "

One can not look up to heaven and
down to earth at the same time. Guntz
was running on the level rock platform,
where there is now planted a black
granite cross. Some melted snow upon
it had become hardened by the morning
frost. Just as Guntz was about to
grasp the doe, it made a bound and the
hunter's foot slipped. He fell off the
platform, which he grasped with both
hands, hanging there suspended over
the abyss.

From his position, by simply lowering
his eyes, he could see the little church's
steeple and the open window of his
own cabin.

"O Lord!" he thought, "Thou hast
heard my prayer: I am going first.
Thanks! But the sacred Host, my
God, — who will bring it to me here?"

Down below, the pastor had prepared
everything for the last Communion of
Efflam, despite the absence of Guntz;
for the Blessed Sacrament must not
be kept without necessity outside the
Tabernacle.

When the prayers were concluded,
Efflam, with an angelic smile, opened
her pallid lips and received the Holy
Viaticum. A moment later, as she
raised her eyes they fell on the summit
of Silberberg, and she uttered a sharp
cry. The mountain of silver was
radiant with the splendor of the rising
sun, and on the spotless white of the
background there was a dark shadow ;
for if Guntz could see the cabin, the
cabin could also see him.

Efflam sat up in her bed with a
supreme effort, and raised toward God
her hands, already chilled.

"Saviour! 0 Saviour!" she cried, "he

794

THE AVE MARIA.

is going to die without me! He is
going to die without Thee ! I have
Thee in my heart and he has not. 0
Divine Saviour, 'go to him, as Thou
hast come to me!"

The old pastor started at these
words, for he had at last looked up
and seen Guntz. There was, of course,
not the least use in his trying to climb
the mountain ; but instinctively he took
several hasty steps toward the door.
As he did so one of the Hosts escaped
from the ciborium. Efflam saw it, and
exclaimed in fervent joy:

"Glory be to the Father, and to the
Son, and to the Holy Ghost!"

The priest, on the contrary, w^as in
consternation. He was looking for the
Host on the floor and could not find
it. For the Host had not fallen: it
had ascended. God was going whither
Efflam had begged Him to go, whither
the heart of Guntz was calling Him.

The Host floated up, borne by a
mysterious breeze; it sailed through
the air, a divine snowflake of love
soaring toward heaven.

"We praise Thee, O God!", said the
pastor, following with his eye the
course of the white star.

"Lord, we confess Thee!" murmured
little Efflam, falling back an her couch,
dead from joy.

And up, away up on the mountain,
Guntz, opening his mouth to receive the
Bread of Angels, exclaimed :

"The whole universe adores Thee,
Eternal Father!"

His hands were extended ; and the
pastor, later, found the body resting
quietly below the platform like one
who had tranquilly fallen asleep upon
the grass.

The old priest carried the remains
down to the valley and dug only one
grave for his two well-beloved children.
It was he, too, who with his own hands
set up the black granite cross, which is
still called in the Tyrolese mountain
district the Wunder-Kreuz.

'One of His Jewels.

BY T. L. L. TEELING.

VH.

Next day, when an early meal of
polenta had been eaten, and the boys
had clattered off" to their respective
employments — for they worked in shops
and yards, and at various occupations, —
"the Mother" set her little guest to
work at cleaning pots and dishes;
and he scrubbed and wiped with much
zeal, and with a dainty, gentle grace
which quite delighted her.

Presently Don Bosco came in from
his round of visits and charities, and
called the boy to him :

"Well, Luigino niio, I have been to
the police, and I. find that your master
will most likely be kept in prison, so
you can have no further dealings with
him at present. What will you do?"

Luigi laid his little hand shyly on the
good priest's knee.

" Won't you please take care of me.
Father?"

"I will try, my son," answered Don
Bosco, smiling, — "that is, if Mamma
Margherita does not mind adding
another bambino to her family ! " — and
he looked across to his mother.

"Eh, John, you know well enough
what I must say; though, indeed, where
to find room — but God will provide.
He always does. Luigi is almost too
small to go out to service. I will keep
him to help me in the house and to
run errands. You will do that, will
you not, little one?"

"Oh, si, si!" replied Luigi, joyously.
"Thank you. Mamma Margherita!"

"And when I have time, I will teach
you some lessons," said Don Bosco.
"But you must try your best to learn,
for I can not spare time to teach an
unwilling pupil."

"Oh, I will,— I will!" exclaimed the
grateful boy.

THE AVE MARIA.

795

And so things were settled to the
perfect satisfaction of all concerned.

Luigi little knew into what a saintly
and world - renowned house the good
Providence of God had led him. The
Oratory of Don Bosco, at this time in
its infancy, was a true, if a very humble,
home to some thirty boys, w^hen the
little wanderer was adopted as one
of her children by good "Mamma
Margherita." Their lodgings w^ere
cramped and small, their food of the
coarsest ; but the spirit of love, of piety,
of charity, was everywhere. The boys
w^ent out to work by day, as if in any
other peasant home ; returning at
evening to the family hearth, the. big
table from which none ever went away
empty, and to the kindly, watchful care
of "Father" and " Mother." They were
little vagabonds, all of them, — embryo
" hooligans," the terror of every civilized
community to-day; yet all submissive
to the rule of love which had gathered
them from the streets and byways of
the city.

Those who showed aptitude for study
were allowed to devote their time to
lessons, taught by their beloved founder
and Father, Don Bosco ; and our hero
soon became one of this little band.
All day long he read and studied —
arithmetic, history, geography, even a
little Latin, — partly with the Padre as
he sat by the fireside on the long winter
evenings. Breviary or school-book in
hand, amid the homely clatter of a
violin strumming in one corner, a
squeaky slate-pencil working over sums
in another, or an elder boy teaching the
first words of the "Our Father" to
the latest arrival — a little wild -eyed
vagabond, half starved and stultified
with cold and ill-treatment.

Luigi was as happy as the days
were long, as the saying is, and had
forgotten Giuseppe the bear-leader, and
Stefano the shepherd, and even his own
father, Antonio the baker, far away in
hot, stuffy Mentone.

VIIL

"Mamma Margherita," said Don
Bosco one morning, as he took down
his stick and prepared to go out as
usual on one of his many errands of
mercy, — "Mamma Margherita, it is no
use disguising the fact: you do really
want a new gown."

"LJohn? Nonsense!"

"Yes, yes, madre ! You need not
deny it. Look there, how faded is
that piece in front ! And there, a great
patch ! "

"It is good enough for me, John."

"No, no, nothing is too good for
you, mother. I must think for you, if
you will not think for yourself. Tell
me now, what is the price of a new
piece of stuff?"

"Oh, a ten lira piece would cover
it well! But I tell you I do not
need it."

"Look here now!" said Don Bosco,
putting two fingers into his pocket.
"It is not often that we have the
money to spare, but to-day I have it,
and I do not wish my good mother to
go threadbare. If you please, madre,
kindly procure a new gown with this."

He laid a ten lira piece upon the
table before her, took up his stick and
departed.

"Oh, dear, dear man!" exclaimed his
mother, casting a look full of affection
after him. "Was ever so good, so
generous a son? Eh, Luigi?"

" You are good too. Mamma Mar-
gherita," responded the child gravely,
putting down the spoon with which
he had been scraping a polenta bowl.

"Oh, what does it matter about me,
an old woman, good but to wash
dishes! I can wear anything. I am
sure he is more in need of clothes than
I am. I'll just go upstairs and take
a look at his shirts."

"But if you do not buy^
yourself he will be vexe^
Luigi.

796

THE AYE MARIA.

"Well, well, it is true! But there! The
idea of spending all that gold piece
upon a poor old woman! I'll tell you
what I will do, Luigi. I will go and
look over the bales of cloth in some of
those hucksters' booths in the market.
They often sell soiled or damaged
lengths at a bargain. I won't get
cheap, flimsy stuff, for that doesn't
pay ; but a damaged length, something
of that kind. And then I shall have
enough left to get the Father, say a
half dozen new handkerchiefs or an
additional shirt. Ecco!'' she concluded
triumphantly. "And meanwhile, as for
this gold piece" — she took it up, and
looked round the room,— "here— here
is my bank!" And she dropped it
into a cracked china coffee-pot which
stood upon the shelf. "Now I go to
make the beds, and do you feed the
fowls with those potato skins."

And her firm footsteps were soon
heard moving hither and thither over-
head.

Luigi, in his turn, rose from the table
to begin his day's work ; but as he piled
up the empty basins which -had held
their polenta, his eye fell upon the china
"bank" of Mamma Margherita. "A
gold piece!" he thought. "It is long
since I even saw such a thing." And,
with the insatiable curiosity of child-
hood, the next minute he had climbed
.on a wooden chair, lifted the lid, and
held the ten lira piece in his hand.
"£ vero ! It is gold,— real gold ! "

"Eh, what is that?" said a voice;
and, looking down, he saw Sandro, one
of the biggest of the boys, standing in
the doorway and staring at him.

Luigi hastily dropped the gold piece
back into its hiding-jDlace and scrambled
down to the floor.

"What's that? — what were you
doing?"

"Nothing, nothing!" hurriedly an-
swered the child, gathering up a pile
of plates and carrying them away
into the back shed where they were

washed,— we can not call it "scullery,"
for such places are unknown in Italian
or French houses.

Sandro remained standing in the
kitchen, and his small eyes took an
expression of low cunning as they
followed the retreating little figure.

"So he has been helping himself to
something, has he?" was his mental
comment, as, after assuring himself
that Luigi was out of sight, he jumped
up to the shelf in his turn, and peeped
into the china pot.

"Oho! gold, indeed. Master Luigi!"
he exclaimed. "Here are fine doings!
He must have stolen this somewhere."
He took the gold piece in his hand,
and, like Luigi, fingered it lovingly.
"Ten lire! Gold! Corpo di Baccho !
I would that it were mine!"

As he spoke Mamma Margherita's
cheerj' voice came down the stairs.

"Luigi? Who is there? Here, some
one!"

Sandro jumped off the dresser and
flew out of the house, perhaps hardly
conscious, as he ran, that he held the
gold piece in his hand.

"Eh, well, I have got it now!" he
said to himself, as, after a swift dash
down the street, he turned aside under
a dark archway. "The little beggar!
He has lost his ill-gotten gains. ' Lightly
come, lightly go,' says the proverb.
But where shall I hide it?" He looked
all over his well -patched clothes, and
decided that they formed no safe hiding-
place. "I have it!" he said to himself.
"My boots! The very thing!" He
unfastened one of them, lifted up the
inner sole, and slipped the gold piece
insid"^^ "Even should they find it, I can
easily say I knew nothing of it; for I
must think it over. What will be the
best way to spend it ? Something that
will give me a start in life ? Or — I have
it! The lottery! I must look about for
a lucky number."

Our readers will scarcely need to be
reminded that the government lotteries

THE AVE MARIA.

797

afford the favorite and universal form
of gambling among the Italian people ;
and every chance indication of a "lucky
number" is eagerly seized upon by high
and low. Sandro, like most of his
companions, was ready to beg, borrow
or steal the smallest sum that could be
staked in that national pastime, — we
had almost said pursuit; and now,
having hidden his treasure - trove, he
strode whistling off to his day's work.

IX.

As the next day, being market-day,
was that on which Madame Bosco
proposed to make her great purchase,
there was no necessity for resorting to
the china coffee-pot during the day ; so
it was only after supper that evening
that, Don Bosco having inquired of
his mother about the new gown, she
remembered her "bank," and took
down the pot for the purpose of exhib-
iting the precious ten lira piece to
their eager audience.

"I am going to buy it to-morrow;
yes, really ! " she announced. " And here
is the money, quite safe and ready!"

So saying, she lifted the lid, with
something of a dramatic air. But here
it was not; and the good woman
stood as it were transfixed, the coffee-pot
in one hand, the lid in the other, gazing
perplexedly into its china depths.

"Eh, what? It was certainly in here
that I put it. Who saw me do it?
You, Luigi ! "

All eyes turned with one accord upon
the unfortunate child, who sat speech-
less, gazing straight at Madame Bosco,
his cheeks blazing, and a very fright-
ened, if not exactly guilty, look in his
eyes, which the eager stare of some
dozen or so young eyes did not tend
to dissipate.

" Luigi, you remember my putting the
gold piece into this pot, do you not?"
went on Madame Bosco, unsuspiciously,
putting on the lid with a puzzled air.

"Ye— s— yes, Mamma Margherita,"

stammered the child, growing redder
and redder.

"Did you see it afterward? — did
you touch it?" questioned Madame
Bosco, somewhat sharply.

Luigi made no answer for a moment ;
but presently, dropping his head down
upon the table, he burst into a passion
of tears.

Meanwhile Sandro, who had been
listening, with a look of surprise on
his somewhat cunning face, got up
softly and went out. He did not quite
like the revelation that it was Madame
Bosco's money he had taken, and not
Luigi's.

And now Don Bosco, looking up from
his Breviary, interposed.

" Perhaps it has fallen on the shelf,
madre ; or else — we vdll see later," he
said gently. It was not quite an impos-
sibility, he felt, that some one of their
little flock had been tempted by the
gold, and he was reluctant to be hard
on the sinner. So he signed to the
boys to continue their usual evening
avocations; and when bedtime came,
Luigi was desired to remain behind.

" Can you tell us anything about this
lost money, bambino F" was the good
Padre's first question to the frightened
child. "You saw Mamma Margherita
put it into the coffee-pot, did you not ? "

"Yes, Father," whispered Luigi.

" And did you see it afterward ? "

A fresh burst of tears was the only
answer.

"Come, tell me. Did you take it?"

"N — n— no. Father," sobbed the child.

"Do you know who did?"

"No," whispered Luigi again.

"Very well, then; go to bed. Good-
night!"

And the child crept away, sobbing
still; for he felt half guilty in having
looked at, and wished for, the money ;
and there was a confused sense of fear
or guilt in his little brain which he
could neither disentangle nor express.
He had quite forgotten the entrance of

798

THE AVE MARIA

Sandro; and when he crept back,
sobbing and tearful, to the common
dormitory where the rest of the bo3'S
were already in bed, they one and all
concluded that he had taken the money,
had confessed, and been forgiven. And
so they fell asleep.

But Sandro was by no means easy in
his mind. He dared not approach Luigi
on the subject, yet feared he might have
told Don Bosco of his (Sandro's) sight
of the coin. So next morning, when the
rest of the boys had gone to work, he
lingered round the table where Madame
Bosco was laying out some work.

"Mamma Margherita?"

"Well, Sandro?"

"Have you found the gold piece yet ? "

"No. Why?"

"Oh, nothing! I— I thought— perhaps
I ought to tell you something."

"By all means. What is it?"

Madame Bosco looked up sharply.
She was somewhat brusque at times,
as what energetic woman would not
be, surrounded by a houseful of merry,
noisy, mischievous boys ?

" That morning, you know, -that you
put the money into the coffee-pot — well,
I went into the kitchen some time after,
and— and" (he was watching Madame
Bosco's face as he said this) — "I saw
Luigi with it in his hand."

A spasm of pain passed over Madame
Bosco's face. Luigi was her favorite
among all the boys. She loved him
and believed in him.

"Did he see you?" she asked.

Sandro hesitated. If Luigi had men-
tioned his entry into the kitchen, it
would be as well to corroborate it.
If not, ignorance was safer. So he
hesitated.

"I — I think not," he said at length.

"Then you think — "

Madame Bosco broke off, and looked
appealingly at Sandro, who inwardly
congratulated himself on the success of
his scheme.

"Oh, please. Mamma Margherita,

don't accuse him on account of any-
thing I have said ! He may have put
it back, you know."

"Yes, but apparently he did not,"
responded Madame Bosco, bluntly.
"Still, what would he have done with
it?"

"He would of course hide it till — till
the thing is forgotten," suggested
Sandro, glibly. "Have you searched
anywhere?"

"Not yet. But there, say not a word
to any of your companions, Sandro.
I would rather lose the money than
have any one accused unjustly."

And Sandro, well pleased, slipped off
to his day's work, and to read the
numbers of the last prizes in the
government lottery.

That night, as Luigi lay trying to
sleep, amidst the more or less audible
slumbers of his companions, a quiet
figure, carrying one of the rude tallow^
dips still in use in that far-off region,
bent over to scan his face; and then,
from his half-open eyes, he saw Madame
Bosco gently take up and examine each
article of his clothing one by one —
shoes, pockets, linings, — and he knew
that he was suspected of being a thief!

( To be continued. )

The Violets.

A border of small, sweet-scented
violets environed a bed of tall tulips.
Though these little violets did not
attract the eye in the day, the Nightin-
gale at evening would often pay them
a visit, for the sake of enjoying their
sweet perfume. At length the scythe
came and levelled these mellifluous
flowers as ill weeds, while the gaudy
and scentless tulips were left standing.

"Thus it is with man!" exclaimed
the Nightingale, on revisiting the garden
and not finding the violets: "he often
values outward show more than
inward worth."

THE AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

799

— Messrs. Longmans, Green & Co. have just
published the long-expected "Life of Sir John
T. Gilbert, LL. D., F. S. A.," by his wife, Rosa
MulhoUand Gilbert. The work contains two
portraits and four other illustrations.

— A new volume of essays by the author of
"Obiter Dicta" is a welcome announcement by
Mr. Elliot Stock. The work is entitled " In the
Name of the Bodleian," and contains essays
on Bodley's Library, Bookworms, Confirmed
Readers, Itineraries, Epitaphs, etc. The delight-
ful qualities of Mr. Birrell are found in all.

— There seems to be a likelihood that the open-
ing year will witness the issue, in Paris, of a new
monthly magazine, the Kevuc Franco- Americaine.
Its projectors are M. Jean Lionnet, of the Revae
Hebdomadaire, and the Abbd Felix Klein, the
well-known professor of the Catholic Institute
of Paris. Of the scope and purposes of the new
publication we shall have something to say at
a later date.

—The International Catholic Truth Society have
brought out a second edition of the pamphlet,
" The Business of Vilification Practised by ' Ex-
Priests ' and Others." It would be consoling to
learn that, at this late day, such a showing up
of dissoluteness and rascality as is here given is
unnecessary, but experience proves that it is not.
That being the case, the antidote should be as
widespread as the poison.

—"The Dollar Hunt," from the French by E.
G. Martin (Benziger Brothers), is an interesting
story, with the moral that American young
women would do well to choose a husband from
among their own countrymen rather than give
their happiness into the keeping of a foreigner.
Although the title-page states that this story is
from the French, it has not a French ring. The
gaucberies of Americans are emphasized here and
there, but the sympathies of the reader are not
engaged by any of the characters who claim to
lie French.

— "Which is the best English translation ol
Luther's 'Table Talk'?" asks a correspondent
of the American Ecclesiastical Review. The Rev.
H. G. Ganss, who, by the way, is an authority
on subjects connected with the Reformation in
Germany, answers: "Luther's 'Table Talk' is
untranslatable. It must be said, to the credit of
the Anglo-Saxon tongue, that it could not give
expression to such coarseness and filth as we find
in the original editions, — and if it could do so,
Comstock would seize the whole edition.- The
only English translations are Bell's and Hazlitt's,
— both expurgated beyond all recognition." The

best German edition of the work — owing to its
splendid editing, — according to Father Ganss, is
"Luther's Tiscbreden in der Mathcsiuschen
Sammlung." Ernst Kroker, Leipzig, 1903.

— We are gratified to learn that the January
number of the Dublin Review will contain a paper
on the United States by Dom Gasquet. This
announcement is an indication, we trust, of what
may be looked for in the historic review under
its new editorship.

— Several rare and early editions of the Bible,
in various languages, were offered at a recent
book sale in London. The catalogue included the
first editions of the Scriptures in W^elsh, Polish,
Swedish, Danish, and the Romance languages ;
Biblia Latina, Basil., 1475 ; Biblia Latina, Venet.,
1475 ; and Biblia Germanica, Nuremberg, 1483.

— ^The average reader of English history has
doubtless seen many and various pictures of
Henry VIII., but it is probable that he is un-
aware of that monarch's claim to the title of
poet. Yet, in a recent number of the Montb,
Rhys Pryce has an interesting paper, " King
Henry VIII. as a Poet," in which "bluff King
Hal" is credited with the authorship of at least
eighteen songs, sonre of them fairly good.

— Although for many years senior partner in
the publishing firm of Little, Brown & Co., and
the author of numerous original books, it was
as a compiler that the late John Bartlett was
best known to old and young among American
readers, writers, and speakers. " Bartlett's Fa-
miliar Quotations" has long been regarded as
a volume almost indispensable to the desk or
table of a person of average literary culture;
and there is little doubt that as an educative
factor it has accomplished considerably more than
many pretentious books of original research. The
veteran publisher and author had reached the age
of eighty -five.

— A find which has aroused much interest
throughout Great Britain is related by the Dub-
lin Freeman's Journal. A farmer, at work in a
bog near Roscommon, unearthed a wooden box
which, within two coverings, the outer one of
leather, contained a copy of Henry VIII. 's
"Defence of the Seven Sacraments." The book is
in an excellent state of preservation, although
the box in which it was buried fell to pieces in
the handling, and the outer covering of the find is
greatly injured by age. The title-page of the
volume, which is bound in leather, reads: "A
Defence of the Seven Sacraments against Martin
Luther, by Henry VIII., King of England, France
and Ireland ; to which are adjoined his epistle to

800

THE AYE MARIA.

the Pope ; the oration of Mr. John Clark ( orator
to his Majesty) on the dehvery of tliis book to
his Holiness; and the Pope's answer to the
oration, as also the Bull by which his Holiness
was pleased to bestow upon that King ( for com-
piling this book) that most illustrious, splendid,
and most Christian -like title of Defender of the
Faith." As a matter of fact, the famous defence
was the work of Bishop Fisher, not of Henry

vni.

— The Gannett -Garrison -Huston "Commercial
Geography," published by the American Book
Co., is intended to "give the student a good
foundation for whatever business the future years
may hold in store for him." It begins with a
study of the influence on industrial progress of
climate and topography, of social conditions, of
manufacturing and transportation facilities, and
of financial conditions, giving each its proper
place as a factor in economic development. With
these elementary principles the student is intro-
duced to the chief commercial products of the
world. The relations of the various industries
to one another, and their respective locations
in different parts of the world, are shown by
abundant maps and percentage tables. We can
recommend the book to all commercial students.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
appear at the bead, older ones being dropped oat
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rale, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may he sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United
States will be imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad.
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"The Dollar Hunt." 45 cts.

"Meditations on the Passion of Our Lord." 50

cts.
" Prayer." Father Faber. 30 cts., net.
"Lives of the English Martyrs." (Martyrs under

Queen Elizabeth.) $2.75.
"Joan of Arc." Hon. Mrs. Maxwell-Scott. 75 cts.
"The Life of St. Patrick, and His Place in

History." J. B. Bury, M A. $3 25, net.
"The Suffering Man- God." P&re Seraphin. 75

cts., net.
" The Sanctuary of the Faithful Soul " Ven.

Riosius. O. S. B. 75 cts.. net.
"The Little Flowers of St. Francis of Assisi."

$1.60., net.

"The Immortality of the Soul." Rev. Francis

Aveling, O. D. 30 cts., net; paper, 15 cts.,

net.
"Yolanda, Maid ol Burgundy." Charles Major.

$1.50.
"Addresses. Historical, Political, Sociological"

Frederic R. Coudert. $2.50.
" Life of Sir Thomas More, Knt." William Roper.

55 cts., net.
'Manual of Church M^sic." 75 cts., net.
"At the Sign of the Fox. A Romance." Barbara.

$1.50.
"Glenanaar." Very Rev. Canon P. A. Sheehan.

$1.50.
" Modem Freethought." Rev. J. Gerard, S. J. 30

cts., net ; paper, 15 cts., net.
"Theosophy and Christianity." Rev. Ernest HuU,

S.J. 45 cts., net.
"The Crisis in the Church in France." 25 cts.,

net.
"Forget- Me -Nots from Many Gardens." 45 cts ,

net.
"The Freedom of the Wm." Rev. A. B. Sharpe,

M. A. 30 cts., net.
" Valiant and True." Joseph Spillman. $1.60, net.

Obituary.

Remember tbem that are in bands, — Hbb., lUi.

Rev. James Oliva, of the Vicariate of Browns-
ville; Rev. Peter Bremerich, archdiocese of St.
Louis ; Rev. John Heffernan, diocese of Brooklyn ;
Rev. Matthew Darcey, diocese of Sioux City ;
Rev. Thomas Lonergan, diocese of Erie; and
Rev. Nicholas Pohl, O. S. B.

Mr. Z. Jacques, of Dollar Bay, Mich.; Mrs.
George Wolf, Canton, Ohio; Miss Nellie Ryan,
Troy, N. Y. ; Mr. E. J. Habig, Wheeling, W. Va. ;
Mr. Paul Peltier, St. Louis, Mo.; Mrs. Thomas
Addis Emmet, Mrs. Francis Lawlor, and Mrs.
W. J. Klauberg, New York; Mrs. R. A. Savage,
Adams, Mass. ; Mr. John Kane and Mr. J. P.
Nugent, Montreal, Canada; Mrs. Anne Girling,
Philadelphia, Pa.; Mrs. J. McCully, San Francisco,
Cal. ; Mrs. Marie Havcrdill and Mr. Anthony
Rupert, Cleveland, Ohio; Mr. H. P. Downey,
Marquette, Mich. ; Mrs. Anna Higgins, Palms,
Mich.; Mr. Conrad Lipps and Mr. J. Kleinhenz,
Akron, "Ohio ; Mrs. Mary Luby, Mrs. Mairy
O'Kourke and Mr. D. M. Connor, Menden, Conn.;
Mrs. Anna Karl, Toledo, Ohio ; Mr. John English,
Muskegon, Mich.; Mr. P. H. McManus, St. Paul,
Minn. ; Mr. Joseph Morin and Mrs. Catherine
Kehoe, Sault Ste.- Marie, Ont., Canada; Mr. C.
Manning, Mrs. B. Manning, Mr. James Phillips,
and Mrs. Margaret Dudley, Richmond, Va.

Requiescant in pace 1

\

-ng,

.isco,

tliony

■ney,

MOTHER OF DIVINE GRACE.

(Bouguereaii.)

HENCEFORTH ALL OENERATiONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED. BT. LUKE, r., 48,

VOL. LXI.

NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, DECEMBER 23, 1905.

NO. 26.

[Published every Saturday. Copyright: Rev. D. E. Hudson, CSC]

When Christ was Born.

ACROSS the night's last level bar
The east wind faintly stirred,

When out of the purple shone a Star,
And an Angel's song was lieard;

And Time unborn in ages far

Was thrilled at the Spoken Word.

A Christmas Homily of St. Leo the Great.*

I.
UR Saviour, dearly beloved,

vras bom to-day. Let us rejoice;

for on the Birthday of Life,
sorrow can have no place. That
day hath swallowed up the fear of
death, and by the promise of eternity
elevates our J03'. No one is excluded
from a participation in this gladness;
and we have a common ground of rejoic-
ing, in that Our Lord, the destroyer
of sin and death, finding no man free
from guilt, hath come to work a uni-
versal redemption. Let the saint rejoice,
for he approaches his reward ; let the
sinner be glad, for he is invited to for-
giveness; let the Gentile take courage,
for he is called to life.

When the fulness of time appointed
in the unsearchable depth of the divine
counsels had arrived, the Son of God
took upon Him man's nature, that so

• Synopsis; (i) None is unconcerneft in the joy of the
Lord's Nativity. (2) Wondrous is the dispensation of
this mystery. {3) Who will put on the New Man must
throw off the old. Translatioti by F. O. St. Leo filled
the Chair of Peter from 440 to 461.

it might be reconciled to its Creator;
and the devil, the author of death,
vanquished by that which he had before
conquered. And in the conflict thus
undertaken on our behalf, a wonderful
law of equality is observed; for Our
Lord encounters this most cruel foe,
not in His own majesty, but in our
humility. He opposes to him that very
form and that very nature which,
although free from all sin, participates
in our mortality. No reference, then, to
this birth hath that which is written
of all mankind: "No man is free from
stain, not even the child whose life is
one day old upon the earth."* Thus
no taint of fleshly lust, or of the law
of sin, passed over, or infected, this
singular Nativity.

A royal Virgin of the lineage of David
is selected to bear the sacred burden,
and to conceive in her mind, before His
conception in her womb, that Child
who is both God and Man. To remove
the fear with which, in her ignorance of
the divine counsels, she might be filled
at effects so strange, she learns, by the
visit of an Angel, what the Holy Spirit
was to work within her; and she
believes that, without detriment to
virginity, she shall become the Mother
of God. For why should any sti ange-
ness in the mode of her conception
cause her to doubt, when she had the
promise of being aided by the power of
the Most High? Moreover, her faith
is confirmed to her by the attestation
of a preceding miracle; and to Eliza-

• Job, xiv, 4, according to the Septuagint.

802

THE AVE MARIA.

beth is vouclisafed the unlofilvcd-for
gift of offspring, to the intent that
He who had enabled a barren woman
to conceive might be beheved able to
grant the same to a virgin also.
II.

Wherefore God — the Word of God, the
Son of God, who in the beginning was
with God, by whom all things were
made, and without whom was not
anything made, — in order to deliver
man from eternal death, was Himself
made man ; without diminution of His
own majesty, He in such w^ise stooped
to clothe Himself in our humility, that
He both remained what He was before
and took upon Him that which He was
not, thus uniting the very form of a
servant to that form wherein He is
equal to God the Father. Nay, by so
close a bond hath He linked together
the two natures, that the inferior might
be glorified but not absorbed; while
the superior might receive it into itself,
yet suffer no diminution. Both sub-
stances thus preserving their properties,
and coalescing in one Person, humility
is assumed by majesty, infirmity by
power, mortality by immortality. To
discharge the debt of mankind, an
impassible nature is joined to one
capable of suffering ; and very God and
very man are united in one Lord, that
by this means, as was required for
our cure, one and the same Mediator
between God and man might die as
man, and rise again as God.

No taint of corruption, then, be sure,
fell upon Mary's virgin chastity by
giving birth to Health. Nay, rather
by bringing to light the Truth was her
virginity preserved. And well did this
birth, dearly beloved, beseem Christ,
who is the Power of God and the
Wjsdom of God,— a birth wherein as
man He is our equal, as God our
superior. Had He not been very God,
He could not have brought Redemp-
tit)n; had He not been verj' man. He
could not have set us an example.

Wherefore at the Lord's birth the
rejoicing angels sing, "Glory to God in
the highest," and announce "peace on
earth to men of good-will." For they
behold the heavenly Jerusalem built up
and formed from all nations of the
earth. O how greatly ought human
frailty to rejoice in this unspeakable
work of Divine Love, when it causes
such rejoicing to the high estate of

angels !

HI.

Let tis, therefore, dearly beloved, give
thanks to God the Father by His Son,
in the Holy Spirit; who, for His great
love wherewith He loved us, hath had
compassion on us, and, "even when we
were dead in sins, hath quickened us
together in Christ"; that in Him we
might be a new creature and a new for-
mation. Let us lay aside, therefore, the
old man with his works; and, having
obtained a share in the birth of Christ,
let us renounce the deeds of the flesh.
Be mindful, O Christian, of thine own
dignity; and, having been made par-
taker of the divine nature, return not,
by living unworthily, to thy former
low estate. Remember of what Head,
of w^hose body thou art member.
Remember that thou art rescued from
the power of darkness and translated
into the light and kingdom of God.
By the Sacrament of Baptism thou
hast been made the temple of the Holy
Ghost; beware of expelling from thee,
by wicked acts, so great an Indweller,
and thus subjecting thyself again to
the bondage of Satan. Thy ransom
is the Blood of Christ; and He who
redeemed thee in mercy, wU judge thee
in truth; He who with the Father
and the Holy Ghost reigneth for ever
and ever. Amen.

To me, the stable and the manger that
sheltered the Infant Saviour are not
dead, isolated records of what has been,
but the symbols of a truth that is vital
and impressive to-day.— if orace Greeley.

THE AVE MARIA.

803

How the Captain Found Christmas.

©

BY 9U3RA. L. STA.NFIELD.

ARLY in June, the summer
visitors noticed that one of the
old sea captains who were so fond of
w^arming their rheumatic bones in the
sunshine of the burying -ground on the
hill, had a new companion — a little girl
in an invalid's chair that was not much
larger than the baby carriages that
the white-capped nurses were wheeling
down on the beach. After that he
gradually withdrew from the society of
his former cronies, and spent his time
more and more at home wth the child.
When the long northeast storms came,
neither was to be seen ; although before
that the old man had donned his great
glazed sea-coat at the approach of rain,
and been as oblivious of it as if upon
his own quarter-deck.

One sunny day, when the couple ap-
peared as usual, some curious tourists,
intent upon deciphering the inscription
cut a century before on a slate head-
stone, overheard a strange conversation
between the ill-matched pair:

"Uncle Billy," the little girl said, "is
old Vesuvius lively to-day?"

And her comrade answered cheerfully :

"Lively as a grasshopper."

"And the lava?"

"The lavy is pouring out like all
possessed."

" I'm glad we're out in the bay,
where it can't reach us. And, Uncle
Billy, would you mind turning my
chair round a little? The sails cut
off the sunshine."

"All right, my hearty!" responded
Uncle Billy.

And the tourist saw that it was a
high, fat monument, erected to a Puritan
elder, that came between the little one
and the sunbeams.

"She thinks she's on a ship," said

one of the travellers. " She's either
foolish or pretending."

He was partly right. The child was
not foolish : she was " making believe " ;
and it was easy — for she was blind.

After that the pair came less and less
often, even on the pleasant days; and
by the time September arrived, and the
last visitor had flitted, and the fogs
began to roll in very early, the old
sea-dog, when he came out at all, was
alone; answering in an absent way
the solicitous questions of the other
veterans, and hurrying back to the
plain, ancient dwelling which sheltered
his charge.

They were not unhappy lives that
were lived by the dwellers under
the low overhanging roof which had
not known change for a hundred
years ; although of luxuries they never
dreamed, and what we would call
comfort was an infrequent guest. The
captain, his maiden sister, and the
blind child, living as many generations
of their forbears had before them,
knowing nothing of the fictitious wants
engendered by a false civilization, knew
nothing of its discontent. Sound sleep
followed the daily toil of the elder
ones, and little Mary dwelt in a world
all her own where her fancy went
straying.

"Let us pretend, Uncle Billy!" she
would say; and the invalid couch
would become a steamer chair, and
the tiny sitting-room the deck of a
vessel, as she and the old captain
floated over the calm waters of the
Mediterranean, or skirted along the
low shores of Florida, or faced the
tempests of the Northern latitudes.

Sometimes he just told stories, while
she; in fancy, sat quiet on some calm
shore and listened. He had been every-
where—or so it seemed to her,— and the
charm of his oft -spun yarns increased
with their repetition. There were
diflerent ones for different days. When
the wind shook the rafters of the old

804

THE AVE MARIA

house, he would be asked to recall
again the time when his good ship, the
Betsey Jane, came so near foundering
off the Grand Banks. When the breezes
died down, and the clouds rolled from
the face of the sun, there would be
the tale of how the Betsey Jane was
becalmed on an ocean of glass when
headed for the South Sea Islands. When
the thunder roared, there was always in
reserve that famous fight with pirates.
And w^hen the soft rain was over, and
the scented breezes stirred the worn
curtains of the old-fashioned windows,
Mary w^ould be sure to say, in her
soft, sw^eet voice:

"And tell me again. Uncle Billy, how
you found me !"

Then he would tell how, bound for
home with a big cargo from the Spanish
coast, he had sighted a small boat
adrift with a w^oman and a little child
in it.

"Me?" Mary would ask, though
knowing very well what the captain
w^ould answer.

"Yes, you, my hearty,, my eyes'
delight!" he would respond; and go
on to tell that the mother lived long
enough to explain how her husband's
fishing boat had struck a reef, and
how he had gone down with it,
after he had put his wife and child in
the small boat and gone back to help
his crew.

"Then," Mary would invariably in-
terrupt again, — "then my poor little
mother died, and you took me; and
my back is lame, and my eyes won't see
any more, and I'm an awful trouble:
But you love me just the same?"

"Just the same and more, "the captain
would say, and that was the end of the
story; and the captain's grim sister,
missing the.voices, would find the invalid
chair empty and the little girl asleep in
the old mark's arms.

One morning in December the answer
that catne to the captain's cheery "Ship
ahoy! " was so faint, and Mary so pale.

that a doctor was sent ior. He said,
much to the relief of the old people,
that nothing serious was the matter;
that it might be long before the effects
of the exposure in the boat would wear
off; that she was naturally a sturdy
and healthy child, and her strength
and even her sight were likelj' to come
back when the results of the shock were
conquered by time.

"I shall hope to see you almost well
by Christmas," he concluded, buttoning
his great-coat and pulling on his warm
fur gloves before departing.

"Uncle Billy," said Mary, after a
long, thoughtful silence, "please what
is Christmas?"

"Oh, Christmas?" answered the
captain. "It's a time that comes the
25th of December, when the days are
shortest."

"But what else is it? My mother
told me something else, — something so
beautiful."

"Well," he said, "some folks give each
other presents at that time."

" That isn't all. 0 Uncle Billy, can't
you help me remember? That isn't all,
I know."

The captain, being opposed to cele-
brating Christmas on what he called
principle, attempted to divert her mind
from so dangerous a subject.

"Let's pretend we're in the Gulf
of Mexico and a pirate has hove in
sight," he ventured.

And the other, being but a child,
allowed him to guide her thoughts,
and was all the morning, in imagina-
tion, a sick lady in a safe place on
deck ; while the captain stormed and
gave orders, and, in his endeavor to
amuse her, fired off a whole bunch of
torpedoes left over from the Fourth of
July. Yet once in a while she would
suddenly say:

"Have you thought about Christmas
yet. Uncle Billy ? Oh, can't you tell me
what it is I can't remember? I so
wish you could ! "

THE AVE MARIA.

805

Uncle Billy was at his wit's end. In
the reaction from Puritanism, some
persons, happily, grow to know and
love religion in its true and beautiful
garments, others take refuge in an
aggressive agnosticism, a New-England
unbeliever being of all the most fierce
and unrelenting ; while many, and
among them our kind captain, attend
"meeting" on great occasions, hate
things " Roman," hope to go to
their forefathers' narrow little heaven,
and abjure all that savors of the
doctrines which those same bigoted
forefathers abhorred. And yet, for this
adopted daughter, the comfort and
glory of his lonely old age, he would
have sacrificed the "principle" that
was so weak but which he thought so
strong, in order to have made a single
moment of hers more happy. Uncle
Billy's heart was troubled.

But the fact was that there was
nothing he could tell her, for he knew
nothing. He had Ijeen a boy whose life
knew no Christmas ; or if it contained
one, it was a day to be dreaded, as
the governor of the Commonwealth
formerly had the fiendish habit of
appointing the "day commonly called
Christmas" as the annual fast -day.
The captain had never had a Christmas
gift or eaten a Christmas dinner or seen
a Christmas Tree or heard a Christmas
greeting. It is no wonder that the
defrauded old fellow failed little Maty
when she hungered for the "story ever
old, ever new."

It may be said that such ignorance
could not exist in these enlightened
days; and my answer is that it did
exist, and does still exist in many
remote communities, where kindly, well-
meaning people have been cheated of
their birthright.

In hopes that his books would furnish
him the information he sought, he
wiped the dust from his few leather-
covered volumes, and peered through
his clumsy spectacles at the tables of

contents, but without avail. His sister
could not help him. She, too, had
rebelled at the forbidding Puritan
doctrines, and found nothing to take
their place, and had no knowledge of
the season when even the cattle at
midnight are said to kneel and adore
their Lord.

Meanwhile little Mary lay back in
her chair, looking like a tired lily.

"Don't you know yet?" she inquired,
as Uncle Billy, his eyes very red from
unaccustomed poring over books, came
down from the cold attic where they
were stored.

The captain gave her the result of his
researches in a few words.

"Some folks say Christ was born at
Christmas, but nobody can prove it;
and there's nothing about Christmas
in the Bible—"

"Isn't there, you old heathen?" said
the cheery voice of the young doctor,
who had entered unannounced. " Isn't
there? It seems to me, captain, that
you have read your Bible to little
purpose."

Here the captain sheepishly confessed
that he had never read it at all.

"So I supposed," said the doctor, who
was a privileged character in the house.
"Now, if you will lend Mary to me
for a week or so, about Christmas
time, I promise you that she shall find
out what she wants to know."

Then he explained that he was not
making a professional call, but had
dropped in to say that some very
great oculists were interested in Mary's
story as well as her eyes; and if she
would make a visit to the good Sisters

at the Children's Hospital at N ,

well, he would not promise anything,
but he hoped she would go.

"We'll leave it to her." aiixrygdsthe
captain, heroically crushj
jealous pang. Then turr
he said; "Is it yes or no|

"It's yes. Uncle Billy,'
"because I want to know.''

806

THE AYE MARIA

It was a strange trio that arrived
at the Children's Hospital with the
winter solstice. There was the captain's
sister, tall, gaunt, and outwardly for-
bidding, but anxious and distressed,
her best bonnet awry and her hands
trembling; the captain himself, in his
" Sabbath " clothes ; and the little maid,
whom he put, with more of those
troublesome, jealous pangs, into the
doctor's waiting arms.

There was that afternoon an inter-
view with the great surgeons, to which
the nervous old people were not invited ;
and when it was over, the young doctor
told them:

"You may hope for the best, but
nobody will know certainly until
Christmas morning."

Could I have taken you thus far with
my record of this poor child to disap-
point you at last ? One thing— it reads
almost like a miracle — remains to tell.
When little Mary was carried to the
chapel, and when the good young
doctor released her eyes from the
bandages, the Christmas story was told
to her ; for there, in the Cr-ib, she saw
the Child, and bending over Him in
adoring love the Virgin Mother!

Mary and the old captain — oh, a
very old captain now ! — no longer
"pretend"; for she is a tall girl, and
life is very real, and its duties urgent ;
yet sometimes, as they sit together in
the sunshine on the hill, he will suddenly
call out:

"Where are we now, Mary, — where
are we now?"

"In the Bay of Naples, Uncle Billy,"
she will answer, with a charming smile ;
"and old Vesuvius is spouting lava
like all possessed."

He is the child now, and it is she
who tells the stories; and always, as
the daj-»> grow short, he asks many
times fbr 1 he sweetest and dearest one
of all— the Christmas story of the Star,
and the Wise Men, and the Mother
and the Child.

The Old Christmas.

BY M. E. M.

Oh, do ye mind at Christmas, how happy we

would be
In the dear old land of Erin that we never more

shall see.
With frost upon the window-panes and rime upon

the grass,
And the boys and girls together on the way to

Midnight Mass?

And do ye mind the chapel in the shadow of the

hill,
Witli the candles burnin' brightly, and the throngin'

crowd so still,
All reverent on bended knees ; and when the Mass

was done,
Dear Father Dan's (Heaven rest his soul!) "God

bless ye, every one ! "

And do ye mind the gatherin's' there'd be on

Christmas night,
And goin' home acrost the fields in the frosty,

starry light?
Then, latched the door and raked the fire, before

we went to bed
Beneath each blessed cottage roof the Rosary was

said.

Ah! well ye mind it all — God knows the heart

can not forget !
This is a kindly land, but take no shame that eyes

are wet
When we think of all the pleasant days we never

more shall know, —
Of the dear old-fashioned Christmastide in Ireland

long ago!

The fountain opened in the heavenly
Jerusalem for the sin of man is open
day and night, always full of power
and grace. Jesus Himself is there, the
Lord of all power. It is not the first,
or "one alone, that is healed ; but all
comers, and all sufferers from all lands,
and at all hours. And no man takes
away another's absolution, nor does
any one need another's hand to help
him to go down into the pool of the
Most Precious Blood.

— Cardinal Manniag.

THE AYE MARIA.

807

Lost on Christmas Eve.

BY FRAN50IS COPPiE. •

. N this particular morning,, which
^^^ was the day before Christmas,
two important events occurred
simultaneously: the sun rose, and so
did M. Jean-Baptiste Godefroy.

The first was a considerable per-
sonage, to be sure; but M. Godefroy,
wealthy financier, director of a bank,
administrator of numerous corpora-
tions, deputy from the department of
the Eure, officer of the Legion of
Honor, and so on, was in nowise to be
disdained. And, we may safely state, the
opinion the sun entertained of himself
was certainly not less flattering than
the one M. Godefroy held of himself.
We therefore feel justified in saying that
on the morning in question, at about
a quarter to seven o'clock, the sun and
M. Godefroy rose together.

But, it must be confessed, the risings
of these two important personages were
quite different. The good old sun began
by doing a host of pleasant things.
With impartial benevolence, he shed his
cheerful rays on all the humble persons
whom the necessity of earning their
daily bread brought out on tfie street
at this early hour. His beams brought
joy to all alike.

On the contrary, M. Godefroy rose in
an execrable humor. He had attended
a banquet the evening before; and his
stomach, rebellious at forty-seven, was
in a sorry state. From the way he
pulled the bell-cord, Charles the valet
said to the kitchen-maid :

"The boss is cross enough this morn-
ing. We'll have a nasty time of it."

Then, with eyes modestly cast down,
he tiptoed into the bedroom, raised the
curtains, kindled the fire, and made

• Translated and adapted for The Ave Maru,
by H. Twitchell.

all the preparations for the morning
toilet, with the subdued and respectful
air of a sacristan dispensing the objects
of worship on the altar.

"How's the weather?" asked M.
Godefroy, curtly.

"Very cold, sir," replied Charles.
"But, as you see, it has cleared up, and
I think we'll have a pleasant day."

While stropping his razor, M. Gode-
froy walked up to the window, looked
out on the street glittering in the
sunlight, and made a slight grimace in
the shape of a smile. This lasted but
a moment, however. To smile at a ray
of sunlight might do for unoccupied
persons — women, children, poets, the
multitude,— but M. Godefroy had other
business to attend to.

His programme for the day was full.
From half-past eight until ten, he had
appointments in his home office with a
number of busy men like himself, who
were to discuss all sorts of schemes,
having the same end in view : to make
money. After breakfast, he had to jump
into his carriage and rush up to the
Stock Exchange to meet other financiers,
whose purposes were like his own: to
make money. Then, without the loss
of a moment, he was to go to preside
over groups of men ^ated around tables
loaded with ink-wells, who talked over
various other plans bearing upon the
same subject: making money. After
this, committees of various kinds were
to fill up the day.

After a careful toilet, M. Godefroy
went down to his office and received
callers until exactly ten o'clock. He
then closed his doors— he had to be at
the Exchange at eleven, — and passed
into the dining-room.

This was a sumptuous apartment.
One ould have stocked a cathedral
from the massive silver piej
loatk'-l cupboards and dressc
spite I'C a copious dose of
M. Gi>rkfroy's stomach c
{jrumbk*, and he could eaf

808

THE AVE MARIA

breakfast of a dyspeptic — two soft-
boiled eggs and the heart of an omelet.

While he sat at the table toying with
his food, the door opened, and a grace-
ful but delicate boy entered the room,
in company with his German governess.
He was beautifully dressed in blue
velvet, a large plumed hat shading his
pale face. This was Raoul, M. Gode-
froy's only child, four years old.

Every day at precisely this hour,
while the coupe was waiting at the
door, the motherless boy came to visit
his father, who gave him just fifteen
minutes of his time. Not that the
great financier did not love his child :
on the contrary, he adored him ; but
business must be attended to.

At the age of forty-two, M. Godefroy
had fancied himself in love with the
daughter of a club companion, the
Marquis de Neufontaine. This bankrupt
but fashionable nobleman had been only
too happy to become the father-in-law
of a man who would be w^illing to pay
his debts. The wife had died soon after
the birth of Raoul, and the child was
left entirely to the care of servants.

" Good-morning, Raoul ! "

" Good-morning, papa ! "

Then the director of the bank laid
aside his napkin and lifted the boy to
his knee. He took the little hand in his
and covered it with kisses, forgetting
for the moment the rise in stocks, and
the green tables covered with ink-wells,
at which he was so soon to preside.

" Will Santa Claus put anything in my
shoes to-night, papa ? " lisped the child.

"Yes, if you have been good," replied
M. Godefroy, making a mental note
of the fact that he must purchase some
toys before returning home that night.

Then, addressing the German, he said :

"Are you always satisfied with Raoul,
Bertha?"

The girl responded with a foolish
little giggle, which seemed to set M.
Godefroy's mind at rest concerning his
son's conduct.

"It is cold to-day," continued the
financier. " If you take Raoul to the
Park Monceau, be sure to wrap him
up well."

At this the fraulein had another
attack of giggling.

The great man kissed his son, rose
from the table and went out into the
vestibule, where Charles assisted him
into his fur-lined overcoat, and closed
the door of the coupe upon him. This
done, the faithful servant hurried to
a neighboring cafe, to enjoy a game
of billiards with the groom of the
baroness who lived opposite.

After his day's duties had been per-
formed, M. Godefro^^ remembered what
he had said to Raoul on the subject
of Santa Claus. He ordered his coach-
man to drive to a large toyshop, where
he purchased, and had taken to his
carriage, many costly and beautiful
toys. Then, while on his way home,
the rich man, softly rocked in his
luxurious coupd, gave himself up to
thoughts of his son.

The boy would grow up and receive
the education of a prince, — would be
one, in fact. For, thanks to the Revolu-
tion of '89, there was no longer any
aristocracy in France save that of
w^ealthj and Raoul would one day
have twenty, perhaps thirty, millions of
capital. If he, the father, a provincial,
who had once lived frugally in the
Latin Quarter, had been able to accu-
mulate an enormous fortune, and win
the hand of a woman whose ancestors
had died at Marignane, to what could
not his son aspire. — this son who had
inherited a strain of gentle blood from
his mother, and who would one day
be "authorized to be called Godefroy de
Neufontaine ?

These and other thoughts of a like
nature surged through the proud man's
mind, as he sat in his splendid carriage,
surrounded by the costly toys, which
sparkled with a thousand points of light
whenever a ray from the street lamps or

THE AVE MARIA.

809

shop windows fell upon them. It never
once entered his mind that this was
the festival night of a poor little Babe,
bom in a stable where its mother and
foster-father had taken refuge.

But now he heard the coachman
call for the gates to be opened. They
were home. While ascending the steps,
M. Godefroy reflected that there was
barely time to dress for dinner. As he
entered the hall, he was confronted
by all the servants crowded in a
circle, their faces full of fear; while
huddled on a seat in the corner was
the German governess, her head clasped
in her hands.

M. Godefroy felt a presentiment of
coming disaster.

"What does all this mean? What
has happened?" he fairly shouted.

Charles looked at his master with
eyes full of sympathy, and stammered
incoherently :

"Raoul is iost.'— That stupid Ger-
man!— He's been lost since four o'clock
this afternoon."

The father staggered backward, like
a soldier struck by a bullet. The
governess threw herself at his feet,
begging for forgiveness; and the ser-
vants explained in concert, in broken
sentences :

"Bertha had not gone to the Park
Monceau. — She lost the child down near
the barracks. — They had looked for the
director every where — at the bank, at
the Chamber,— but he had always just
gone.— The German girl had been in the
habit of going every day to meet her
lover at the fortifications near the
Asnieres gate, — a quarter infested with
Bohemians and mountebanks. — Who
knows but what they had stolen the
child?"

His son lost ! M. Godefroy heard
the storm of apoplexy rumbling in his
ears. He bounded upon the German,
seized her by the wrist and shook her
furiously.

" Where did you lose sight of him,

you wretched girl ? Tell the truth or
I will crush you ! Where, — where is
my boy?"

But the unhappy governess could only
weep and beg for mercy. M. Godefroy
felt that he could get no help from her.
He must be calm, so that he could think.
His son was lost, stolen perhaps. He
must be found, cost what it might.
He would scatter gold around by the
handful, and set the whole police force
in motion. There was not a moment
to be lost.

"Tell the man not to put up the
horses, Charles. The rest of you take
care of that creature. I'm going to the
police station."

With his heart bounding in his breast,
M. Godefroy leaped into the vehicle and
was driven rapidly away. What irony,
he thought, — this carriage full of glit-
tering toys!

He soon reached his destination.
There was no one there except the
janitor.

"I am M. Godefroy, deputy from the
Eure. My son, a child of four, is
lost. I must see the chief! " cried the
unhappy father in broken sentences,
slipping a louis into the man's hand.

The visitor was at once shown into
the presence of the chief of police,
a handsome man, with a reserved,
somewhat pretentious air. With limbs
trembling under him, M. Godefroy
dropped into a chair and told his
story. The officer was touched — he
was a father himself, — but his position
forbade any display of sensibility.

" You say the child was lost about
four o'clock?"

"Yes."

"Just as night was coming on. And
he is backward for his age, and does
not know his family name or address ? "

"I am sure he does not."

"Near the Asnieres gate,— a suspicious
locality. But take courage. We have a
very capable man there. I will telephone
to him."

810

TKC AVE r.^ARlA

The distracted father was left nliine
for a few moments. How his head
ached and how wildly his heart l)cat!

The chief soon returned with a smiic
on his lips.

"Found!" he exclaimed.

M. Godefroy uttered a cr3' of joy,
as he clasped the officer's hands and
pressed them frantically.

"We are certainly lucky," remarked
the man. "Was he a light-haired boy,
dressed in blue velvet?"

"Yes, that describes him perfectly."

"Well, he's at the house of a poor
huckster who lives out in that locality,
and who has just reported the finding
to the station. Here's the address. You
can probably reach the place in an
hoyr. You mustn't expect to find him
in very aristocratic surroundings. But
that won't matter, so long as he is
found."

M. Godefroy thanked the officer effii-
sively, and ran down the staircase
four steps at a time. After an inter-
minable drive, the suburbs were at
last reached. By the light of the
carriage lanterns, the number was
found on a low plaster structure,
almost a hovel. The door was opened
by the master himself, — a large fellow
with a fierce, sandy mustache. He
had only one arm, and the* empty
sleeve of his knit jacket was folded up
and pinned. He looked at the elegant
carriage and at M. Godefroy in his
fur-trimmed great-coat, then exclaimed
cheerfully :

"So you're the father, are you? Well,
the boy is safe. No harm has come
to him."

Then, standing back, he allowed the
visitor to enter the house.

It was indeed a poor abode. By the
dim light of an ill -smelling lamp, M.
Godefroy saw some shabby furniture,
and on a table the remains of a frugal
repast. The huckster took the lamp
and tiptoed across to the comer of
the room, where, on a clean bed, two

little boys lay sleeping soundly. In
the younger of the two, who nestled
up close to the other, M. Godefroy
recognized his son.

"The two little chaps couldn't keep
their eyes open," explained the man.
"As I didn't know how soon some one
would come to claim the lost one, I
gave him my bed. As soon as they
were asleep, I went to report to head-
quarters. Usually Zidore sleeps in the
attic, but I thought the two would be
better here. I could watch over them ;
and, then, I'd be up earty in the morn-
ing to go to market."

M. Godefroy was hardly listening.
With at: agitation entirely new to him,
he gazed at the sleeping children lying
on an iron bed, under a grey army
blanket. What a prett3' picture they
made! How delicate Raoul looked
beside his ruddy companion!

"Is that your son?" he asked.

"No," replied the huckster. "I'm a
bachelor. About two years ago, a poor
neighbor woman died in poverty, and
I took her boy. He's seven years old
now, and such a little man! After
school and on holidays he helps me
push my cart and does all sorts of
little jobs. He's clever, too. He found
your little son."

"What!" exclaimed M. Godefroy.
"That child?"

"He's a little man, I tell you. He
was coming home from school when
he saw the boy running along ahead
of him, crying as if his heart would
break. He went up to him and com-
forted him, and tried to find out his
name. All the child could say was
some words of a foreign language.
Zidore brought him home. The neigh-
bors gathered around and advised him
to take the boy to the police station.
He wouldn't do it, because he thought
the 'cops' might scare the little chap.
When I came home, I gave them some
supper, then put them to bed. They
look pretty, don't they?"

THE AVE MARIA.

811

Strange emotions crowded into M.
Godefroy's brain. A few moments
before, in his carriage, he had decided
to give to the finder of his son some
handftils of that gold which was earned
so easily at the tables loaded with
ink-wells. But here, before the rich man,
was lifted a corner of the curtain that
hides the life of the poor, so brave
in their misery, so charitable to one
another. He thought of the generosity
of the huckster in adopting the orphan ;
of the intelligence shown by the boy
in his protection of a younger child,
and his delicacy in shielding him from
contact with the police.

All these things very much disturbed
the great financier. He would not be
content with merely opening his purse-
strings. He would do more for Zidore
and his foster-father: he would look
out for their future. He remembered,
too, that there were other orphans and
cripples; and he asked himself, with
profound disquietude, whether money
should be used onh' to gain more
wealth, and whether there was not
something better to do than to sell at
a high price what had been purchased
at a low one.

Such were some of the thoughts that
.surged through h's mind as he stood
looking at the sleeping children. After
a pause, he turned to the huckster and
said:

" My friend, you and your adopted
son have just done me one of the
greatest of services. You will soon
have proof thai: I am not ungrateful.
At the present time I will merely leave
you a substantial reminder of what
you may expect in the future."

Before M. Godefroy had time to say
any more, the cripple laid his only
hand on the speaker's arm.

"Keep your money! Any one would
have done as we have. I shall accept
nothing. We are poor, it is true ; but—
excuse my pride — I have been a soldier
and have mv Tonkin medal in the

drawer there, and I can not eat the
bread I have not earned."

"Very well," replied the financier.
" But it seems to me that an old soldier
ought to be able to do something better
than push a vegetable cart. I shall look
out for yoti, you may rest assured."

" Well, if you wish to remember me — "
said the man, smiling distrustfully, as
if he had little confidence in the great
man's intentions.

But M. Godefroy was sincere. There
were good places to be secured as
vvratchman or messenger in the bank. If
the huckster could have looked forward,
he would have seen himself installed
in one of these, garbed in a uniform
of greyish blue, with his Tonkin medal
pinned on his breast beside the silver
badge of the bank ; for that was exactly
what happened.

"But you will permit me to do some-
thing for Zidore, won't you?" inquired
the financier, with more earnestness
than he would have shown if he had
been making a good bid on Turkish
bonds.

"Oh, yes!" replied the man, joyfully.
"I have often thought what a pity it
was that I could not do something for
the boy. And he is so clever! His
teachers are delighted with him — "

Here the man stopped abruptly, as if
he still doubted the sincerity of his
visitor's intentions.

"Shall I carry your son to the
carriage ? You can see for yourself that
he will be better off at home than here.
He won't wake up: children sleep
soundly. I had better put his shoes on
first. I didn't undress him, for I felt
sure some one would come for him."

Following the man's glance, M.
Godefroy saw two pairs of shoes — one
coarse and hol^nailed, the other fine —
standing in front of the fireplace. In
each were a puppet £ind a cornucopia
of candy.

"Don't mind that, sir," said the
cripple, apologetically. "Zidore put the

812

THE AYE MARIA.

shoes there before he went to bed ;
and when I was coming back from
the station, I bought the trifles at the
grocer's for the httle fellows, when they
w^oke up."

Ah, how surprised the deputies and
the great financiers, who considered
their chief a model of sternness, devoid
of anything like sentiment, would have
been if they had seen him now! M.
Godefroy actually had tears in his eyes.

After a moment's reflection, he rushed
out to the carriage, and soon returned
with his arms full of glittering toys.
The cripple gazed with astonishment.
M. Godefroy put the things down beside
the little shoes ; then, grasping the poor
man's hand, he said, in a voice choked
with emotion:

"My dear friend, these are the gifts I
bought for my little boy's Christmas.
I want him to find them here when he
wakes up, and share them with Zidore,
"who, with your permission, will hence-
forth be his companion. Notv you
believe in me, don't you ? I will take
charge of both you and the. boy, and
I shall still be indebted to you ; for you
have not only helped me find my lost
son, but you have made me realize that
there are poor people in the world ;
and I had almost forgotten it."

The Festival of the Nativity of
Christ is more than worthy of all the
devotion and honor in our power to
render to it. The Incarnation and
Birth of the Divine Son is the greatest
event in human history. Because it was
contemplated from the beginning, all
the religious institutions of mankind
have reference to it. As, therefore, the
Fall was the first datum in the spiritual
history of mankind, so the Incarnation
of the Divine Son is the second. It is
the New Creation; as the Incarnate
Son is the second Adam (I Cor., xv, 47),
the source and ancestor of a purified
and regenerated human nature.

—Bales, M. A.

A Flash from an Irish Hearth.

BY BRIAN O'HIGGIN'S.

fT was Christmas Eve in a Leinster
home. Nora Dillon sat by the
cheery fire that crackled and blazed
on the open hearth. She felt tired ; for
she had been busy all the day since
early morning, and only now had she
found a moment in which to rest.

Everything was finished, — all was in
readiness for the great Festival that is
honored as truly in the peasant homes
of Ireland as in any land beneath the
sun. The last bit of holly was fitted
into its place among the pictures and
little ornamental articles on the white-
washed walls; the tables and chairs
and stools were scoured" until they
became white as when they had left
the hands of the carpenter; the milk-
cans, saucepans, and other kitchen
utensils, shone like silver in the light of
the fire; the big Christmas candle was
placed in the old-fashioned candlestick,
in the centre of the table, opposite the
window; the kettle was crooning con-
tentedly over the fire, ready for action ;
and all that two skilful hands could
accomplish had been done to make
the little home as cheerful and festive-
looking as possible.

No wonder that Nora felt vsreary as
she sank into the old chair of woven
rods beside the fire, to rest until the
arrival of her father and mother from
the market town, two miles distant,
whither they had gone to do the Christ-
mas shopping, as was their wont.

They were simple -living people, Mike
Dillon and his wife Kate, — poor, as
poverty is spoken ; but rich in the
blessings of peace and health and
contentment of mind. Nora was their
only living child, though God had sent
them six others besides her, and had
called them Home again, — some in the
dawn of babyhood ; some in the early,

THE AVE MARIA.

813

joyous days of boyhood and girlhood ;
and one, the eldest— Jim, — who had
emigrated, and found a grave in the
land of the stranger. It was the sad
story so often repeated, — the young,
soft, country-reared peasant going into
a life -devouring, smoky Western city,
and then uncongenial, overburdening
toil, hardship, consumption, and— death.

It was a great blow to the poor
parents, — not so much on account of his
death (for they knew how to welcome
the holy will of God) as because he
should be so far away from them, in
a cold, strange land, with no one, in
all likelihood, to kneel by his grave and
offer up a prayer for his soul. They
would not mind so much if he were
sleeping with the others in the church-
yard at home, where they could go on
a Sunday morning and mingle their
tears with the dust above his breast,
and where they themselves should join
him some day.

It was hard at first; but the silent
years and their unbounded faith in the
all -wise Father softened their sorrow.
And, then, they had Nora. She had
been spared to them, and she w^as their
comforter and consoler. Her loving
care, her cheering words and hearty
laughter brought back into their lives
the gladness of former days.

Lately, however, a shadow had begun
to creep around them again. Just a
few weeks before this Christmas Eve,
Nora had received a letter from a girl
in America, an old school companion,
urging her to leave the dulness of home
behind her for a while and to come
where she would quickly earn a fortune.
She told of her own success in obtaining
a fine position, mentioning that Nora
would be sure to find the same in a
short time; and concluded by offering
to pay her passage out to the New
World, if she would only consent to
come.

The old people were opposed to such
a course ; they would rather keep her

at home ; and the memory of Jim's fate
haunted them. But Nora was entirely
bent on going over for a time; and,
after coaxing from her parents a sort
of semi-approval, which it almost broke
their hearts to give, she answered her
friend's letter, accepting the offer grate-
fully. She had in her nature that
inexplicable hankering after the great
w^orld outside the circle of home, which
seems to hang like a curse over the
children of Ireland, especially her daugh-
ters, and in the realization of which so
many are sadly disappointed, meeting,
instead of the fortune which their
fancies had fashioned for them, misery,
humiliation, destruction, and ofttimes
sinful death.

Eamon Fitzgerald, Nora's playmate
in childhood, her schoolmate and friend,
and a strenuous worker for Ireland, as
secretary of the local branch of the
Gaelic League, had pointed out to her
the dangers attendant on emigration,
had almost begged of her to abandon
the idea of going ; but, though she
was very fond of Eamon, his entreaties
were of no avail,— she would go in. the
spring.

Thoughts of Christmases gone by,
and of others yet to come, now mingled
together in her mind as she lay back
in the chair and gazed dreamily into
the warm heart of the fire. Where
would she be this time twelve months ?
What would she be doing ? Who would
be near her and speaking to her?
Visions of a city home, of brilliant lights,
of comfort and wealth, and all that
a girl could wish for, flashed before her
mind's eye, — bright and very near at
first, then growing dimmer and dimmer,
and fading away, until at last they
wooed her into the realms of sleep.

And then there came a dream. She
saw the hills of home and the dear
friends and the old haunts of childhood
fading away, passing from view slowly
but surely. She heard her mother's
voice raised in a wail of lamentation;

814

THE AYE MARIA.

and she saw her father's face, reproach-
ful and sad and worn, entreating her
to stay at home. She felt the hot tears
scorching her cheeks and blinding her
eyes; but the tempter's whisper was
ever in her ear: "There is wealth
awaiting you beyond the seas. Come,
you will find it, and then you can
return."

She nerved her heart against pain
and grief, and went toward where the
wealth was waiting. Then home and
all were blotted out, and over the vast
ocean she was speeding. To right and
left, in front and rear, was a boundless
waste of waters, farther than the eye
could reach ; hundreds of faces were
before her eyes, hundreds of forms were
around her, but still she felt alone and
friendless among them all; and that
chilling loneliness was the first shadow
on the bright vision that had lured her
away from home.

At last the weary sea journey came
to an end, and she was borne into a
great, noisy city, where people went
about their business at a breakneck
speed ; where it was a race for gold
from morning till night, and again from
dark till dawn; for no one seemed to
rest at all. Everywhere it was bustle
and roar, and a confusing, deafening
clamor of many voices.

Then, she thought, the hand that
had beckoned to her over a thousand
leagues of land and sea, and the voice
that had tempted her to cast away the
simplicity of home and to seek for the
pleasure of cities, were stilled forever
in death. "Sunstroke or something,"
they told her — those careless, busy
people who had known her friend, —
had carried away the one prospect
which was hers in emigrating ; and she
found herself wandering from place to
place in search of something to do,
something to keep away the wolf of
hunger that was even now staring her
in the face. Alas for her dreams of
luxury and happiness!

Again there was a change in the
scene. She was toiling in a factory,
with hundreds of others, — in a cloudy,
gas-lit room, where the roar of machin-
ery, the sound of wheels revolving and
meeting, and dashing around at light-
ning speed, seemed to still the very
beating of her heart, and crashed upon
her brain until the sight almost left her
eyes in the effort to keep control of her
senses. Bold eyes stared at her; she
heard the insulting comments of brazen
girls on the "Irish greenie," and the
harsh, jeering laughter that followed
each vulgar jest, until her hands clinched
in pain, and she prayed that God would
send her relief in death.

Now and then, in fancy, the sound of
the Angelus came to her ears, borne on
the winds of home ; the birds sang out
their greetings to her from the hedges;
and the scent of the brown bog heather
refreshed her like a draught of wine.
Weakness, .she imagined, at last over-
came her; she could work no more,
and dismissal from her employment
was the result.

Out into the loveless, rushing city
she went, weak and sick and hungry,
without a friend — save God; and even
He seemed to have forsaken her. On
she wandered, fearing to stop or to
return, until the night came down,
filling her with terror and despair. Out
from dark places hands were stretched
to clutch her; mocking laughter felL-^'
upon her ears, and tempting voices
whispered to her to sacrifice her virtue,
to barter her soul, for food and shelter.

But before her eyes there rose up a
vision of the old chapel at home, and
the beauty of her First Communion day
came"back to her. She saw the altar
and the white-haired parish priest ; she
knelt by the rails, and watched him
coming down to place the sacred Host
on her tongue; and, oh, the great,
unspeakable joy that welled up in her
heart, and made her feel strong enough
to do anything for the sake of Him

THE AVE MARIA.

815

who had come to dwell within her
soul! No, no, she would not go where
the tempting voices called her; she
would die sooner than stain her soul;
and so, faint and weak and terrified,
she stumbled onward, repeating the
"Memorare" which her mother had
taught her in the far-ofif years, by the
old hearth at home.

But the darkness became more intense
and terrible. The black figures came
nearer and nearer; she felt their cold
fingers gripping her arms like bands
of steel; and, in the loudest voice she
could command, she screamed, her last
thought centred on home:

"Father, mother, Eamon, — oh, come
to me ! Save ipe, save me ! "

"Nora, Nora, do not scream so! I am
here. Good heavens, you a,re shaking
like a leaf, and you are whiter than the
snow outside! What is the matter?
You nearly frightened the life out of
me when I opened the door. What has
happened?"

Nora started, and looked around,
trembling and dazed. She had wakened
with the scream, and for a moment
could not believe that she was at liome,
and that' she had been only J ^-Cii ming.
Eamon Fitzgerald was standing beside
her, holding her hands in his own,
speaking in rapid tones, and gazing at
her anxiously; the fire was blazing as
cheerily as ever, and everything was
unchanged.

She breathed a long sigh of relief,
and shuddered at the thought of her
recent terror.

"0 Eamon," she said, in a low tone,
"I have dreamed a terrible dream, and
I can scarcely make myself believe that
it was unreal! Listen for a moment,
and I'll tell you all about it; and you
won't blame me for being frightened."

In hurried words she told him what
had passed before her mind's eye. Nit
even the least portion was left lui re-
counted ; for it was all stamped ckai ly
upon her mind.

" Thank God ! " said Eamon, fervently,
when she had ceased speaking. " Would
that a thousand girls all over Ireland
to-night could hear what you have told
me, or have dreamed your dream !

I think it is a picture, Nora, placed
before you by an all-wse Providence,
as a timely warning. And it is a true
picture, whether or no. Many a poor
Irish girl has met with even a worse
fate than that portrayed in your dream.
And what of America now? Will you
go in spite of all?"

"Eamon," said Nora, quietly, "I'm
not one who believes in dreams or
the like, but I wouldn't go to America
now if all the wealth of the world
were waiting for me there. I have
been vain and headstrong, but God
has been merciful to me in sending me
a warning this holy Christmas Eve.
I'll stay at home."

"And I may prepare the little house
in the hollow, after all; may I, Nora?"

"You may," was Nora's answer,
almost in a whisper.

Whatever was the meaning of the
last question and answer, I must leave
my readers to conjecture. But they
must have been fraught with some
pleasant meaning, at all events; for,
as Mike Dillon and his wife came up
the narrow, snow-covered boreen, half
an hour later, the sound of hearty
laughter floated down to them on the
crisp night wind. And it is safe to say
there was at least one happy home in
Ireland that Christmas Eve.

The branch of the Gaelic League whose
hard - working secretary Eamon was,
an;l i;— for he would accept no higher
post, — Ills prospered and extended its
lahir.s since then. I see by a local
T' iper received the other day that a
W.irni-n's Branch has been established
r^Ci'iiiiy in the same place, and that
JLs ill ambers are by no means few. The

II inie of the president is "Mrs. Nora
Fitzgerald."

816

THE AVE MARIA.

Christmas Eve, 1870.

IT was during the siege of Paris,
December 24, 1870. The night was
intensely cold, with millions of glittering
stars piercing the dark firmament. The
French and Germans were encamped
so near together that from one post
to the other could be clearly heard
the signals and clash of arms as they
penetrated the silence of a night of
frost and cold almost unprecedented.

Twelve o'clock — and Christmas morn-
ing ! Suddenly a French soldier, having
asked permission of his superior officer,
crossed the entrenchment and advanced
a few steps tow^ard the enemy's lines.
Pausing, he gave the military salute,
and in a deep, melodious voice intoned
the solemn hymn,

Minuit Chretiens, c'est I'heure solcnnelle
Oft I'Homme Dieu descendit jusqu'fl nous.

"This apparition, so mysterious and
unexpected, the voice vibrating so
beautifully through the stillness of the
night, the majestic hymn poured forth
so grandly, so harmoniously," recites
an officer w^ho was a witness, "had
such an effect that, Parisian railers and
sceptics as many of us were, all hung
suspended on the lips of the singer."
, On the part of the Germans, the impres-
sion must have been similar; for not
a sound was heard, — not a w^ord, not
a clash of arms.

The last strains of Adam's magnifi-
cent canticle echoed through the icy air :

Peuple, debout ! Chante ta d^Iivrance !
Noel! Noel! Voici le Redempteur!

Then, as one who with clarion notes
proclaims to his comrades the paan of
victory, the soldier returned to his post
amid loud acclamations.

For a brief space there was again
the most intense silence ; and then from
the German camp advanced a soldier,
an artilleryman, armed and helmeted.
He saluted as the Frenchman had done,
with military precision; and thus, stand-

ing between the two armies, he began
a beautiful Christmas hymn, filled with
faith and love, redolent of the peace
and good-will which, at this time most
of all, should make all men brothers.

Not a sound, not a murmur from
either side, till he reached the last
words of the refrain :

Weinachtzeit ! Weinachtzeit ! *
Then the Germans took it up, and it
resounded through the camp in a grand
chorus. And as the strain died away,
and silence followed, the French, from
their entrenchments, responded with a
single voice:

Noel! Noel! Vive Noel!

For those brief moments, at least, the

two armies were joined in a common

sentiment of "peace and good -will."

The message had done its work, the

appeal had gone home. The thought

of Christmas, its family reunions and

divine lessons, had transformed those

men of war, and sprinkled their hearts

with the dews of the most fraternal

charity.

■ ♦ ■

Christmas Gifts of Crowned Heads.

GHRISTMAS is celebrated with much
solemnity at all European courts,
and gifts are invariably interchanged
among the different sovereigns and
their households. Some of these royal
Christmas-boxes are curious enough
to warrant the belief that an account
thereof will prove interesting.

Ever since his marriage. King Edward
VII. has never failed to give Queen
Alexandra at Christmas a dozen bottles
of her favorite perfume. This gift is
always complemented by a magnificent
jewel or richly chased toilet article, and
by a splendid set of furs. The King
and Queen combine their purses to
purchase gifts for their children, and
these in turn tax their pocket-books to
supply presents for their parents.

* Christmas time! Christmas time!

THE AVE MARIA.

817

During Queen Victoria's lifetime, every
23d of December witnessed the sending
from Windsor of a splendid boar's
head to Potsdam, the residence of the
Emperor of Germany ; and with the
head went an enormous plum -pudding
and venison pasties. In return, Emperor
William sent Victoria the spoils of his
latest hunt ; and to each of the English
princesses, his autographed portrait
richly framed.

His picture is William II. 's favorite
Christmas-box to his friends. To his
Empress, however, he gives every year
a precious gem — a brooch or aigret of
brilliants; and to his children, books
or articles for use in study— compasses,
physical apparatuses, and the like.
When the children were still quite
young, they were conducted, the week
before Christmas, through the streets of
Berlin, and were allowed to choose in
the different shops a certain number of
toys, which they found in their rooms
the following Christmas morning.

The unfortunate Nicholas II. has,
this year, other matters than gifts to
occupy his attention ; but he has in the
past achieved the reputation of being,
at Christmastide, the most generous of
Europe's crowned heads. Among other
gifts annually sent to Queen Victoria,
his grandmother, was a magnificent
sturgeon. No member of the Czar's
household, howsoever humble, was ever
forgotten ; and his distribution of scarf-
pins and diamond brooches has been
most lavish. The Christmas - boxes
which he gives to the Czarina are
always varied. One year it is a very
costly jewel; another, a sumptuously
bound set of books; a third, a superb
toilet outfit or a set of furs. His little
daughters got from Santa Claus bags
of bonbons and sets of toys specially
manufactured at Paris. In addition,
the Czar has been accustomed to
distribute among his friends during the
Christmas season five thousand boxes
of choice cigars.

The Emperor of Austria invites all
his grandchildren to spend the Christ-
mas holidays with him. He goes before-
hand through the shops, and himself
purchases an ample store of bonbons,
toys, and books, which he distributes
among the little ones on Christmas
morning with unfeigned pleasure. To
fellow-sovereigns and his most intimate
friends, his usual Christmas-box is a
case containing a dozen bottles of his
famous wine, Tokay.

Quite an expert as a needlewoman,
the young Queen of Holland used to
give as Christmas-boxes those bits
of her yearly work which she judged
the most beautiful. Queen Victoria
never failed to receive from Amsterdam
a pretty little casket knotted with
ribbons and containing lace collars and
handkerchiefs.

The Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-
Schwerin distributes at Christmas
enormous pates de foie g^raf. The King
of Greece sends cases of wine from his
own vineyards ; and he receives from
London, besides the traditional plum-
pudding, a collection of the latest
English novels.

Some sovereigns give rare animals as
Christmas-boxes. A few years ago the
German Emperor presented one of his
generals with six magnificent black
horses, and the Czar once gave a
minister of his court a whole herd of
deer. Three or four years ago, j'oung
King Alfonso gave his mother at Christ-
mas a handsome Newfoundland dog.

To all his European friends, the
Sultan of Turkey invariably sends a
marvellously wrought box, omameilted
with gems and precious stones, and
railed the "Delights of Turkey." These
boxes are fashioned expressly for the
Sultan by an artist who is unique in
his specialty ; and each contains a gift
appropriate to the rank and quality
of its recipient.

King Oscar of Sweden selects his gifts
with rare tact and irreproachable taste.

818

THE AVE MARIA.

As a poet, he always accompanies
them with an autograph letter and a
bit of appropriate verse. Endeavoring
to suit the predilections of his friends,
he is a sovereign whose gifts are most
anxiously awaited. To the Duke of
Cambridge, an amateur of antiquities
and pottery, Oscar sent a few years
ago a remarkable collection of vases.

Finally, the King of the Belgians
always gives useful Christmas-boxes.
Usually his gift is a superb Brussels
carpet. During Edward VII. 's last
year as Prince of Wales, he received
one of these costly carpets, and it now
adorns a handsome apartment in the
Sandringham Palace.

Yuletide Lore and Legend.

{From Caxton^s ^* Legenda Aurea.")

\11HEN the world had endured five
'"' thousand and nine hundred years,
after Eusebius the holy saint, Octavian
the Emperor commanded that all the
w^orld should be described, so that he
might know how many cities, how
many towns, and how many persons he
had in all the universal world. Then
was so great peace in the earth that all
the world was obedient to him. And
therefore our Lord would be bom in
that time, that it should be known
that He brought peace from heaven.
And this Emperor commanded that
every man should go into the towns,
cities or villages from whence they
were of, and should bring with him
a penny in acknowledgment that he
was subject to the Empire of Rome.
And by so many pence as should be
found received, should be known the
number of the persons.

Joseph, which then was of the lineage
of David, and dwelled in Nazareth, went
into the city of Bethlehem, and led with
him the Virgin Mary his wife. And
when they were come thither, because
the hostelries were all taken up, they

were constrained to be without in a
common place where all people went.
And there was a stable for an ass that
he brought with him, and for an ox.
In that night our Blessed Lady and
Mother of God was there delivered of
our Blessed Saviour. At which nativity
our Lord shewed many marvels.

Also the same night, as recordeth
Innocent the Third, which was Pope,
there sprang and sourded in Rome a
well or a fountain, and ran largely all
that night and all that day unto the
river of Rome called Tiber. Also after
that, recordeth S. John Chrysostom,
the Three Kings were in this night
in their orisons and prayers upon a
mountain, when a star appeared by
them which had the form of a right
fair child, which had a cross in his
forehead, which said to these Three
Kings that they should go to Jerusalem,
and there they should find the Son of
the Virgin, God and Man, which then
was bom. Also there appeared in the
Orient three suns, which little and little
assembled together, and were all on
one. As it is signified to us that these
three things are the Godhead, the soul,
and the body which been in three
natures assembled in one person.

After this it happed on a night as
a great master which is of great
authority in Scripture, which is named
Bartholeniew, recordeth that the Rod
of Engadi, which is by Jerusalerw, which
beareth balm, flowered this night and
bare fruit, and gave liquor of balm.
After this came the angel and appeared
to the shepherds that kept their sheep,-
and said to them: I announce and
show to you a great joy, for the
Saviour of the world is in this night
born, in the city of Bethlehem ; there
may ye find him wrapt in clouts. And
anon, as the angel had said this, a great
multitude of angels appeared with him
and began to sing : Honour, glory and
health be to God on high, and in the
earth peace to men of good- will. Then

THE AVE MARIA.

819

said the shepherds, let us go to
Bethleiiem and see this thing. And
when they came they found like as the
angel had said.

And it happed this night that all the
Sodomites that did sin against nature
were dead and extinct; for God hated
so much this sin, that he might not
suffer that nature human, which he had
taken, were delivered to so great shame.
Whereof S. Austin saith that it lacked
but little that God would not become
man for that sin. In this time Octavian
made to cut and enlarge the ways, and
quitted the Romans of all the debts
that they owed to him.

This feast of Nativity of our Lord is
one of the greatest feasts of all the
year; and for to tell all the miracles
that our Lord hath shewed, it should
contain a whole book; but at this
time I shall leave and pass over save
one thing that I have heard once
preached o.' a worshipful doctor, that
what person being in clean life desire on
this day a boon of God, as far as it is
rightful and good for him, our Lord, at
the reverence of this blessed high feast
of his Nativity, will grant it to him.
Then let us always make us in clean
life at this feast, that we may so please
him, that after this short life we may
come unto his bliss. Amen.

Scourges of Modern Life.

"'T^O the convulsions of nature," says
A an Eastern journal, "we can only
be sadly submissive, however great the
slaughter they involve; but in the face
of catastrophes which could be pre-
vented by the introduction of modern
safety devices, there is no room for any
sentiment but indignation." The point
is well taken as to a variety of the
catastrophes which, at lamentably brief
intervals, send a thrill of horror over
the country; and it is especially well
taken in the particular case of railway

accidents, in connection with which the
foregoing statement was specifically
made. During the fiscal year ending
June 30, 1905, the casualties on the
railways of this country amounted to
3778 persons killed and 55,466 injured ;
and no one who is at all familiar
with the conditions of railway travel in
Europe will contend that any more
than one -tenth of these deaths and
injuries were, in the real sense of the
word, unavoidable. "In this country
one passenger was killed for every
1,622,267 carried in 1904; and in
Great Britain, one for every 199,758,000
carried, or more than a hundred to one
in favor of Great Britain. The same
year the number of fatalities among
railroad employees in the United States
was 500 times as great as in the
United Kingdom, though the number
of employees is only seventeen times
as great."

It will not do to say that this
astounding difference is to be accounted
for by the higher rate of speed prevalent
on American railways ; for, in the first
place, that rate is not notably higher;
and, in the second, it was claimed at
the time of the accident followng
shortly on the reduction by several
hours of the distance between New
York and Chicago, that a higher rate
of speed made against, rather than for,
accidents to railway trains. The real
trouble is, as the Boston Traveller
remarks, that a whole series of acci-
dents "is due to a defective railway
system which is nothing less than a
national disgrace." The financial side of
the railroad question — the regulation of
rates, and the elimination of rebates, —
all this is now occupying the attention
of the President, of Congress, and of
the press; but of incomparably more
importance than any consideration of
dollars and cents is the matter of
guaranteeing reasonably safe transport
to the passengers and employees on
American trains.

820

THE AYE MARIA.

Another scourge of modern life that
is, or ought to be, in a large measure
avoidable, is fire. With the reiterated
experiences forced on the attention of
municipalities and individuals year
after year, it is simply unintelligible
why so few really effective means of
w^ithstanding fire are taken throughout
the land.

"Think of it," says Insurance Engi-
neering,— "in 1904 as many as 7000
people in the United States and Canada
were burned, — an average of nineteen
fatalities through fire every day in the
year; and a record that nearly equals
that of all the railroad accidents of
the two countries, generally considered
the most fruitful source by far of fatal
accidents! And the record of 1904
was not an extraordinary one. The
increase in deaths by fire has been
growing steadily. Our present ratio is
about nine lives lost by fire every year
for every 100,000 of population. In
1900 the ratio was eight, and in 1890
it was five. Unless something drastic is
done, what will be the ratio in 1950 ? . . .

"New York averages 8700 fires a
year; Chicago, 4100. We burn up
three theatres, three public halls, twelve
churches, ten schools, two hospitals,
two asylums, two colleges, six apart-
ment houses, three department stores,
two jails, twenty-six hotels, one hundred
and forty flat hou.ses, and nearly sixteen
hundred homes every week of the year."

In the absence of fireproof buildings,
the least that people can do without
criminal negligence is to provide ap-
pliances for fighting flames, and for
securing the easy escape of people who
may be in the buildings at the time
of a conflagration.

A Christmas Greeting.

Ian Maclaren once wrote as a Christ-
mas greeting: "Be pitiful, for every
man is fighting a hard battle."

Notes and Remarks.

It is a sad circumstance that the
Bishop of Limerick should have found
it necessary to write a pastoral on the
suljject of immoral plays. The fact
that they are forbidden by the Sixth
of the Commandments must be known
to all well -instructed Christians. But
the times are evil, and "truths are
diminished among men." It virould be
well,perhaps, if the custom were general
of reading from every pulpit, on every
Sunday and holyday of the year, the
Commandments of God and the Pre-
cepts of God's Church. We have known
this to be done with wondrous effect
on the conduct of a congregation.

Commenting upon Bishop O'Dwyer's
letter, the editor of the New World
points out that Catholics who are in
the habit of frequenting such dramatic
exhibitions, excusing themselves for so
doing on the ground that for them no
occasion of sin is presented, should
realize that their presence, neverthe-
less, may be a grave scandal to others.
"One of the saddest features of the
evil," says our contemporary, "is that
Catholic women, who go to Mass
regularly and frequent the sacraments,
join theatre parties and sit out these
plays from beginning to end. The com-
plexity of modern life has confused to a
considerable extent in the eyes of the
people Christian morals and pagan
license. In this, as in every other
respect, no one can serve two masters —
Christ and Eros, the God of holiness

and the god of lust There can be no

doubt that Catholic women and Cath-
olic girls are a very small minority of
those who attend immoral dramatic
exhibitions. Our sodalities and confra-
ternities, the vigilance of Catholic
parents, the supreme influence of the
confessional, and all the other agencies
of pure and cleanly living in the Church,
exercise a restraining influence which

THE AVE MAi^lA.

821

is almost unknown among the Prot-
estant communities. Of course all this
involves a sacrifice on the part of Cath-
olics, just as, . . . abstinence from meat
on Friday involves a sacrifice. But the
very essence of Christian living is a
sacrifice, and no one can hope to reach
that stature of perfect moral manhood
spoken of in the New Testament with-
out sacrificing the evil inclinations of
his nature."

It is altogether probable that persons
deceive themselves who think that they
can witness without contamination
plays which the pulpit and the better
class of papers condemn. It is a delu-
sion to suppose that one can safely
expose oneself to occasions which for
most others are positively sinful. The
pure-minded are never presumptuous.
Certainly the last place in the world
in which any practical Catholic would
like to meet Death is a theatre with a
questionable play in progress.

President Eliot, of Harvard Univer-
sity, is not optimistic as to the charac-
teristics likely to be acquired by the
children of the wealthy. "The most
serious disadvantage under which the
very rich labor is," he says, "the bring-
ing up of children. It is well-nigh
impossible for a very rich man to keep
his children from habits of indifference
and laziness. These children have no
opportunity for productive labor; do
nothing for themselves, parents, broth-
ers or sisters ; never acquire the habit
of work."

"Well-nigh impossible" is, perhaps, a
somewhat exaggerated phrase to use in
the foregoing connection. The bringing
up of a man's children ought to depend,
and in very many cases no doubt does
depend, a good deal more upon the
father's common -sense, wisdom, and
discretion, than upon the condition of
his bank account. The mere fact of
his having accumulated great wealth
implies his possession of some qualities

which in themselves are admirable ; and
his shrewdness, for instance, must be
very much at fault if he looks with
complacency upon the acquisition by his
children of habits of indifference and
laziness, or if he tolerates such acquisi-
tion. At the worst, his judicious rearing
of his sons and daughters is probably
not more difficult than is his entrance
into heaven ; and we know that even
the Scriptural text about the camel
and the needle's eye does not necessarily
make the very rich man's salvation
"well-nigh impossible."

During the past few years people in
different parts of the country have been
sending at this season of the year a'
number of Christmas cards to Mr.
Booker Washington, of the Tuskegee
Institute, for distribution among his
colored fellow-citizens in the South. Mr.
Washington writes to the press that the
practice is productive of distinct good
among the Southern Negroes, who have
little to make the Christmastide a
cheerful and helpful season. "Not the
least part of the influence of these cards,"
he writes, "is seen in the fact that
those who received such gifts a number
of years ago are making efforts, not-
withstanding their poverty, to make
Christmas happy for some one else."

It is the contagion of kindness, the
impulse of a heart that has been glad-
dened, to diffuse a portion of its joy
over other lives in the little world
around it. We trust that the consign-
ment of Christmas cards that has
already reached Tuskegee is an excep-
tionally large one.

Australian exchanges mention an
instance of Christian tolerance and
charity that makes very pleasant read-
ing. At a recent meeting of the Congre-
gational Union in Adelaide, the Rev.
A.D. Sykes, a Congregational] st minister,
read a paper in which he frankly con-
demned "the Protestant propaganda

822

THE AVE MARIA.

against Rome, as sometimes mani-
fested." Archbishop O'Reilly thereupon
sent the minister a courteous and
eloquent acknowledgment. "With my
thanks," wrote his Grace, "you have, I
am safe in assuring you, the thanks of
my co-religionists. For non- Catholics
I may not speak with authority. But
Australians are high-minded and gener-
ous, and I can give no offence in stating
my conviction. Many thousands of
non-Catholic Australians will approve
of your honest outspokenness, and be
glad of the spirit of kindliness that
breathes in your words."

That the Archbishop estimated cor-
rectly the spirit of many, at least, of
his non-Catholic fellow-citizens, is clear
from this editorial comment of the
( Protestant ) Register :

In the eloquent letter addressed to the Rev.
A. Depledge Sykes, thanking him for his kind
references to the Roman Catholic Church, Arch-
bishop O'Reilly manifests a spirit which ought
to be emulated by members of all Christian
communions. As he remarks, the interests of
this generation lie with the present ; and people
should be allowed to live in peace and amity^
to foster the friendship, to cultivate the good-will
of those whom they daily see and meet and
hear. The Archbishop has given such varied and
ample proof of his unselfish devotion to South
Australia's welfare and his generous tympathies
toward all classes of citizens that his luminous
exhortation will assuredly produce an excellent
effect.

We have been hoping to see an
English translation of the address
delivered last month at a crowded
meeting of Catholic workingmen in
Essen, by the Cardinal Archbishop of
Cologne. The advice of his Eminence,
as the Catholic Times remarks, deserves
the attention of Catholic toilers in
every country. There were, he observed,
some who would fain persuade them
that the condition of the working
classes was to be improved without
any thought of the Author of life,^-nay,
in opposition to His holy law. Against
these enemies of the Gospel the Catholic

workingman must be on his guard.
They set class against class, and speak
of a social revolution. Such men were
like the people referred to by Our Lord
in the Gospel, who built their houses
on sand. Whilst uttering this warn-
ing, the Cardinal Archbishop was far
from discountenancing union with non-
Catholics in social organizations. On
the contrary, he told his hearers that
they ought to work hand in hand with
non-Catholics of Evangelical principles
who are endeavoring to find a solution
for social problems. Denominational
bickerings he unreservedly condemned,
remarking that all who have national
interests at heart should treat one
another with mutual good -will and
confidence.

A charitable Avork whose distinctive
features will immediately commend
themselves to all Christian minds and
hearts is described at some length in a
recent issue of the CatlioHc News. It is
carried on quietly and unostentatiously,
in New York city, by the Dominican
Sisters of the Sick Poor, aided by a lay
society called "The Friends of the Sick
Poor." The object of this community
of women is, we are told, the care of
the sick poor throughout the city in
their own homes. Their rule, however,
obliges them to give instant help to all
other destitute souls they meet with in
their general work, — the providing of
homes for the aged who are abandoned
by their own, the placing of children in
asylums and homes, the sending of
wayward girls to houses of the Good
Shepherd, and the like. These Good
Samaritans not only nurse the sick,
but they attend to all the domestic
needs of the patients' home as well.
They clean and scrub the miserable
hovels of the tenement slum, and pre-
pare the sick-room for the coming of
the priest with the Blessed Sacrament.

Christmastide is a season when the
Catholic heart is most susceptible to

THE AVE MARIA.

823

charitable impulses ; and we should like
to think that the compassion for the
unfortunate, sure to be awakened by
meditation on the dire poverty and
sufferings of the Babe of Bethlehem,
will find outward expression in many
of our large cities in the establishment
of just such works as this, that is
effecting untold good in New York.

President Raymond, of Union College,
N.Y.,has discerned an identity of motive
underlying the systems at present in
vogue in the football and the commer-
cial world. "The spirit of modem
athletics," he says, "is the spirit of
modem business, — at least of business
in its higher reaches, which is not so
much fair competition as war, and seeks
victory at any cost. There is the evil
that has developed the brutal and
dangerous features of football, and no
reformation will be complete that does
not reach the root of the evil— an inor-
dinate desire for spectacular success."

This inordinate desire for spectacular
success is not confined to athletic
and commercial circles. It is clearly
evidenced in many another sphere of
activity: literature, art, politics, and —
loathe as we are to admit it — the pulpit
as well. To comment on only this last-
mentioned sphere, one has but to glance
at the subjects discussed in the sectarian
churches of the country- to understand
that many of the reverend preachers are
also seeking the spectacular.

While our British Catholic exchanges
do not appear to be entirely confi-
dent that the composition of the new
Government betokens undoubted good
things for Ireland, most observers on
this side of the Atlantic seem to be of
the opinion that Mr. Redmond and his
party will hold so commanding a posi-
tion in the next House of Comrhons
that Irish interests will assuredly be
promoted. The presence in the new

Cabinet of Morley, Bryce, and Herbert
Gladstone, all committed by previous
utterances to the righting of Ireland's
legislative wrongs, points to renewed
efforts to settle permanently the irre-
pressible "Irish question." We notice
that the New York Sun is thus sanguine
as to coming events :

We have therefore but Uttle doubt that the
Premier has promised to bring in a bill creating
and maintaining at the cost of the State an
Irish Catholic University, — a bill drawn, perhaps,
upon the lines of Lord Dunraven's proposal,
which would materially increase Ireland's powers
of local self-government; and, finally, such
amendments of the Wyndham Land Purchase
act as shall free that measure from features
which are gravely objectionable from a tenant's
point of view.

In an interesting sketch contributed
to Les Missions Catholiques by Arch-
bishop Langevin, of St. Boniface, we
find the following graphic account of
an edifying death among the Indians of
the Canadian Farthest North:

A good old convert, seventy-six years of age,
fell seriously ill, and received the Last Sacraments
with the most admirable dispositions. His whole
family were assembled around his couch. " It is
now," he said to them when the Viaticum had
been administered, — "it is now that I understand
all that the priests have explained to me about
religion. You knkw that I once adored evil spirits
and was a medicine-man; I danced the sun-dance;
I sacrificed victims, and invoked the thunder
and the Great Bear against the missionaries ;
I spoke evil. But I didn't understand. To-day I
do understand, and I tell you I did wrong. The
Great Spirit is good ; He has pardoned me. I
am happy; I am going to see Him in His
grand Paradise. I don't fear to die, and am
glad to sufi"er for Our Lord, who suffered so
much for me."

After stating that the old man died,
a few hours later, in the most edifying
dispositions of faith, hope, and love,
Mgr. Langevin adds a sentence that
throws some light on the hardships of
the missionary career: "Such consola-
tions make one forget that one is lost
in the bleak and savage Farthest North,
and that one's dail}- bread is not
always forthcoming."

824

THE AVE MARIA.

Notable New Books.

II Libro d'Oro of those whose Names are Written in
the Lamb's Book of Life, Translations by Mrs.
Francis Alexander. Little, Brown & Co.
"Roadside Songs of Tuscany" and "The
Hidden Servants," by Francesca Alexander, come
to mind when one opens Mrs. Alexander's
addition to the saint-lore of the times. Mother
and daughter have placed all lovers of the
spiritual under lasting obligations by their
delightful translations from the treasures of
Italian legend and biography. This collection
is made up of extracts from the Lives of the
Fathers of the Church, and represents the writ-
ings of the sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries, including selections from books issued
at Venice, Florence, and Bologna. There is real
poetry in many of these simple stories ; and more
and more are the records of the monasteries of
olden times coming to be recognized as valuable
documents, from both the historical and the
literary standpoint. An introduction by Croiset
tells of the institution of All Saints' Day and the
dedication of the Pantheon to the memory of
the Blessed. Verily is the holiness of the Church
attested by the eminent sanctity of so many
thousands of her children.

Mary the 0"e«n» A Life of the Blessed Mother.

By a Religious of the Society of the Holy Child

Jesus. Benziger Brothers.

This simple and charming story of the life of
our Blessed Lady is to be commended and recom-
mended. It has an interest all its own, because
of both subject and manner of treatment; and
every line breathes loving devotion to her whom
the King so signally loved and honored. The
story tells all there is to be told of Mary's life;
and Gospel and tradition and legendary lore
have contributed to the filling out of the picture.
The book is attractively printed and bound, and
the illustrations are above the ordinary ; but the
pictures of the Nativity and the Adoration of the
Magi seem out of place before the chapter on
Mary's visit to Elizabeth.

The Four Winds of Eirinn. Poems by Ethna
Carbery. Edited by Seumas MacManus. Funk
& Wagnalls Co.

In styling this complete edition of the poetry
written by the lamented Anna MacManus "a
volume of genuine Irish verse," the publishers
have given it a characterization as true as it is
commendatory. In typical Irish poetry there
are certain qualities which endear it to all who
profess any degree of fondness for the output of
lyric art. There is, in the first place, the metrical
swing, the musical lilt that afiords a sensible

acoustic pleasure quite independently of the
thought embodied in the singing lines. Even the
most mediocre of Erin's minor poets have an
instinctive proficiency in turning out "harmo-
nious numbers." Then there is the quality which,
for want of a more specific word, may be termed
heart. Sincerity, earnestness, unshaken faith,
abiding hope even in darkest gloom, and pas-
sionate love of the "Niobe of nations," — these
are unfailing characteristics of all Irish singers
with voices loud enough to attract the attention
of their countrymen at home and over-seas.

The present volume stands remarkably well
this twofold test of merit. With very few excep-
tions, the poems are truly melodious, and their
inspiring earnestness will impress even the most
casual reader. Where there is so much to elicit
the warmest praise, it is regrettable that the
editor should have allowed even minor faults of
technique to mar the beauty of occasional lines.
"Seas— peace," "door — poor," "dared — stirred,"
and "upon- sun" are rhymes that invariably jar
upon a cultured ear; and, as Mr. MacManus is
himself a versifier of no mean merit, we trust that
from the next edition of these admirable poems he
will eUminate all such imperfections. Not the least
poetical pages of the book, be it said, are those
containing the pathetic introduction, a youthful
widower's loving tribute to the maiden -wife so
early called away.

In the Land of the Strenuous Life. By the Abb^ Felix

Klein. Author's Translation. A. C. McClurg

& Co.

"Au Pays de la Vie Intense" is already in its
seventh edition ; and, crowned by the French
Academy, it continues to grow in favor among
those for whom it was written. The author's
translation, dedicated to an ideally typical
American, President Roosevelt, should meet with
cordial recognition. It is a book that people
will talk about and friends will recommend
to friends, for its charm, its enthusiasm, its
refreshing naivete.

In his very delightful Introduction, the Abb^
Klein tells his readers the purpose of his visit
to this country,— a visit which resulted in "The
Land of the Strenuous Life"; and he writes
thus; "What I proposed to myself in crossing
the Atlantic was to seek in your country the
profftable example of certain virtues which you
possess in a very high degree, and which we in
some measure lack." And the good Abb^ found
what he was looking for, resolutely closing
his eyes to much that must have struck him as
not altogether virtuous. It is true, as he himself
tells us, that he has written with an "excess
of benevolence"; and he says further: "I have
told so much that is good, that your modesty-
pro Verb/a/ ia all the world— must endure much

THE AVE MARIA.

825

while you read ; and I think I see you pushing
from you with blushes these too flattering pages."

From the first page of the AbM Klein's book,
when we leave the station of St. Lazare in
Paris, to the very last, when, with him on the
Lorraine, turned away from "The Land of the
Strenuous Life," we' pass the Statue of Liberty,
we follow with unflagging interest his account,
enjoy his impressions, smile at his witty thrusts,
and glow with enthusiasm at the thought of
his ideal America.

The distinguished French visitor was fortunate
in ' those he met: Cardinal Gibbons, Bishop
Spalding, Archbishop Glennon, Bishop McQuaid,
President Roosevelt, Mr. Charles Bonaparte,
et at, — but one must have qualities of greatness
to recognize it in others. " Humanity, progress,
religion, mere words to some, are to others
large realities " ; and serely they are such to the
Abb^ Felix Klein.

Handbook of Homeric Study. By Henry Browne,

S. J. Longmans, Green & Co.

Although the author declares in his preface that
no one should consider the present volume "as
in any way superseding the ordinary Homeric
grammars, text-books, or lexicons," we venture
to say that most students and all teachers of
Homer will be interested in this new contribu-
tion to the study of the "monarch of sublimest
song." We might add that others besides those
who are professed students of the Homeric
text will be interested in the greater part of
Father Browne's work, especially the chapters
on " Homeric Life," " Who were the Homeric
People?" and "Epic Art of Homer." The book
contains twenty-two illustrations and a suffi-
ciently exhaustive index. A most pleasing feature
of the text is the relief afforded by a skilful
manipulation of different varieties of type.

St. Catherine de Ricci. Her Life, Her LetUrs, Her
Community. By F. M. Capes. Burns & Gates.
Alessandra Lucrezia Romola de Ricci was the
Christian and surname of the servant of God
known in the Church as St. Catherine de Ricci.
She was a Tertiary of the Dominican Order;
and in this new Life we have an edifying and
most interesting account of ier pious youth
and of her saintly career, first as a simple
religious, and then as prioress of San Vincenzio
at Prato.

This biography of the holy Dominican is drawn
from those by Fra Serafino Razzi, Fra Filippo
Guidi, and a later work, PJre Bayonne's " Vie de
Stc. Catherine de Ricci." The letters of the
saint are an important feature of the work. In
many cases they give the human touches that
bring the actions of St. Catherine into the sphere
of^daily exi>eriencc; thus aiding our comprehen-

sion of her soul-life, and, better still, enabling us
to appreciate the supernatural which entered so
largely into her motives.

Whatever may be said in general for or against
"Introductions," there is no gainsaying the fact
that any one who wishes to approach with
understanding the Life of St. Catherine de Ricci
must read the treatise on the mystical life which
Father Wilberforcc presents as an introduction
to this work. In it the teachings of the Church
on mystical theology are set forth as clearly as
is compatible with the subject, and no little light
is thrown on the manifestations of high and
special sanctity which marked the saint's career.

A point of interest to many will be the objec-
tion raised, but overruled in the process of
Catherine's canonization, as to the caltus
professed by the saint for Savonarola. The
objection was made in 1716 ; the solemn canon-
ization did not take place until 1746.

Heart's Desire. By Emerson Hough. The Macmillan
Company.

For the benefit of prospective readers, the
author of "The Mississippi Bubble," "The Law
of the Land," etc., explains on the title-page of
this his latest novel that it is "the story of
a contented town, certain peculiar citizens, and
two fortunate lovers." The reader who peruses
the volume to the end — as a good many novel-
lovers probably will peruse it, at a single sitting —
will be likely to accept this characterization as
correct. The town is in the remote Southwest,
beyond the confines of incorporated municipalities
and legal trammels ; the peculiar citizens are
picturesque types of manhood in its primitive
stages ; and the fortunate lovers are less common-
place and conventional than are the usual hero
and heroine of contemporary fiction. There is
a delightful quaintness in the humor that runs
through the narrative; and it is scarcely too
laudatory a criticism to style the story an idyl
of the cowboy and raining zones.

Oxford Conferences on Faith. By Fr. Vincent
McNabb, O. P. B. Herder ; Kegan Paul, Trench,
Triibner & Co.

The author of these excellent conferences has
evidently made a profound study of St. Thomas,
whom he takes for his guide in the more
difficult matters of faith. There are in all eight
conferences : The Problem of Faith ; The Object
of Faith; The Light of Faith; Authority; The
Will and Faith ; The Door of Faith ; The Scruple
of Doubt; The Life of Faith. Father McNabb
has a fascinating style, — the fitting vehicle of his
fresh thoughts and happy intuitions. There is
an important appendix of supplementary notes,
the substance of which is taken mostly from the
writings of the Angelic Doctor.

The Young Folks' Feast.

BY UNCLE AUSTIN.

A BOUT Christmas Eve there is no make-believe:

Full true is the oldtime story
Of the stable-cave where the Virgin gave

To the world the King of Glory;
Of the Shepherds who heard the Angels' word

And sped to the Manger holy,
To prove by this sign the Babe Divine:

They would find Him poor and lowly.

Now, ever since then, in the thoughts of men—

Though often in deeds they stumble —
Is this Holy Night still the poor's delight,

The feast of the meek and humble;
And best-favored of all who the feast may call

Their own with its glad adorning,
Are the young folks mild who salute the Child

As brother on Christmas morning.

'One of His Jewels."

BY T. L. L. TEELING.

X.

OR some time after the events
recorded in the last chapter, life
went on as before in the humble
household of Don Bosco and his
youthful proteges. On the following
Sunday — a day always marked by some
small festivities or extra privileges, —
when the boys knelt before Don Bosco
as usual at bedtime, to kiss his hand
and wish him "good-night," he seemed,
as Luigi approached, to turn his head
away as if in displeasure; and the
sensitive child, observing this, drew
back, with tears in his eyes. But Don
Bosco, immediately perceiving it, held
out his hand with a gesture of encour-
agement, and a kindly "Good -night,
little one!" which sent him once more
happily to bed.

True, Don Bosco and his mother
had more than once exchanged some
anxious words over the situation, and
both feared that their little favorite
was indeed the culprit. But, with their
large-hearted and tender charity, they
agreed to cast a veil of silence over the
whole matter; only wondering, rather
perplexedly, what he had done with the
money. And Luigi sometimes caught
a yearning, questioning look on the
good Father's face, as if to say, "Why,
oh, why do you not confess it?"

"It is time, Luigi," said Madame
Bosco one day, "to look out for some
trade or employment for you. You
are growing too big to do housew^ork
any longer. What would you like to
do?"

Luigi looked up with a startled air.
But she continued :

"There are many things you might
do : cobbling shoes, or working in a
carpenter's shop, or tailoring, — you
know what the other older boys do.
Here, reach me down the flour-bin. I
must make another past3^ The dear
Padre has given away all that was
left of yesterday's."

And she proceeded to set out the
pastry board as she spoke.

"Ah, there you are, John! You are
early in to-day. I was just about to
make you a pasty."

"Is there anything I can do?" asked
Don Bosco, carefully turning up his
sleeves as he spoke.

" Well, yes. You can put on the
polenta; that will help."

And as he proceeded to take down the
one big saucepan, she began a cheerful
thump, thump of the rolling-pin, while
Luigi ran for water and salt.

"I saw Joseph to-day," said Don
Bpsco, as^ he ^measured out a [goodly

THE AVE MARIA

827

pile of meal from the tub and poured it
into the saucepan.

"I hope all was well with him?"
questioned his mother. (Joseph, her
second son, was married, and lived at
Becchi, a village at some distance.)

"Quite well. And he was good
enough to hand me some money he
had brought for buying calves in the
market. I paid the baker with it."

"That is a great relief to my mind.
I had been worrying over it,"

" My dear mother, never worry over
such things. Have I not told you again
and again that the Lord will provide
for His children? Why, I have been
thinking of building a church ! "

"A church!" she exclaimed, letting
fall the rolling-pin in her astonishment.
" Where will you get money ? You know
that we have nothing — but debts."

"The money will come, mother. A
priest who spends liberally for God and
the poor receives more. He becomes the
channel for the alms of the faithful."

Madame Bosco gently nodded her
acquiescence, and he remarked :

"Well, and what were you talking
of when .1 came in ? "

"I was asking Luigi what he would
like to be," said the mother.

"And he answered?" queried Don
Bosco, turning to the child with a smile.

"I should like to— go where Giovanni
Massaglia has gone," murmured Luigi,
hanging his head.

"Why, that is to the seminary! You
think of becoming a priest?"

Luigi did not answer, but looked
timidly up at Don Bosco.

"That requires reflection," continued
the priest, very gravely, looking down
into the small, upturned face. " It is
a great honor, Luigi, — an inestimable
privilege. And — we are so unworthy!
But we will speak of this another time.
Meanwhile it would do j'ou no harm
to be apprenticed to old Giacomo,
round the comer, where Sandro goes. I
have been speaking to him about you."

Luigi knew, as well as if he had been
told in so many words, that the doubt
about the piece of money was at the
root of Don Bosco's hesitation. His
eyes filled with tears, but he said
nothing; and at that moment the
Angelus rang out from a neighboring
church. All knelt reverently and said
the prayers, and in a few moments a
dozen hungry boys had trooped in and
sat down to their midday meal.

XL

It was the 8th of December, 1854, a
memorable date in the history of the
Church, — a day on which the air was
vibrant with the sound of joyous bells,
with ringing Te Deums, and solemn
thanksgivings. It is unnecessary to say
how Don Bosco's Oratory and his loyal
little household participated in the
general rejoicings of that ever to be
remembered day when Pius IX. pro-
claimed the dogma of the Immaculate
Conception. The boys had their celebra-
tion and their little feast, like the rest,
with a long ramble in the country, and
one of those delightful a/ fresco repasts
for which Don Bosco was famous.

Perhaps one of the least light-hearted
of the little band was Luigi, now for
the past three months apprenticed to
Giacomo the cobbler, for whom Sandro
also worked. And Sandro — no longer
a member of the Bosco household, but
self-supporting, and, alas ! self-sufficient
in the least desirable way, — had been
doing his best to tempt his younger
comrade to follow his example in
gambling, petty pilfering, and general
bad conduct. And when little Luigi
resisted, he would taunt him with
"That ten lira piece, you know!"
affecting to believe that Luigi was
already, what he would fain have
made him, a thief

It was evening; and, aftei* a joyous
day in the country, the Valdocco
Oratory, or parent institution — for
there were now three in all, of which
this was the first and principal one, and

828

THE AYE MARIA

Don Bosco's residence, — was crowded
with happy boys about to keep the
chief festival of the house. Mamma
Margherita was overflowing with pious
joy, and gave vent to her rejoicings in
some of the quaint ejaculations which
it was her custom to interlard w^ith
ordinary talk.

"Ave Maria, gratia plena — now, vsrho
among you all will lay the cloth for
supper? For, thanks to the Blessed
Mother, we have still some cloths left !
Dominus tecum — do not quarrel, boys;
and, Joseph, take care of the knife!
Benedicta tu in mulieribus — ah, what
a blessed day this is! Luigi, you will
all have apples and nuts after supper!
It is a great festal

One of the boys, Domenico Soave,
a saintly child who died young, and
whose life was afterward written by
Don Bosco, was busy selecting and
enrolling some of his comrades whom
he wished to join him in an association
under the title just commemorated by
the newly established feast. Presently
he came up to Luigi.

"Will you not join this new con-
fraternity?"

"I?" Luigi looked at him with
startled eyes. "You would take me?"

" Why not ? You are good, quiet, well-
behaved. You love the Blessed Virgin."

" Perhaps the other boys would not
have me."

"Indeed they would. Why not?"

"You do not know all, Domenico, or
you would not say that."

"Tell me, then."

And he seated himself by his comrade's
side. His voice was so gentle, his
manner so winning, that Luigi's timid
reserve was at length overcome, and
he told him all, — the story of the ten
lira piece, of his own conviction that
he was bSlieved to have taken it, and
Sandro's secret persecution ever since.

"And you did not take it?" said
Domenico, reflectively.

" No, I did not," said the child,

firmly; "and I can not think what
could have become of it."

" Why did you not speak like that to
Don Bosco when he questioned you?"
asked Domenico, turning round and
looking him in the face.

"Oh, I dared not! And when once I
found that they did not believe in me,
I w^ould say no more."

"That was pride, my dear little
brother," said Domenico, kindly. "Do
you mind my speaking to Don Bosco
about it?"

"Do not, I beg of you!" cried Luigi.

"Very well; I will not, if you do not
wish it. Then, at any rate, join my
confraternity, and let them see that I
believe in you."

" Oh, thank you, thank you, dear
Domenico!" cried the boy, joyfully.

Some other boys now joined the two,
and there was an animated discussion
over the details of the new confra-
ternity,— a discussion in which Madame
Bosco herself joined ; so that they
hardly noticed how late it was getting,
until Madame Bosco, looking at the
clock over the mantelpiece, exclaimed
with a start:

"How late it is! And Don Bosco not
in yet ! What can have kept him all this
time? Some sick-call, no doubt. And
now you had better go to bed, boys!"

"Oh, not without the Padre's bless-
ing, to-night of all nights!" cried
several voices. "Do let us wait five
minutes longer. Mamma!"

Madame Bosco hesitated, and looked
again at the clock, whose hand pointed
to ten minutes to ten. But just at that
moment the door opened and Don
Bosco himself came in.

"At last. Father, — at last!" shouted
the boys; while his mother detected a
look of unusual gravity on his face, as
he walked over to the fireplace, and
turned toward them.

"Well, my children, I have kept you
a long time waiting, have I not? And
now I am going to tell you why."

THE AVE MARIA.

829

"You know when I am out late in the
evenings, it is generally on account of
some sick-call. Well, it was so in this
instance, — a sick-call of which you will
all be interested to hear. I was walking
along on my way home when, as I
passed by the corner of the road leading
to the hospital, a man came running
up. 'Father,' he said, 'are you by any
chance Don Bosco? For I have been
sent from the hospital to fetch him.' I
said, 'Yes.' 'Then will you return there
with me? One of your own boys is
dying and wants to see you.' I turned
and followed him to the hospital, where
he led me upstairs to one of the wards,
and then left me. 'Father,' said the
nun who received me, ' one of your
former pupils, injured by the fall of some
scaffolding, was brought here this after-
noon. He was unconscious when he
came, but has now recovered his senses,
and is sinking fast.' I did not wait to
ask his name, my children, but signed
to her to lead me to him. As I ap-
proached the bedside, I recognized him."
(Here the speaker looked across the
room, and fixed his eyes on Luigi, who
was listening like the rest.) "It was
Sandro Marrochi ! "

Luigi flushed crimson under the look,
and then grew deadly pale as Don
Bosco went on:

" Well, my children, he had a confes-
sion to make and a reparation to offer.
You all remember the ten lira piece
of Mamma Margherita, which disap-
peared from the china coffee-pot? Well,
Sandro took it ; and not only so, but
he caused, suspicion to fall on another
of his comrades, to shield himself"

Here Don Bosco paused, and a storm
of exclamations burst forth :

"Sandro took it!"— "It was Sandro,
after all!" — "Oho, the cunning one!
And he looked so innocent!" — "Who,
then, was accused ? " queried a new-
comer. " I never heard of it," and so on.

Young Domenico's arms were round
his little comrade, in true Italian

fashion, and he was crying out joyously:

"You see, Luigi,— you see! God has

vindicated you! "

And Madame Bosco was exclaiming :

"Come, my poor Luigi, —come and

embrace me ! Ah, I fear you must have

suffered much! "

And all the boys clapped and cheered
and danced about, in irrepressible excite-
ment, until Don Bosco bade them go
up to bed, and not forget to pray
for the soul of their erring comrade,
"whose last breath was drawn, in
my presence, not an hour since, after
receiving absolution."

Luigi was bidden to stay behind the
others; and in all his life he never
forgot that hour, so full of loving,
tender counsels, and gentle, fatherly
admonitions, kneeling at the good
priest's knee ; or the fervent "God keep
you, my child, — God keep you ever!"
with which he was finally dismissed.

( Conclusion next week. )

The Legend of the Christmas Tree.

One cold night in December, many,
many years ago, a shrill cry for help
rang out from a forest of evergreens.
Immediately afterward two men of evil
visage, carrying a heavy sack, emerged
from the wood. They walked on for a
time, then sat down and opened the
sack to see what it contained.

Said one: "Let's see what that
old graybeard is carrying around the
country. Ha! ha! how we scared him
when we took his property ! I'll wager
he's running yet!"

The bag was opened ; and at sight
of the numberless toys and sweetmeats
found within it, the rage of the robbers
knew no bounds. They at once began
to dispute, and, in their anger, com-
menced throwing the things at each
other. Soon the air was full of beautiful
dolls, drums, horns, wooden horses,
bugles, and many other things. These

830

THE AYE MARIA.

lodged in the branches of the pine
trees standing around. When there was
nothing more to throw, the robbers
grappled each other and rolled down
into a deep ravine.

Meanwhile the old graybeard had
found some defenders. A party of young
peasants, to whom he told his story,
were now escorting him back to find
his property. As they entered the forest,
a thousand dancing lights appeared
and settled on the end of the boughs
of the pine trees.

The peasants were astonished beyond
measure at the sight that met their
eyes: trees laden >vith toys of every
description, and glittering with thou-
sands of brilliant lights. They turned
to the mysterious old man, who smiled
and said :

"You have been kind to Father
Christmas: now accept the gifts he
offers you. These trees are yours."

That, according to the legend, is the
origin of the Christmas Tree which
brings joy to so many young hearts,
and without which the holidays would
lose much of their charm.

Three Golden Balls, and Santa Claus.

It has been thought rather curious
that the famous Medici family of
Florence should have as their emblem
three golden balls, which symbol has
for hundreds of years been the pawn-
broker's sign. The enemies of the
Medicis w^ere wont to laugh in their
sleeves, and say that the pawnbroker's
sign was very suitable, as the family
had raised itself to prominence by usury
and money-lending. The two emblems
both came from the same legend, a very
beautiful one of St. Nicholas of Bari.

A nobleman of the town of Patara
had three beautiful daughters, whom,
being bereft of all his fortune, he was
unable to provide with a marriage
portion. It seemed as if there was no

honorable method to support them,
and the poor father was in despair.
St. Nicholas had heard of the family ;
and, as he had an enormous fortune,
he resolved to dower the maidens, who
were as good as they were beautiful.
Seeking their house one night, he
found an open window, and threw into
this a purse filled with gold. With this
the oldest daughter was dowered; and
a second purse coming in the same
mysterious manner, gave the second
daughter her marriage portion. The
nobleman now determined to keep
watch and see who was his benefactor,
and discovered the saint in the act of
throwing in the third purse. Falling
upon his knees, the father exclaimed :

"O Nicholas, servant of God, why seek
to hide thyself from gratitude?"

The good Bishop bade him tell no one
while he lived, but after his demise the
nobleman related his munificence. From
this legend arose the custom of giving
St. Nicholas three bits of gold or golden
balls as his emblem. As he was the
patron of the Medici, and also of the
Lombard merchants who emigrated to
England and there set up the first
money - lending establishments and
pawnbrokers' shops, so high and low
use his emblem— the three golden balls.

From this same incident is said to be
derived the custom of placing gifts in '
the stockings, or in some countries the
shoes, of children on the eve of Christ-
mas, and attributing the gifts to St.
Nicholas under the corrupted form of
his name, Santa Claus.

-A Prayer on Christmas Eve.

^)EAR Infant, I would like to have

A truly Christmas Tree,
With candles lighted, and with lots

Of pretty things for me.

I want to ask for sunething else —
My mamma said I should, —

Besides the tree and pretty things,
Dear Infant, make me good !

THE AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

831

— From the Herold des Glaabeas we have re-
ceived "Der Familienfreuud, Katholischer Weg-
weiser fur das Jahr 1906." As usual this popular
annual is filled with useful information and a
great variety of good reading in verse and prose.
The illustrations are numerous and excellent. The
frontispiece, a colored picture of St. Elizabeth of
Hungary, will please all who see it.

—"Salve Venetia," by Mr. F. Marion Crawford,
published this week by the Macmillan Co., is a
companion to "Ave Roma Iraraortalis." The pic-
turesque and stirring story of the City of the Sea
affords Mr. Crawford full opportunity for the
exercise of his great power of dramatic presen-
tation, and for graphic descriptions of bygone
scenes which throb with life and reality. The
work is richly illustrated by Mr. Joseph Pennell.

— "The Revival of the Religious Life for Men"
sounds like a Catholic title, and the pamphlet
which bears it contains much with which Catholic
readers will heartily agree; but it is a non-
Catholic pamphlet, nevertheless. Its author is
the Rev. Paul B. Bull, of the Community of the
Resurrection, Mirfield, Yorkshire, England. Many
of the ideas expressed herein on the religious life
are so just that we shall be rather disappointed if
within the next two or three years, we do not
hear of the Rev. Mr. Bull's conversion to the only
Church in which the religious life can be a verity .

—Under the title "A Modern Martyr," the Rev.
James Walsh, director of the Society for the Prop-
agation of the Faith in the Archdiocese of Boston,
has just published a new Life of the Venerable
Th^ophane V^nard, of the Society for Foreign
Missions, Paris, who was beheaded for the Faith
in Tonquin, Feb. 2, 1861. We are glad to notice
that this biography is more complete than the
one presented to English readers many years ago
by Lady Herbert. The interest is enhanced by a
portrait of the martyr and other illustrations.
A book no less charming than edifying.

— St. Augustine expressed an interesting truth
when- he said: "We admire the work of the tiny
ants and bees more than the bulky forms of
whales." These words are quoted by Father Eric
Wasmann, S. J., in the introduction to his " Psy-
chology of Ants and of Higher Animals." The
work is a translation from the original German.
Its interest is by no means confined to persons of
a scientific temperament: the general reader will
find both pleasure and instruction in Father Was-
mann's studies. Chapter I. contains the conclu-
sion that, "from the point of view of comparative
psychology, the communities of ants represent the
most perfect of animal societies." Apropos of the

immoral principles of Alf Brehm and L. Buechner,
the author is strong in his repudiation of the
attempts made to "humanize the animal." Pub-
lished by B. Herder.

— The "Catalogo Generale della Libreria Italiana
dall Anno 1847 a tutto il 1899," just completed
by Prof Pagliaini, librarian at the Genoa Uni-
versity, is remarkable for the number of entries
under Dante Alighieri. Every edition, or part of *
an edition, every pamphlet relating to him or to
his work, is included. Italian editions issued out-
side the land of his birth and in other tongues
than his own also find a place in Prof. PagUaini's
work, which is in three closely printed volumes.

—"The Method of the Catholic Sunday-School"
(Second Series), by the Rev. P. A. Halpin, is an
earnest appeal for the betterment of catechetical
methods. Especially important is the section
entitled "The Unattractive Sunday-School." The
author's passing strictures do not end with the
bitterness of the moment: he suggests ways of
improvement. The closing paragraphs of this
commendable brochure are particularly fervid
with the zeal of the Psalmist. Father Halpin
finds the "God wills it" for his Catechetical
Crusade in the recent Encyclical of the Holy
Father on the teaching of Catechism. J. F.
Wagner, publisher.

— "Garland of Song," by Mary E. Griffin, comes
to us from the Blakely Printing Co., Chicago. It
is a rather handsomely bound, well printed
volume of some two hundred pages, with a
frontispiece representing Music, and, somewhat
unaccountably, without a table of contents or an
index. The author is one of America's minor
Catholic poets, and a number of her lyrics deal
reverently with religious themes, devotional
practices, and spiritual longings. While occa-
sional stanzas bear evidence of an art that is
still imperfect, it is only fair to say that the
author's technique is distinctly superior to that
of several Catholic versifiers whose volumes have
come to our table within the present year.

— The diocese of Buffalo mourns the loss of a
distinguished and excellent priest. The Rev. Pat-
rick Cronin, who died suddenly last week at
North Tonawanda, N. Y., was for many years
editor of the Catholic Union and Times; and in
this capacity, not onl3' rendered great services to
religion, but did much to promote the welfare of
the Irish in America and the cause of Home Rule
in Ireland. He was the first vice-president of
the Land League in the United States, and a
leading light of other similar organizations. Be-
sides editing the diocesan paper, which under his

832

THE AVE MARIA.

able management soon took rank among the best
Catholic journals in this country, Dr. Cronin en-
gaged in various other literary pursuits, winning
distinction as a poet and a lecturer. A few months
ago he was honored with the degree of Doctor
of Divinity by Pius X. Genial, kind-hearted, and
priestly. Dr. Cronin was beloved wherever he was
known, and had manj- warm friends among all
classes of citizens in Buffalo. R. I. P.

— "Essentials in Medieval and Modern His-
tory," by Samuel Bannister Harding, Ph. D.
(American Book Co.), is so good a text-book in
manj' respects that one can not help wishing it
could be recommended for Catholic schools. The
author tries to be fair in his treatment of the
many controverted questions of religion that fall
within the period of his history. But we can not
say that he has always succeeded. He quotes
not infrequently from such Cathohc sources as:
Alzog, Montalembert, Hefele, Pastor, Wiseman,
etc.; and in the first paragraph of Chapter V.
("The Church in the Middle Ages"), the follow-
ing words of a Protestant historian are quoted :
"The Papacy as a whole showed more of enlight-
enment, moral purpose, and political wisdom
than any succession of kings or emperors that
medieval Europe ever knew." This is true, but
there are other passages to ofiset it. Clearness
of presentation is perhaps the book's most
dominant feature.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
appear at the head, older ones being dropped out
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new
editions will not be indexed.

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign hooks not on sale in the United
States will be imported with as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a full supply of works issued abroad.
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"The Method of the Catholic Sunday -School.'-'

Rev. P. A. Halpin. 40 cts.
"Psychology of Ants and of Higher Animals."

Rev. Eric Wasman, S J. $1, net.
" II Libro d'Oro of those whoseNames are Written

in the Lamb's Book of Life." Translations

by Mrs. Francis Alexander. $2, net.
"Oxford Conferences on Faith." Father Vincent

McNabb, O. P. 90 cts.
"In the Land of the Strenuous Life." The Abb^

Felix Klein. $2, net.
"Heart's Desire." Emerson Hough. $1.50.

'St. Catherine de Ricci. Her Life, Her Letters

Her Community." F. M. Capes. $2, net.
' Mary the Queen " A Religious of the Society of

the Holy Child Jesus. 50 cts.
'The Four Winds of Eirinn." Ethna Carbery.

75 cts , net.
'Handbook of Homeric Study." Henr3' Browne,

S. J. $2, net.
'The Dollar Hunt." 45 cts.
'Meditations on the Passion of Our Lord." 50

cts.
'Prayer." Father Faber. 30 cts., net.
'Lives of the English Martyrs." (Martyrs under

Queen Elizabeth.) $2.75.
'Joan of Arc." Hon. Mrs. Maxwell-Scott. 75 cts.
'The Life of St. Patrick, and His Place in

History." J. B. Bury, M. A. $3.25, net.
'The Suffering Man- God." P&re Seraphin. 75

cts., net.
'The Sanctuary of the Faithful Soul." Yen.

Blosius. O. S. B. 75 cts., net.
'The Little Flowers of St. Francis of Assisi."

$1.60., net.
'The Immortality of the Soul

Aveling, D. D. 30 cts., net;

net.
'Yolanda, Maid of Burgundy."

$1.50.

" Rev. Francis
paper, 15 cts.

Charles Major,

Obituary.

Remember tbem tb&t are in bands. — HBB., xlil.

Very Rev. Charles Pope, of the diocese of
Salford; Rev. Patrick Cronin, D. D., diocese of
Buffalo; Rev. Gerald Fagan, archdiocese of
Boston; Rev. F. X. Smith, diocese of Alton; Rev.
Richard Richardson, Institute of Charity ; and
Rev. Ignatius Stuart, O. S. B.

Sister Mary Thomas, of the Sisters of St. Joseph.

Mr. Henry Perkinson and Miss M. Whittle, of
St. Louis, Mo. ; Miss Margaret Fitzwilliams,
Akron, Ohio ; Mr. G. Felthaus, Richmond, Va. ;
Mrs. Mary McKernan, Clare, Iowa ; Mr. George
Moshier, Kalamazoo, Mich.; Miss Mary Flanagan
and Mr. Michael Flanagan, Utica, N.Y,; Mr. C.J.
McKone, Hartford, Conn.; Mr. W. W. Nichols,
Qufticy, 111.; Mr. John Maher, Middletown, Ohio;
Miss Susan Hill, Fall River, Mass. ; Mr. J. J.
Conroy, Waterbury, Conn. ; Mr. James Jameson,
Cleveland, Ohio ; Miss Loretta McHale, Cadillac,
Mich. : Mrs. M. C. Koch, Fort Wayne, Ind. ; Mr.
M. A. Keogh, Staten Island, N. Y. ; Mrs. Augusta
Lutz, Allegheny Pa. ; Margaret McMillen, Wash-
ington. D. C. ; and Mr. Philip Kramer, Pitts-
burg, Pa.

Reqaiescant in pace !

HENCEFORTH ALL OENERATJONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED. ST. LUKE, I., 48.

' VOL. LXI. NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, DECEMBER 30, 1905.

NO. 27.

[Published every Saturday. Copyright; Rev. D. E. Hudson, C.S.C]

The Dawning Year.

The World at Christ's Coming.

BY ARTHUR BARRY.

BY THE REV. H. G. HUGHES.

A NOTHER chapter opens in our life's continued
story,
And Hope perchance assures us it will be the best
we've penned.
Replete with noble incidents redounding to our
glory,—
Ah, me ! who knows how close his tale is drawing
to its end!

The New Year's blithesome advent stirs the heart
to transient gladness,
Its cheer informs the wishes that we proffer and
receive,
Its spirit fain would turn us from all themes and
thoughts of sadness, —
Yet many mark its dawning who will never see
its eve.

Rehearse the Old Year's record ; count the friends
who gave it greeting
With hearts as light and hopes as fair as yours
or mine to-day,
Yet ere its newness faded learned how swiftly
life was fleeting:
Outstripping Time, Death came to them and
summoned them away.

Ah, New Years are but milestones incomplete ; they
tell us merely
The distance we have travelled, not the length of
road before:
'Tis wisdom, then, from day to day to serve our
God sincerely,
Expectant of the hour supreme that marks our
journey o'er.

Trust the past to the mercy of God,
the present to His love, the future to
His providence.— St. Augustine.

N examination of the state of
the heathen world at the time
^ when Jesus Christ, its Saviour,
\ was bom reveals a scene of
terrible darkness, relieved here and
there by only a gleam of truth or an
occasional bright example of natural
virtue. As to the Jewish world, there
were, indeed, therein some faithful
Israelites, men without guile, who were
waiting in hope and faith and patience
for the coming of the Lord. But the
greater part of the nation of the Jews
had been led astray by dreams of
worldly power; and, looking for an
earthly kingdom, understood not Him
who told them, "My Kingdom is not
of this world." We will consider now
the condition of the great heathen
civilization represented by the mighty
Roman Empire. To the power of Rome
that civilization added the newly-
acquired intellectual and artistic culture
of conquered races. Says Mr. Allies:*
"The Empire of Augustus inherited
the whole civilization of the ancient
world. Whatever political and social
knowledge, whatever moral or intel-
lectual truth, whatever useful or elegant
arts ' the enterprising race of Japhet '
had acquired, preserved, and accumu-
lated in the long course of centuries
since the beginning of history, had

• "The Formation of Christendom," Vol. I.

834

THE AVE MARIA.

descended without a break to Rome,
with the dominion of all the countries
washed by the Mediterranean. For her
the wisdom of Egypt and of all the East
had been stored up ; for her had thought
Pythagoras and Thales, Socrates, Plato,
and Aristotle, and all the schools besides
of Grecian philosophy suggested by
these names. For her Zoroaster, as well
as Solon and Lycurgus, legislated ; for
her Alexander conquered, the races
which he subdued forming but a portion
of her empire. Every city in the ears of
w^hose youth the poems of Homer were
familiar as household words owned
her sway. Her magistrates, from the
Northern Sea to the confines of Arabia,
issued their decrees in the language of
empire — the Latin tongue; while, as
men of letters, they spoke and wrote
in Greek."

And again: "Every science and art,
all human thought, experience, and
discovery, had poured their treasure in
one stream into the bosom of that
society which, after forty -four years
of undisputed rule, Augustus had
consolidated into a new system of
government and bequeathed to the
charge of Tiberius."*

Wealth, luxury, the majesty of law
and order, the unifying influence of
the Pax -Romana, which bound the
nations together into one, and formed a
providential instrument for the rapid
spread of Christianity ; high and noble
thought, profound philosophy, the culti-
vation of art and poetry, a love of the
Beautiful, the Good, and the True, — all
these things might be seen on the sur-
face. But underneath! What of that?
Two great falsehoods undermined the
immense and seemingly glorious fabric
of the great Greek-Roman civilization —
a falsehood concerning God; and a
falsehood, consequent upon the other,
concerning man. These two falsehoods
ate like a canker into the very heart ol
society and made it rotten to the core.

• I.c.c. cit.

We are astonished to find, in the
writings of the philosophers of the time,
certain sentiments expressed about God,
which, at first sight, appear to be
almost Christian in tone. It is, indeed,
a fact that, under Augustus, the
minds of men turned with a growing
aspiration toward forms of worship
less formal, more personal, and appar-
ently more satisfying to the needs of
the soul than the old official rites
of the Roman mythology. This trend
of religious thought we may certainly
look upon as a providential preparation
of men's minds for the coming of
One who would satisfy their needs
and aspirations to the full. Hitherto
religion had been looked upon as an
appanage of the State. The State was
all in all. For the State the individual
man existed. The gods were to be
worshiped, and sacrifice was offered
to them, because they w^ere the gods
of Rome. The Emperor himself was
deified as representing the majesty of
the Empire, the true object of devotion
to every Roman heart ; and thus relig-
ion had practically become identified
with patriotism.

Many circumstances tended, at the
period of Our Lord's coming, to pro-
duce an alteration in this manner of
regarding religion. The barriers which
separated race from race had fallen;
the distinctions between various classes
of citizens were being eliminated ; as
the absolute power of the Emperor
grew greater and greater, individual
liberty grew less and less; fortune,
prosperity, and life itself were at the
mercy of a despot. The great mass of
the people were poverty-stricken and
often in want of bread ; while the rich
classes had given themselves up to
such unbridled luxury, and to carnal
pleasures of so base a nature, that
they had become satiated at last,
and, disgusted by over-indulgence, were
ready to welcome any influence that
should tear them away from, vices

THE AYE MARIA.

835

which they had no power themselves
to overcome.*

Under the influence of this feehng,
people were ready to listen to the
teachings of philosophy, if, perchance,
it might be able to supply a remedy ;
whilst many rushed eagerly after the
newly introduced religions of the ancient
East, which, with their initiations,
ceremonial washings, and mysterious
rites, held out the promise, vain though
it was, of interior renovation and rescue
from the deadly sense of pollution and
the utter weariness of life which afflicted
those whose worldly position most
excited the envy of all who knew them.
Such w^ere the aspirations of many at
this time ; and such were the means by
which they sought to satisfy them.

Having tried in vain to extract
happiness from sensual pleasures, or
from a life of ease, spent in the cultiva-
tion or the admiration of the unpar-
alleled art of Greece, they turned to
philosophy and to every strange religion
which the extension of empire introduced
into Rome. A result of this was an
attempt to bring into one religious
system, to comprehend in one religious
faith, the various beliefs of the peoples
now included within the Empire. As
might be supposed, this attempt on the
part of thinkers did not meet with any
great measure of success. One result,
however, it had, which was not unim-
portant in view of the coming revela-
tion of God to the heathen world.
There arose a tendency to identify the
different gods of the conquered races
with the gods and goddesses of the
Greek and Roman mythologies, and to
consider them no longer as distinct
beings, but as different manifestations
of the great Force which permeated and
governed the world, and to which was
due the ever-changing series of natural
phenomena which, of old, had been
ascribed each to a separate deity often

• Cf. "Histoire des Dograes par S. Tixeront,'
1905. Ch I.

at war with the others. This concep-
tion of the gods of the mythologies
was not limited to men of culture and
learning, but made its way, to a certain
extent, even among the masses. At the
same time, from a spirit of conserva-
tism, and out of respect for the State,
which continued to hold its place as an
object of religious devotedness, the ofd
forms of worship were still outwardly
observed, though scoffed at secretly,
and sometimes openly, by the more
enlightened classes.

But what was the heathen idea of
the universal, all-penetrating, governing
Force manifested in the operations of
Nature, of which, to the minds of
the more modern, the gods of the
heathen mythologies were but manifes-
tations ? Had these any such transcend-
ent conception of God as Christianity
has given to us? Was God to them a
Person, a Father, a Being removed by
the infinitude of absolute perfection
from the category of all other beings
whatsoever? We may reply that, in
the field of speculation — regarded, that
is, as an object, for philosophizing, —
the idea of God did not rise above a
pantheistic conception of the deity.

"The divine essence," writes Tixeront,
" was regarded as one, but as divisible
and communicable. From this divine
essence sprang the gods of the mythol-
ogies, happy and immortal; but from
this same essence sprang also the souls
of heroes and of virtuous men: there
was in the latter a 'genius' which
would survive them, and take, after
death, a definite position in the ranks
of the gods. This principle admitted, the
apotheosis, first of illustrious ancestors,
then of the more considerable sort of
mtn, and, finally, by flattery, of all the
emperors, has nothing astonishing in it.
It came to be believed in every family,
even, that its departed members had
ascended to the gods from whom they
had sprung. Much less was there any-
thing repugnant to sentiment in the

836

THE AYE IVARIA

idea that the gods appeared on earth.
The opposition encountered at first by
this idea grew less and less, and by
the time of the Antonines had overcome
many of its adversaries."

Together w^ith the attempted unifica-
tion of religions, there was in progress
during the period which we are con-
sidering a unification of philosophical
systems. The great schools of philos-
ophy still had their followers— the
Pythagorean, the Platonic, the Aris-
totelian, the Epicurean, and the Stoic.
But all these philosophies tended to
ally themselves with the Stoic. Accord-
ing to the Stoic teaching, there is no
such thing as a pure spirit : everything
is material, though matter may be of
greater or less density or grossness.
Spirit is identified with God and is the
least gross of all material bodies. It is
a subtle fire, a hidden force, immanent
in all things; it penetrates the world,
and governs the movements of all
nature ; in a word, it is the vivifying
soul of all things, though, be it remem-
bered, it is a corporeal, material soul.

From God proceeded a denser, grosser,
element which the Stoics called matter.
From God also proceed all the forces
of nature, and the soul of man himself,
w^hich all schools, except the Epicurean,
held to be immortal, and liable to
happiness or misery as the reward or
punishment for the actions of life. But
God thus governs and moves the world,
not in virtue of creative power by
which He brought it forth from nothing
by the Fiat of an almighty will; but
because the world itself is an emana-
tion from God, a part and portion
of His being. The Stoic philosophy
was then, in truth, nothing else than
a materialistic pantheism. God was
material ; the material world is but an
emanation from God, as smoke is an
emanation from hidden fire raging
below the surface of a heap of ashes.

The teachings of Plato had been purer
than this. In psychology, in his theories

of the origin and constitution of the
v/orld, in his moral teaching, Plato
had risen above the common errors
of his day ; had recognized and had
taught many natural truths coricerning
the world and the world's Creator and
Lord. And, in spite of the predominance
of the Stoic ideas, the noble teachings
of Socrates, commented upon by the
great masters, Plato and Aristotle,
introduced into the minds of many
purer notions of God, of man and his
destiny, of the need he has of a
Saviour, and of his dependence upon
a superior Being. Plato himself draws
a clear distinction between God and
the material world. Nevertheless, there
are elements even in the philosophy of
Plato which lent themselves afterward
to the pantheistic conception later in
vogue. He admitted a w^orld-soul,
from which emanated the souls of the
heavenly bodies. These, in their turn,
becoming divided, formed the souls of
men and animals. Into the world-soul,
thus divided up, was inserted the divine
"mind," or "intelligence," inferior to
God Himself, conceived by Plato as
the supreme Good, but superior to the
world-soul in which it took up its habi-
tation. A nephew of Plato afterward
identified the "Divine Intelligence" of
his uncle's philosophy with the world-
soul itself; and thus we have an
approximation to the pantheistic belief
of the Stoics.

So much, then, for the speculative
ideas of God current in the world
which Christianity had to conquer. In
the field of morals, in the application
to practical life of its doctrines,
philosophy was guilty of a happy
inconsistency. God is no longer re-
garded as identical with a world
which emanates from Him ; He is no
longer Nature itself, or the blind Neces-
sity which moves the great wheel of
Nature's life according to ruthless laws.
When the Stoic philosophers come to
speak of man's moral duties, they use

THE AVE MARIA

837

language very different from what we
find in the speculative part of their
philosophy. Lucretius, Cicero, and above
all Seneca, who was a contemporary
of Our Lord, and Marcus Aurelius, who
lived a century later, present us with
moral sentiments which might have
issued from the mouth of one of the
Fathers of the Church in the first
ages of the Christian faith. Seneca
speaks of God as a Person, as our
Judge, our Father; a Providence ever
watching over us, and close to us.
"God is near thee, with thee, within
thee." "Within us is a sacred spirit,
our keeper ; the observer of our actions,
good and bad." He teaches sentiments
of resignation and love toward God,
and lays down the necessity of obedience
to His will.

As regards a man's self, this heathen
philosopher recommends a wise and
prudent austerity. We are to be mod-
erate in the enjoyment of the things of
this world — of riches, of food and
drink ; we are to repress the passions
of the body and the desires of the heart.
He teaches, moreover, the doctrine oi
the brotherhood of men, and the conse-
quent duty of doing good to all without
distinction of wealth or rank. It is no
wonder that the opinion gained ground
that Seneca had met and conversed
with the Apostle St. Paul. Nor were
these sentiments entirely restricted to
the cultured and thinking classes:
they were spread amongst the masses
of the people by philosophers such as
Papirius Fabianus, and others, who
preached them to the people at the
street comers and in public places.

Thus some glimmerings of truth shone
in the dark places. The ancient truths
of the Personality and Fatherhood of
God, of the brotherhood of men; of
man's dependence upon a higher Power,
and of his duties as a moral, responsible
being, penetrated here and there the
hearts and minds of those who sat in
darkness, like the first faint rays of the

Sun of Justice soon to rise in its full
glory upon the earth. The last phase
of Grecian philosophy, the Neo- Platonic,
was an attempt to satisfy the new-felt
need of a revelation or truth from on
high, and the awakening desire of closer
union with the divine. But, in spite of
this, it still remains true that the two
great falsehoods of which we have
spoken held their gloomy sway over the
minds of most. The terrible state of
society alone proves this. To men at
large, notwithstanding the teachings of
philosophy, God was utterly unknown
in His true nature. In His place men
set up idols of their own imagining
and bowed down and worshiped them.
They did not look upon God as Father,
Creator, Lord. And they had utterly lost
sight of the personal dignity of every
man as the creation and child of God.
The Empire of Rome," writes Mr.
Allies, "rested upon the slavery of the
majority. Outside of the narrow range
of citizenship, man was a thing in the
eyes of his fellowraan, — an instrument,
not a person. And even within the
circle of citizenship, the State treated
the individual as devoid of personal,
inalienable rights. For the false prin-
ciple of disregarding man as man lay
at the foundation of the human Com-
monwealth itself. Slavery was its most
offensive and most ruimus result; but
it ruled even the highest political rela-
tions of man with his fellowman. The
dignity and value of man as a reason-
able soul, the image of God, were not
known; but in their stead were sub-
stituted the dignity and value which he
might possess as a member of the
political body. But, thus viewed, the
part is inferior to the whole. And so it
came to pass that the Sta
not only the interests of
and the sojourner, but
citizen, in himself and ii]
well as in his property, a^
unlimited sovereignty. .
these miseries had a deep abic

cause.

838

THE AVE MARIA.

" The fountain of all truth and right
was concealed to men. The Judge of
the earth was not seen to sit upon
His throne. Men had in their thought
broken up the Ruler and Rewarder of
the world into numberless idols, whose
range was limited and their rule con-
flicting; and the human conscience
amid this moral twilight groped after
the scattered fragments of truth and
justice. Here and there, indeed, Polythe-
ism itself bore witness to its own
fatal error ; as where, in the city which
was the eye of Greece and the university
of heathenism, it inscribed an altar
to the Unknown God. And Tertullian
could appeal for testimony against
the schools and the philosophers to the
simple, unlettered soul, to the language
of the street and the manufactory,
to men's household words in joy or
sorrow, as when they said, 'If God
will,' 'God grant it,' 'Good God,' 'God
bless you.' Yet practically the eclipse
of the truth on which man's spirit
should live was all but total, and the
reign of sensual indulgence unbounded.
The whole of man was " given to
the goods that met the eye. He tried
them in all their richness and variety;
plunged into them, was speedily sati-
ated, and was then ready 'to die of
weariness.' This was the world in
which St. Peter and St. Paul raised the
standard of the Cross."

The fitful gleams of truth which are
discernible in the philosophy of the
times we are considering, the nobler
aspirations which filled men's souls, the
elevated maxims of morality uttered
by a philofopher such as Seneca, did
not succeed in furnishing a remedy to
society, sick to death. One thing, of
course, that was wanting was the
means of grace afterward offered so
abundantly in the Catholic Church.
But the inability of such noble precepts
as astonish us in the writings of that
day, to impress themselves upon the
heart with force sufficient to produce

a reformation in conduct, was also
due to the uncertain voice with w^hich
Philosophy enunciated her lessons.
It needed the voice of God Himself,
speaking through His Son, to make
men certain of what they were fain to
believe, but could not establish beyond
all fear of paralyzing doubt. "Two
words," says a recent writer, "will
express the state of men's minds : there
was confusion and uncertainty, with,
at the same time, aspirations toward
certainty and light. The doctrines of
metaphysic, which are the basis of all
else, w^ere in a state of flux. No one
was quite sure whether there were any
God, what was the soul, and whence it
came ; and thus, in great part, the moral
aphorisms which the sane reasoning
of a Cicero or a Seneca was able to
discover w^ere denuded of their force."

Those who wished for some fixed
belief had recourse to the mysteries and
magic of Eastern superstitions such as
the worship of Mithras. But at last
the light broke upon the Roman world.
To Rome came one who held the secret
of man's complete regeneration : Peter
the erstwhile fisherman ; and after him
came Paul. And these two men "recon-
structed society with two forces. They
disclosed God on the one hand, and His
creature, the human soul, on the other ;
but God clothed in human flesh, and
the human soul raised to a participa-
tion of this incarnate God. These were
their two factors, and in their teaching
every human duty became the result
of the joint application."

Under the influence of this teaching
the world was changed, the old false-
hoc ci§ dispelled ; the mighty fabric of
the Roman Empire became the potent
instrument for the spread of divine
truth; and a revolution was worked
such as the world had never seen
before, and which will stand to the
end of time as a witness to the super-
natural power by which alone it could
have been produced.

THE AVE MARIA.

839

Pretty Miss Redmond.

HERE was no snow upon the
ground, though it was Christmas ;
but a hard, scintillating frost,
which sparkled in the sunlight,
and crystallized the trees till they shone
again. There had been much talk
beforehand about a "green Christmas,"
and everyone had been predicting that
the absence of snow would spoil trade
and prevent the proper celebration of
the festival. Yet the holiday time had
come, and the holly berries were just
as red and the Christmas wreaths as
green and the markets and the shops
had been as abundantly supplied as
ever, and the purses of the tradespeople
to the full as plethoric.

Nevertheless, on Christmas morning
pretty Miss Redmond was cross and
discontented, simply because no wish
of hers had been left ungratified. She
had everything she desired, and she
wished, like Alexander, that something
else was left to crave. She hated to
grumble outright and spoil everybody
else's pleasure ; but she sat discon-
tentedly at the window, and drummed
a tattoo with her white fingers, upon
one of which gleamed a costly jewel.
She was wishing, as she sat, that she
could believe again in St. Nicholas as
she had done long ago in childhood;
and she began retrospectively to pass
in review all those Christmases of other
days, touched by that magic light
"which never was on sea or shore" —
the glamour of youth.

She was aroused from her reverie by
the arrival of a tall, fair young man,
who had played Santa Claus as regards
the jewel upon her hand, and upon
whom pretty Miss Redmond intended
to bestow herself, once the holiday
time was past. She had had many
admirers; and rumor, stimulated by the
disappointed ones, was not slow to say
that the beauty had been very capri-

cious in her treatment of most of them.

Miss Redmond on this occasion took
very little notice of the arrival of her
future husband, and sat silently looking
out upon the sunlit street.

"I wish I were young again," she
said at last, — "young enough, I mean,
to believe in Santa Claus."

"That wish is not very complimentary
to me," laughed the young man.

"I'm in no mood for compliments,"
retorted pretty Miss Redmond, some-
what snappishly. "I feel discontented
with everything and everybody."

"The best cure for discontent," said
the young man, gravely, "is to see the
miseries of others. Just think how many
poor people there are in this town!"

Miss Redmond reflected upon this
speech, her head resting thoughtfully
upon her hand. Suddenly her face lit up.

"Oh," she cried, "that gives me an
idea! Suppose we go out and try to
find some of the people, so that we
can play Santa Claus?"

The young man looked a trifle
startled, but he knew by past experience
that pretty Miss Redmond had to be
obeyed; and, all things considered, a
walk along the frosty streets with
that charming young woman would
not be so very disagreeable. Only he
proposed an amendment: that they
should wait till the afternoon, as the
early darkness of the winter day would
be much more favorable to their
projects than the brilliant sunshine.

Miss Redmond acquiesced in this
arrangement, and busied herself in
preparing two baskets stored with all
manner of things which she thought
might be useful in the benevolent role
she meant to play. She also took with
ner a well-filled pocketbook ; and, when
the time came, obscured her beauty
somewhat under a large cloak which
she borrowed for the occasion.

When the benevolent pair had made
their way to the poorer part of the
town, they came to a house standing

840

THE AVE MARIA.

somewhat apart, in a plot of ground ;
and, drawing near, they looked in at
the windows. They saw a dark and
squalid room, with a wretched-looking
woman sitting drearily beside a fireless
hearth, and a horde of children of all
sizes, some of whom had set up a
dismal wailing because they had no
Christmas and no Santa Claus. There
was a broken pane in the w^indow^, and
through this aperture Miss Redmond
began to throw into the apartment
a variety of toys, sugar plums, gilded
nuts, crowned by a five dollar bill.
Then she took her companion's arm
and hurried him away. They ran like
two happy children till they were out
of sight, pursued by joyful shouts from
w^ithin the house:

"Santa Claus! Santa Claus!"

Next they came to a dreary-looking
cellar, which belonged to a warehouse,
closed up and deserted for Christmas
Day. But through the open door
pretty Miss Redmond and her com-
panion heard voices, and learned that
a sick man lay within, and his wife
deplored in a plaintive voice -that she
had no wine or delicacies of any sort
to stimulate his appetite, and that the
man himself had a curious, unreasonable
longing for flowers.

"Quick!" whispered Miss Redmond.
" In that basket you are carrying, John,
is a bottle of port wine, a shape of
jelly, and some cake. We'll put them
just inside the door, with this bunch
of roses I have here under my cloak.
Then you can knock, and we'll hide to
hear what they say."

This programme was carried out to
the letter. And they were much touched
and amused by the astonishment of the
good woman, on answering the knock,
to see no one outside; and still more
v^'hen she almost stumbled over the
very objects for which she had been
wishing. They heard, too, the woman
w^onderingly relating to the invalid
what had befallen, and the exclama-

tions of delight with which the latter
received the roses.

"It must have been an angel of God
who has visited us unawares," said the
man. "You remember, wife, how we
read in Scripture of such angel visits?"

" Yes," said the wife. " Let us humbly
give thanks, and hope for brighter
days, my dear, since His Providence
has watched over us."

The two without made good their
escape, humbled, yet gladdened ; and
their way led them next to a species
of Home, where, at the door, sat and
grumbled a few old men pensioners,
because their allowance of tobacco
was so small and they had got scarce
anything extra at all for Christmas.

"If only some of the great folk had
come a-visitin'," said one old man,
"they might have given us pennies for
tobacco."

Scarcely had he spoken when there
was a shower of silver money scat-
tered amongst them, and the quavering
voices were rai.sed in joyful exclama-
tions, whilst the most active amongst
them gathered up the mysterious bene-
factions and made a fair division. Miss
Redmond and her betrothed who had
hidden behind a projection of the build-
ing, stole away whilst the pensioners
divided the money.

" It is time to go home now," said the
young man. " You see it is getting late :
the first stars are already out."

"The stars of Christmas," said pretty
Miss Redmond, looking up, "shining
down upon so much misery."

But, having tasted of this new kind
of happiness, she was reluctant to
relinquish the cup.

"Let us go to one more place," she
said; "and then I will certainly go
home." '

So they passed on farther till they
came to a very hovel,— a miserable,
dark abode; and, peering in, they saw
an old woman, utterly alone, sitting
there forlorn and wretched. Presently

THE AVE MARIA.

841

she began to talk and mumble to
herself, wishing for a cup of tea instead
of the cold porridge upon which she
had been subsisting ; and wishing for a
bit of Christmas green, and for a picture
of the Christ Child ; and, most of all,
for cheerful young faces to come in at
the door, as they used to do in the long
ago, crying out, "Merry Christmas!"

By this time the tears were running
down pretty Miss Redmond's cheeks.

"Oh," she said, "to think that I could
dare to be discontented, and here is this
poor old soul, all alone and wishing
for the simplest things! We must go
in and brighten her up, and make some
of that tea which is in the basket, and
give her a real Christmas."

So the3- passed over the threshold and
set about a work of transformation.
Miss Redmond lit several colored candles
which she had brought in her basket;
and, seeing some sticks of wood near
the hearth, caused John to light up
a splendid, blazing fire, over which
they hung an almost disused kettle.
Then, while the tea was brewing. Miss
Redmond drew over a somewhat rickety
table arid covered it with a white cloth,
and set in the centre a prettily decorated
Christmas cake and some jelly and
grapes and sweetmeats. She took out
a holly wreath or two and a few yards
of Christmas greens from the bottom of
John's basket, and began to distribute
them here and there. The poor old
creature watched all these preparations
with sparkling eyes, only saying from
time to time:

"Glory be to God!"

When all was ready. Miss Redmond
threw off her cloak, and showed herself,
prettier than ever, with glowing face
and eyes bright with happiness. And
while she served the old woman she
and John, cried over and over again,
" Merry Christmas ! Merry Christmas ! "
And they laughed and jested, and drank
healths in the tea out of cracked cups
which stood upon the shelf.

The old woman was immensely cheered
and gladdened. She told them some-
thing of her history, and how she had
lost all her children one by one, till
at last she was left alone. A neighbor
woman came when she could to help
her in and out of bed and attend to
her wants. But that woman, too, was
miserably poor and had little enough
for herself.

While they talked thus, the very good
Samaritan arrived in great haste. She
had seen the lights from w^ithout, and
feared that the hovel was on fire. She
stood upon the threshold in amaze-
ment, and stared about her so, that
Miss Redmond burst into a peal of
laughter. Presently all was explained ;
and the woman had a share in the
good things; so that she also had a
happy Christmas.

Before she left. Miss Redmond pro-
duced from the inexhaustible baskets a
warm shawl and the coveted picture —
a brightly colored one — of the Infant
of Bethlehem lying upon a couch of
straw, forever the inspiration and the
consolation of those who, being poor,
are promised the Kingdom for their
inheritance. And it almost seemed to
the awe -stricken pair who had been
playing the part of Santa Claus, as they
saw the aged eyes fix themselves upon
the countenance of the new -bom
Saviour and slowly fill with tears, and
as they listened to the murmur of
devout ejaculations, that they could
likewise hear the benediction falling
from the sacred lips:

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for
theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven."

Miss Redmond promised that she and
her companion would come very often
to relieve the loneliness of the hovel.

"You shall have your wish, and see
cheerful faces coming in at the door,"
she cried out impulsively. "And though
they are not the faces you knew long
ago, they will keep you from dark
thoughts and loneliness."

842

THE AVE MARIA

It -weLS dark when the two bade the
old woman "Good-bye," with a last
"Merry Christmas." The sky was full
of a profusion of stars, deep golden
against the blue, the witnesses and the
reminder of those stars upon which
the Shepherds gazed of old, and which
were surpassed in brilliancy by the reful-
gence of celestial spirits, made manifest
to the humble of earth. Snow had
begun to fall, touching all things with
its fairylike radiance; merry voices
sounded through the dusk, and pretty
Miss Redmond was conscious of a rare
lightness of spirit.

When she got home, she loudly pro-
claimed that this had been the happiest
Christmas she had ever spent, and
she warmly thanked her prospective
husband for his bright idea. She was,
indeed, so genial and so altogether
charming that the young man, who
had begun to feel a little afraid of the
wisdom of his choice, now congratu-
lated himself most heartily that he
had disregarded all warnings and had
made up his mind to marry "pretty
Miss Redmond."

'James Hargreaves, Junior."

BY MARY CROSS.

The Days.

BY EDWIN CARLILE LITSEY.

"THE days go by — how swiftly do they go!
And I? What am I doing with each one?
'Twas yesterday 1 spoke a hasty word,
And saw a dear one flinch when it was done.

To rise from sleep, to battle with the world.
To eat, to read a while, then sleep again, —

Do I fulfil my stewardship with this?
Is this full tribute from my heart and brain?

Who shieldeth with his strength the weaker ones.
Who never slights the little, tender things;

Who wears a smile before Misfortune's face, —
For him, the Court above with honor rings.

May I, each day, keep gentleness in view,
And courtesy, and words of hope and cheer ;

And strive, with all that in me is, to meet
Each day with courage, as it doth appear!

" T T®\ILLIAM, I wish you'd leave off
vV/ wearing that prehistoric hat.
What will people think?" plaintively
remonstrated little Mrs. Withnall, lady-
housekeeper in the boarding establish-
ment of the said William, who looked
up from his chrysanthemums to reply :

"The opinion of the woman next door
is the moral and social law of half the
women in the kingdom, I know ; but it
doesn't govern me. I shall wear what
I please, when I please, where I please."

The brown- faced, laughing-eyed young
man who had just settled Mrs. Withnall
in a basket-chair, under the shade of a
Japanese umbrella, essayed a diversion.
He took a survey of the scene, from the
white walls of the house — one of many
rising in stately dignity along the
Promenade — to the pier stretching its
interminable length along, the vast
expanse of sand, and the sea glimmering
into union with the clouds far away,
and cheerfully remarked :

"Southport is all sand and shrimps
and sunshine, isn't it ? "

"I can't help that. I didn't make
it," replied Mr. Hargreaves.

The young man made another attempt
to promote friendly conversation.

" Mrs. Withnall says a new guest will
arrive to-day, — a lady. Is she young
or old?"

"I don't know. Visitors don't state
their ages when they are engaging
rooms," said Mr. Hargreaves.

To that rebuff Mr. Ellis succumbed.
He led himself by the nose across the
croquet lawn, and through the hall,
to a room where a girl sat arranging
flowers, — a girl with the blue eyes
of the "Lancashire witches," a fresh
complexion, and hair that was a prison
for sunbeams.

"Is it all right?" the young, man

THE AVE MARIA.

B43

asked, releasing and indicating his nose.
"Is it there yet? Mr. Hargreaves has
done his best to snap it off, and I shall
never get another like it."

"You must make allowance for the
worries attending the management of
this establishment," she said. "It is a
large family, and the head of it can't
help aching sometimes. Are you going
to waste this lovely day indoors?"

"I'm waiting for you to fulfil your
promise of walking with me to Holywell
Haw," said he, seating himself near her
with the air of having come to stay.
He had been in Southport for months;
other boarders came and went, but he
remained, his holidays appearing to be
elastic.

"I must finish preparing my table
decorations first. Judging from her
inquiries and comments. Lady Skeffing-
ton is rather critical, and I don't want
any avoidable deficiencies or imperfec-
tions to offend her, — the new paying-
guest, I mean."

"Lady Skeffingtpn!" he repeated,
stooping to recover a rose, the hue of
which his complexion suddenly rivalled.
He walked to the window, all his
flags half-mast high, consternation and
perplexity struggling for supremacy in
his expression.

"A succession of Skefiingtons of both
sexes have tried Uncle William's temper
sadly," said Ethel. "And how easily he
might have been released from sordid
cares and worries! A little justice, a
little generosity, a recognition of the
claims of kinship, would have done it.
His elder brother James, a bachelor like
himself, grew rich beyond the dreams
of avarice, and adopted a young man
on whom he bestowed his name, and
eventually his fortune. The brothers
had not met for many years, had drifted
far apart; nevertheless, I think that
some of that wealth might have been
allowed to find its way to the one who
had had the 'downs' and not the 'ups'
of life. Soon after James Hargreaves'

death, we heard that his heir had gone
to South Africa to hunt big game.
Uncle William — as I call him, though
we are only forty-second cousins — stays
at home, pleasing, or trying to please,
SkeiBngtons for a livelihood. It relieves
my feelings to tell you the tale for the
fiftieth time, because I do despise that
grasping, selfish young man who totally
ignores his benefactor's brother."

"What is he like?" asked Mr. Ellis,
who seemed at a loss what to say.

"Oh, I never saw him, or the elder
James Hargreaves either ! How should
I? Their paths lay 'mid pleasures and
palaces, mine somewhere else. Now I'm
ready for that walk if you are."

Presently thej' were pacing together
along Birkdale Road, with its handsome
residences, and gardens a mingled splen-
dor of ro.ses and pansies. They halted
at Holywell Haw, once a lonely little
hermitage, now a farmhouse where
refreshments await the traveller. Under
green apple boughs a table was set with
tea and cakes and strawberries and
cream. All around were bushes of
thyme and lavender; tall phloxes and
lupines swayed softly to and fro; hens
had scratched deep into the earth for a
cool resting-place, and a cat basked in
the sunshine with full-fed, self-satisfied
calm. The comely hostess smiled
approval of the young pair as the3' sat
amidst the fragrance and the bloom.

Like Mr. Toots of " Dombey and Son,"
Mr. Ellis had fallen into a deep well of
silence, from which he watched Ethel's
hands fluttering over the teacups, until,
no longer able to feign unconsciousness
of his unbroken observation, she offered
him a penny with the explanation:

" F'or your thoughts."

"Oh, I'll present you with them!" he
said. "I — I was wishing that you'd
pour out tea for me all my life."

"What a dreadfully monotonous
existence and diet you must desire! But
isn't it time that we were homeward
bound ? "

844

THE AYE MARIA.

"Would we were this moment bound
for the home that is waiting for you,
if only you will come to it ! You know
that I love you. Will you be my wife ? "

" If you were the only man on earth, I
am not sure that I would marry you — "

"Ethel!" he protested.

"But as you are not, — well, it makes
a difference," she finished, demurely.

"You wicked little thing, you sent
my heart right down into my boots !
As I am not 'the only man,' and
therefore you are in a position to prove
my superiority by comparing me with
others, — no, I can't joke about it, Ethel.
Your answer means so much to me. I
shall go on loving you forever, no mat-
ter what you say; but— but say 'Yes.'
Give me the right to make you happy."

The desired word was spoken, and
Ellis entered the Lovers' Paradise.

"Mother will be pleased: she likes
you," said Ethel, as they walked down
the narrow garden path.

"That is perfectly satisfactory. There
is no one else to be consulted."

"Uncle William. Yes, Norbert, you
must ask his consent also. I owe him
all respect and gratitude. However
crusty he may sometimes be, I can't
forget that he brought mother and me
to his home from mean lodgings and a
hard struggle for existence. In striking
contrast to the treatment he received
from James Hargreaves, junior. Uncle
William has shared with us all along,
whether he had much or little. So you
must ask his consent. Please look
more cheerful about it."

"For your sake, dear, I won't shirk
hanging; but don't expect me to skip
with the rope first. I can't look cheerful
at the prospect of being ordered out
of the house, — for that is probably
what will happen when I approach Mr.
Hargreaves. Thank goodness, I have
no crusty relatives to kneel before!"

Ethel did not answer. The laughing
thanksgiving suddenly reminded her
that she knew but little of this gay

lover of hers, who had come into her
life like a white sail on a sunny river.
She was rather quiet and thoughtful
as they returned to Southport, but any
and all of her moods were charming
to Norbert Ellis. A red streak in the
sky denoted that the fires of sunset were
kindling; excursionists from Wigan or
St. Helen's were leaving the sands
and the lake; and the donkeys were
"trekking" to the station, laden with
Ormskirk gingerbread and shrimps ;
from hotels and boarding - houses
dressing-bells were clanging.

"O Ethel, Lady Skeffington has
arrived ! " was Mrs. Withnall's greeting
as her daughter entered the little
private parlor. "She doesn't like the
view; she thinks the breakfast hour
too early ; she hopes we use only china
tea, and don't allow the maids to
accept tips."

Ethel laughed, and hastened away to
change her attire ; then sped to the
drawing-room, where the new arrival,
the widow of a civic knight, was
surveying the other guests with lofty
disdain. Her attire indicated that she
suffered both from pride of purse and
chronic girlishness, which latter in a
matron of "sweet and sixty" is apt to
be trying. A condemnation of Ethel's
dainty grace manifested itself in her
chilling response to that young lady's
salutation. When Mr. Ellis entered,
a crimson flush asserted itself through
her powder; she suppressed an excla-
mation and fanned herself violently.
Not having observed these danger
signals, Ethel performed the ceremony
of introduction, and tripped away.

"So you have taken refuge in an
alias t^' said Lady Skefiington to the
young man. "I'm not surprised. It is
the resource of a person who has cause
to be ashamed of himself"

"Shall we meet as strangers?" he
suggested.

" If you mean to ask have I forgotten
and forgiven, the answer is that I never

THE AVE MARIA.

845

shall. You inflicted an injury beyond
forgiveness."

Norbert bowed and retired; he was
not in the mood for an exchange of
reproaches, and Mr. Hargreaves came
forward to conduct her ladyship to the
dining-room. On the way he politely
expressed a hope that she would enjoy
her visit to Southport.

"I am afraid I shan't," she replied,
tartly. " I don't think I have much in
common with the people here."

"You are too flattering to us," was
his retaliation, so blandly delivered that
she accepted it as a compliment.

"It will be impossible for me to
remain, under present conditions," she
confided to him; "but I will speak
with you on the subject at a more
fitting time."

Mr. Hargreaves inwardly groaned
as he took the head of the table with
her ladyship on his right, anticipating
a prolonged grumble about things in
general from the new visitor. Between
the courses she looked at him rather
more observantly, and remarked in a
confidential tone:

"It is curious that you not only bear
the same name, but even resemble a
dear friend of mine now dead — the late
Squire Hargreaves of Exeter."

"The name is not uncommon," he
answered. One of his mottoes was,
"Never give unnecessary information,"
and "he saW no reason for stating his
relationship to the late Squire.

" Mr. Hargreaves was, as I am myself,
of a much too trustful nature," she
said, pensively reminiscent; "and his
trust was betrayed by one who owed
him everything,— one whom he treated
as a son, but who did not respect his
dying wishes. What a pretty girl your

niece is

I "

The abrupt change of subject left
Hargreaves with a staggering brain.

"At least Mr. Ellis — as he calls him-
self—seems to think so," she supple-
mented.

"'As he calls himself?" echoed Mr.
Hargreaves. In Norbert's eyes and
Ethel's blushes he had read the old,
old story before this directing of his
attention to it; and he was on the
alert, for his niece's sake.

"He had another name not so long
ago," said her ladyship. "It was a
great shock and trial to me to meet
him here after the painful circumstances
in the past. He jilted, in an exception-
ally heartless and dishonorable manner,
a lady to whom he was in honor
bound. It is only right to tell you of
it in time."

"Thank you!" said the man, whose
brow had become a meeting-place for
wrinkles,— "perhaps, though, we should
discuss the matter less publicly."

"That is my intention. After dinner
I shall tell you all I know of James
Hargreaves, junior. He is very hand-
some, I grant; but all that glitters is
not gold."

Mr. Hargreaves looked bewildered.
The conversation becoming general, her
ladyship retired behind a wall of
haughty silence.

Progressive whist had been arranged
for the evening's entertainment, but
Norbert did not take part in it. He
slipped from the room in search of
Ethel, finding her in the porch listening
to the distant sob of the sea.

"Why aren't you doing your duty
upstairs?" she asked.

" My duty is downstairs, guarding
my future wife from catching a bad
cold. My future wife! How it sounds!
And you don't know whether you are
to marry a millionaire or a pauper!"

"I am admirably adapted for either
po.sition. I can make a sovereign go as
far as a shilling, or vice versa."

"The vice versA won't be compulsory.
What a sweetheart you are ! You have
never asked me what I have done in
the past years of my life."

"Nothing mean or dishonorable, I am
sure," she said proudly, — a confession

846

THE AVE MARIA.

of faith that met with an appropriate
reward.

Later that night she was beckoned
into Lady Skeffington's dressing-room ;
and she prepared for a series of com-
plaints,— for anything, indeed, but what
followed.

"You are a good little girl, I think,"
said her ladyship, patronizingly,— " too
good to be trifled with; therefore I
intend to warn you that your friend,
Mr. Ellis, is not to be trusted. He
shamelessly jilted another lady."

" Oh, I can't believe that ! " cried Ethel,
impulsively.

"Of course not. Perhaps you can't
or won't believe either that he is an
adventurer who basely betrayed the
confidence of his benefactor. He is
the adopted son of the late Squire
Hargreaves. Why he is masquerading
in an assumed name is possibly best
known to himself."

Ethel all but fainted. Was it possible
that he whom she loved and trusted
w^as identical with the man whom she
despised for his selfishness and greed ?
A glance at the triumphant face of her
informant recalled her to her senses.
She was sustained by her absolute
confidence in her lover's honor and
integrity ; she would believe in Norbert
against the world.

"Please excuse me! I am very tired,"
she said, and got off the scene with
dignity.

Meanwhile Mr. Hargreaves had
tracked the scent of a cigar to its
origin, and found Norbert smoking and .
stargazing in the porch. He uttered a
suggvjstive "Good-night!"

"Ten minutes' grace!" the young
man pleaded. "This has been a day of
days for me. I have asked Ethel to be
my wife, and she has referred me to you.
I can satisfy you as to my position — "

"I would rather be satisfied as to
your character, particularly in point
of fidelity."

"Ah! Lady Skeffington has shot her

poisoned arrow, I perceive," observed
Norbert, calmly.

"For reasons that seem good to her,
she refuses to remain here if you are
permitted to do so. Does it occur to
your sense of propriety that you ought
to be the one to go?"

"I don't intend to run away from
her ladyship. I have done nothing dis-
honorable, whatsoever she may assert."

"You consider it honorable to make
love to Ethel under an assumed name ? "
asked Hargreaves.

The young man looked steadily and
straightly at him.

"My name is Norbert Ellis," he said.
"For a time I bore the name of James
Hargreaves, but I forfeited it a few
years ago. You know that I am your
late brother's adopted son ? I gave
up the Hargreaves name and fortune
because I could not fulfil the conditions
on which I was to ^tain them. Failing
mj' marrying a woman whom Iloathed,
the money was to be divided between
her and an hospital. She had great
influence with Mr. Hargreaves, and I
fear she persuaded him that such a will
as he made would be in harmony with
my wishes. I — I am sorry to say that
she — rather — er — liked me, and she
caused it to be publicly stated that she
was engaged to me. She was next in a
position to say that I had heartlessly
jilted her. I went to South Africa to
seek my fortune, and had an extraor-
dinary run of success. Providence com-
pensating me for other losses. I came
back to England, and to your house,
feeling that you were nearer to me than
a total stranger. I fell in love with
Ethei_at first sight. The prevailing
prejudice against James Hargreaves'
supposed heir was one reason why I did
not immediately declare my identity
with him. I wanted to win your favor
first."

"Didn't you think the facts of the
case sufficient to remove a prejudice
based on misapprehension?"

THE AYE MARIA.

847

"Making them known involved a
woman, you see. I hated the idea of
giving her away. But I find myself
forced to do it."

"Just so. Why is Lady Skeffington so
bitter against you ? " asked Hargreaves.

"Can't you guess?"

"What? Oh, impossible, atrocious!
A man may not marry his grandmother.
But I think she has played her cards
very well."

"She has won the money, you mean.
But I have won Ethel."

A Modem ^Voman.

NOT long ago, at a dinner table in
Paris, an eccentric but pious Abb^
was expatiating on the frivolity and
extravagance of the modem woman,
to the discomfiture of some and the
amusement of others among the ladies
who had been invited to participate in
the entertainment. The hostess, herself
a leader in society, beautiful, gracious
and charming, knowing the inherent
goodness of the priest, as well as the
life of self-sacrifice he led, listened to
him with an air of tolerance, which
she hoped might be shared by the
remainder of the company.

"Tell me, madame," he said suddenly,
turning toward her, "did you ever in
your life perform a really charitable
act,— I mean one that cost you any-
thing to perform?"

The hostess reflected, still smiling, as
she glanced around at her guests.

"I think I did — once — at least," she
answered, slowly raising her large,
beautiful eyes to the face of the Ahh6.
" It was altogether a remarkable
occurrence. I hope none of ray guests
will find it tiresome, or accuse me of
egotism, if I relate it; particularly when
I explain that it is not for ray own
glorification but the defence of my sex
that 1 shall tell it to you all.

"One morning I was walking in the

Luxembourg Gardens with my little
girl Valerie. We were both very happy.
As we passed along the shaded alleys,
catching now and then a glimpse of the
bright June sky between the interlacing
leaves above us, suddenly, from behind
the shadow of an immense tree, a man
appeared, holding out his hand. He was
shabbily attired, and his countenance —
possibly because he was dirty and un-
shaven— was anything but attractive.
I started back. The shock of seeing him
thrust himself in front of us alarmed
and irritated me. Under ordinary cir-
cumstances, I would have given him
something; but my feelings mastered
me, and, drawing the child aside, I
hurriedly passed on.

" But after I had gone a few steps, the
form of the mendicant seemed to thrust
itself persistently in front of me, — the
tall figure in its ill-fitting garments,
the haggard countenance, the imploring
eyes, and outstretched hand. I began
to feel remorseful at not having given
hira anything. My joyfiil mood had
entirely passed, and I even thought of
retracing my steps. The child at my
side was silent also. She no longer
skipped gaily to and fro. A cloud had
passed over the morning of our happy
day. Valerie was the first to speak.

"'Mamma,' she said abruptly, 'don't
be vexed with me, but I wish you had
given some money to that beggar.'

'"Why, my dear?' I inquired, struck
by the circumstance that she, too, had
been impressed, and wishing to know
her thoughts.

"'He seemed so— so — timid,' answered
the child. 'He did not look like a
beggar, either.'

" ' He could not have been very timid,
Valerie,' said I, 'or he would not have
burst out upon us in that extraordinary
raanner. And his clothes were certainly
very shabby.'

"'Yes, they were. Still, he did not
seem like a beggar,' persisted the child.

" ' I do not mind telling you, my dear,

848

THE AYE MARIA

that I feel about it just as you do,'
I rejoined. 'I have been thinking of
that man ever since we passed him,
and I am very sorry I did not put
something in his hand.'

"'Let us go back and look for him,'
said the child.

"'But how can we find him in that
great crowd, — changing every few
moments ? '

"'Let us look, mamma. Perhaps we
may be able to find him,' she pleaded.

'"Very w^ell, — to please you, then,'
said I ; and as we turned my heart
grew lighter.

"For more than half an hour we
looked here and there, — lost as it were,
amid a labyrinth of people and trees, —
neither of us being able to locate the
precise spot where we had seen the man.
Valerie was disposed to look behind
every tree we passed ; but I told her I
thought his having been in any par-
ticular locality was only an accident,
that long ere this he would have
wandered elsewhere in the pursuit of
his calling. But the child maintained
that, being no ordinary beggar, he
'would continue to stand behind his
chosen big tree ; only stepping forward
now and then, when he found courage
to solicit alms, attracted by some face
more promising than the others among
the passers-by.

'"What a pity, child!' I exclaimed.
' And what a shame for me if what you
think be true — that my appearance
should have so deceived him ! '

" ' Wait, mamma : we shall find him
yet,' said my daughter, as she darted
hither and thither among the foliage.

All at once she clutched my hand
tightly.

'"Mamma, there he is!' she said, —
'lying down, just behind that clump of
bushes near the large oak. It is he.
I know him by the grey trousers and
the red handkerchief half falling from
his pocket.'

" ' He is probably asleep,' said I.

'"Let me see,' she answered.

"I slipped a gold coin into her little
hand, and followed her into the bushes.
The child was right: it was he,— but
not asleep. He lay at full length on the
sward, his eyes fixed on an open watch
which he held in one hand, while the
other was extended behind him. Valerie
dropped the coin into it. His fingers
closed upon it, he sat up, replaced the
watch in his pocket, and made a gesture
of thanks. Then the tears began rolling
down his cheeks. He wiped them with,
the red handkerchief, while I said :

'"We were sorry not to have given
you something, after we had passed,
and so came to look for you.'

"'You have saved my life!' he ex-
claimed, getting on his feet. 'Now I
believe in God once more. In another
five minutes I should have been damned
forever.'

'"What do you mean?' I inquired,
trembling with fear, he looked so dis-
turbed and strange.

"'My story is a long and sad one,'
he said. ' I shall not trouble you with
it. I had never begged before to-day,
though I had hungered and shivered
often. For more than two hours I
endeavored to force myself to ask an
alms of some passer-by. But I could
not do it, until, seeing you coming
toward me with your beautiful, bright
little girl, peace and love and joy on
both your faces, I resolved to solicit
charity, confident that my appeal would
not be in vain. But you passed on,
careless, indifferent,— even, it seemed to
me, reproachful. I had no courage left.
I retired to this thicket, resolved to
put an end to my life, saying within
my soul, 'There is no God, or He would
not have deserted the least, perhaps, of
His creatures, but one who has never
injured his fellowman.' But even then
something stayed my hand at the
moment I touched the loaded pistol in
my pocket. ' I will give myself half an
hour by the watch,' I said, knowing

THE AVE MARIA.

849

very well that it was next to impossible
that any one should discover me here.
But I made that the test. By the time
the half hour had expired — and it
wanted only five minutes when you
came, — if gome kindly soul had not
come to me with an alms, I should have
killed myself. Now I shall try to live.'

"I could not utter a single word.
The child clung trembling to my hand
as, with a courteous gesture of farewell,
the mendicant returned to the path
and walked rapidly away. We never
saw him again, but we have often
spoken of him. Since that day my little
Valerie has been an angel of charity,
even if she does spend much of her
time in pleasure and tl;e diversions of
society, as to-night at the Grand Opera,
with her aunt and uncle. Now tell me.
Monsieur I'Abbe," continued the great
lady, addressing herself to the priest,
"what was it? Merely a chain of
circumstances which might be called a
coincidence, or a special Providence?"

Before the Abb^ could reply a tall,
grey -haired gentleman, famous as a
traveller, who had accompanied his
friends, M. and. Mme. Dufour, to the
house of his entertainer for the first
time, arose to his feet.

" Madame," he said in deeply solemn
tones, "it was the direct Providence
of God. I recognized you at once this
evening; and had not the circum-
stances recalled this story, as they
have done, I should have told you
later that / am the man whom you
aided that morning in the Luxem-
bourg Gardens. Ah, Monsieur I'Abbe,"
he continued, bowing to the priest,
who now sat, deeply afifected, leaning
his head on his hand, "believe me— for I
know it— there are many angels among
those women you think so frivolous.
Though their afternoons and nights may
be given to amusement, their morning
hours are enriched with charitable
deeds, performed for the love of their
neighbor— and of God."

A Marvellous Christmas Crib.

THE custom of representing, at
Christmastide, by means of stat-
uettes or figurines arranged in an
appropriate setting, the scene of Our
Lord's Nativity has become practically
universal throughout Christendom.
Nowhere else, however, has the custom
so thorough a vogue as in Italy. One
of the notable industries of Naples is
the manufacture of these Christmas
statuettes, great numbers of which are
annually exported to the most distant
regions of the world. It is not surpris-
ing, therefore, that from Italy came the
marvellous crib, a real masterpiece of
artistic beauty, that was exhibited a
few years ago in Paris. A description
of this work of religious art may not
prove uninteresting, especially as, from
the double viewpoint of size and delicacy
of execution, this particular crib is
undoubtedly the finest ever constructed.

It was built in 1750 for Charles III.,
King of Naples and Sicily; and his
Queen, Amelia, dressed with her own
hands the numerous statuettes that
figure in it. The sumptuous toy — if that
term be not incongruous as applied
to so large a work — measures about
thirty feet in length by eleven and a
half in height. As may be surmised,
there is a whole little world of people
gathered around the crib proper. The
personages — men, women, and children
of all ages and conditions — number
three hundred ; and there are in addi-
tion two hundred animals and birds.

Upon a foundation of imitation rock
rise the ruins of Apollo's Temple, near
which is stationed the principal group,
consisting of course of the Infant Jesus
resting on His Blessed Mother's knees.
Near by stands St. Joseph, lovingly
contemplating the Divine Child. Five
other groups complete the tableau :
the Shepherds, the Eastern Kings, an
Asiatic Queen with her suite, and two

850

THE AVE MARIA.

throngs of people at the right and left
extremities. The Shepherds are herds-
men of the Apennines, dressed in the
picturesque costume of the eighteenth
century, a short vest and long stock-
ings covering the full length of the leg.
They bring to the Divine Infant their
modest offerings of lambs, doves, and
the fruits of the earth.

Behind the Shepherds appears the
magnificent procession of the Magi and
their retinue. Royally attired, the Magi
are mounted on splendid horses, of wood
exquisitely cani'ed and painted. All —
courtiers, escorting guards, mounted
musicians, drummers, and fan-carriers —
are luxuriously clad. Silks and satins,
gold embroidery and silver lacework,
jewelled buttons, diamonds, pearls, and
rubies, — nothing was considered too
rich or rare to set off the splendor and
magnificence of this brilliant cortege.
The instruments of the musicians are
of chased silver. Each is a marvel
of ingenuity, and the same may be
said of the costly vases carried by the
wealthy visitors. The officers' armor
and the hilts and scabbards of their
swords all glitter with the flash of
incrusted stones. The cavalcade of the
Asiatic Queen, who is mounted on a
black horse and surrounded by her
ladies of honor, is not less imposing
and gorgeous.

And all this is no gross imitation :
it is an astonishingly realistic represen-
tation. The utmost care and delicacy
marks even the least accessories. The
head-dresses of the Magi, of the height
of a thimble; the harnesses of red
leather decked with gold ; the diamond
ear-rings, — everything contributes to
the complete symmetry and splendor
of the scene.

Apart, however, from the stage-setting
and the costumes, the figurines them-
selves provoke genuine admiration, —
a fact which will be readily believed
when one ^ remembers that a number
of great artists collaborated in the

production, for King Charles, of this
magnificent crib.

As to the value of this unique piece
of art, estimates will probably differ.
Seeing, however, that the crib contains
five hundred statuettes, that it was
constructed by eminent artists, and
that the majority of the personages are
adorned with costly stuffs, jewels, and
precious stones, there does not appear
to be much exaggeration in saying that
it is worth half a million dollars.

Christmastide Voices.

EMILE BOUGAUD.

i"Aa Argument for the Divinity of Jesus Christ.'*)

ACCORDING as criticism becomes
more searching, observation more
thoughtful and more exact, features
are discovered in the character of Christ
which the ancient apologists did not
suspect. Christ stands forth under the
gaze of criticism like the firmament
when examined with a powerful instru-
ment of modem science.

Beyond the definite qualities of which
we have spoken, and which, carried to
their highest perfection, and harmo-
niously blended together, stamp such a
royal human beauty on the physiog-
nomy of Jesus Christ, we begin to
discover in Him what is less easy to
lay hold of, what is without limit and
bounds. You feel that He is man, but
always that He is more than man.
There is something of the universal and
the inexhaustible, which warns you that
the ordinary limits of human nature
have been passed. Consider, one by one,
His moral perfection, His personality,
His mind; you may discover the form,
you will never fathom the depth.

The depth of His moral perfection!
You will find it when jj-ou can find
anything that can be compared to it.
But where will you find this? I will
not speak of antiquit}' ; such an ideal

THE AVE MARIA.

851

was not even imagined. "Jesus, by
His greatness and goodness," says
Channing, "throws all other human
attainments into obscurity." And the
human perfections not only of those
who preceded, but also of those who
followed Him, — such perfections even
w^hich owed their origin to Him ; for His
appearance was like a flash of lightning,
which revealed an idea unknown till
then, and which created an all-absorbing
desire to imitate Him.

For eighteen centuries has this ideal
been before the world ; for eighteen
centuries millions of men have tried to
reproduce it, and proportioned to the
closeness of the copy is the beauty to
which they attain; but to none has
it been given to equal it. In these
numberless imitations, there are many
that challenge admiration, — some by
their purity, some by their strength.
But not one can compare, even at
a distance, with the beauty of Jesus ;
for the unique beauty of Jesus sur-
passes not only all created beauty: it
is without limit. No ideal prepared
the way for it —

What individuality was ever so
manifest, so sharply defined ? Who ever
spoke of himself in such a tone of
authority ? Where is there a more com-
plete independence to be found? On
whom is He dependent? Not on the
multitude who cheer Him, not on His
disciples, not on His century, not on
the ideas and customs in the midst of
which He lives. None can claim to
have been His master. It is by the
sublimity of His individuality that He
attains to that singular universahty.
Moses is a Jew in his thoughts, his
feelings, his manners, and his habits,
even more than in his origin. Socrates
never raised himself above the Greek
type. Mohammed was an Arab. La
Fontaine and MoliSre are French to
such a degree that the English have
as much trouble in understanding them
as the French have in appreciating

Goethe. All these great men have
something in them that is local and
transient, — which ,can not be under-
stood beyond the mountain or the
ocean, which can not be everywhere
imitated; something which dies with
the age ; which springs up again some-
times in another age, but again to pass
away by a strange vicissitude, which
shows that they are but men, although
the greatest among men.

In Jesus Christ there is nothing of
this sort. His physiognomy shares no
such limit. Human nature is there, but
nothing to circumscribe it. He is the
universal model proposed for universal
imitation. All copy Him,— the child, the
maiden, the mother, the old man ; all,
whatever their condition, whatever their
age, come to Him to find consolation
and strength: the poor as well as the
rich, the prisoner in his dungeon and
the king upon his throne. To no pur-
pose are fresh actors brought upon the
scene by the progress of the world and
of civilization. Jesus Christ is a stranger
to none, — not to the Greek, although he
cared little for philosophy; not to the
Roman, though he may never have
gained a battle; not to the barbarian
of the fourth century, or to the pol-
ished citizen of the nineteenth century,
although their ideas, their habits and
manners are so wholly dissimilar. He
has been adored by the redskins of
America, by the Negroes of Africa, by
the Brahmans of India ; and this adora-
tion created in them virtues as pure,
and the same, as those which sprang
up in the degenerate Romans of the
Lower Empire.

His character thus embraces all,
touches the sympathies of all, appears
to be within the reach of all, is imi-
tated by all, in all times, though never
equalled. His influence has no limits,
either in time or in space. It has no
bounds anywhere, in any direction.
Above all, no age has escaped from it.
The human race progresses, it presses

852

THE AVE MARIA.

forward rapidly like a messenger run-
ning in hot haste. It blesses and hails
in its path the geniuses which are to
carry the torch before it. Then very
soon it leaves these geniuses behind.
The philosophy of Plato was once
good, but it no longer serves . our
purpose. The science of Newton was
wonderful, but it has been outstripped.
The human race advances, kindles
fresh torches. Hippocrates, Archimedes,
Galileo, Lavoisier, — all have been left

behind ; but not Jesus Christ

It even seems that the more the
human race progresses, the more striking
becomes the influence of Jesus Christ.
On each new horizon it throws a
sudden ray of light; to each new want
it provides a remedy till then unknown.
What marvels are there not which the
Christians of the first century never
suspected, yet of which we are compelled
to say, they were present to His mind !
And what marvels that we do not per-
ceive, of which our descendants will say,
He foresaw these also ! And at the same
time that it extends through centuries,
and is renewed with every advance of
civilization, this influence of Jesus Christ
loses nothing of its intensity. After the
lapse of eighteen centuries, it masters
souls as it did on the first day.

FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER.

( "Bethlehem." )

"Jesus Christ yesterday and to-day,
and the same forever." These words
of the Apostle express at once the
noblest and most delightful occupation
of our lives. To think, to speak, to
write perpetually of the grandeurs of
Jesus, — what joy on earth is like it,
when we think of what we owe to
Him, and of the relation in which we
stand to Him ? Who can weary of
it? The subject is continually growing
before our eyes. It draws us on. It
is a science, the fascination of which
increases the more deeply we penetrate
into its depths. That which is to be

our occupation in eternity usurps more
and more with sweet encroachment the
length and breadth of time. Earth
grows into heaven, as we come to live
and breathe in the atmosphere of the
Incarnation.

The Incarnation lies at the bottom
of all sciences, and is their ultimate
explanation. It is the secret beauty in
all arts. It is the completeness of all
philosophies. It is the point of arrival
and departure to all history. The
destinies of nations, as well as of indi-
viduals, group themselves around it.
It purifies all happiness and glorifies
all sorrow. It is the cause of all we
see, and the pledge of all we hope for.
It is the great central fact both of
life and immortality, out of sight of
which man's intellect wanders in the
darkness, and the light of a divine life
falls not on his footsteps.

JEAN BAPTISTE MASSILLON.

( " Sermoas" )

No man ever conferred such inesti-
mable blessings on mankind as Jesus.
He has purchaaed for us an eternal
peace ; He has imparted to us happiness,
justice, and truth; He has renewed the
face of the whole earth. His favors are
not confined to one people or to one
generation : they are extended to every
nation and to every age; and what
is more, those inestimable blessings
He purchased for us at no less a price
than that of His precious blood. If,
therefore, gratitude exalted the mere
instruments of the mercies of God to
the rank of divinities, surely no one
was more entitled to that distinction
than Jesus.

JEAN BAPTISTE HENRI LACORDAIRE.

( " Conferences." )

Among great men, who are loved ?
Among warriors ? Is it Alexander ?
Cajsar? Charlemagne? Among sages?
Aristotle ? Plato ? Who is loved among
great men ? Who ? Name me even

THE AVE MARIA.

853

one; name me a single man who has
died and left love upon his tomb.
Mohammed is venerated by Mussul-
mans: he is not loved. No feeling of
love has ever touched the heart of
a Mussulman repeating his maxim :
"God is God, and Mohammed is His
prophet." One Man alone has gathered
from all ages a love which never fails.
Jesus Christ is the Sovereign Lord of
hearts as He is of minds; and, by
a grace confirmatory of that which
belongs only to Him, He has given
to His saints also the privilege of
producing in men a pious and faithftil
remembrance.

ALBERT BARNES.

{" Brideaccs of Christianity." )

Christ is a real historical personage, —
as real as Caesar or Alexander. You
can make nothing of history, of
nations, of opinions, of philosophy, of
the world, of anything in the past, if
this is denied. All history is connected
with that life ; all history, for eighteen
hundred years at least, turns on that
life. The fact that He lived and founded
the Christian religion is recognized by
Josephus, by Tacitus, by Pliny. It is
not denied by Celsus, by Porphyry, or
by Julian, as it would have been if it
could have been done. It is not denied
by Mr. Gibbon, but in his labored
argument he everywhere assumes it.
It is not denied by Strauss; it is not
denied by Renan.

EDWARD EVERETT.
("Orations and Speecbea." )

On Christmas Day, beginning at
Jerusalem in the Church of the Sepulchre
of Our Lord, the Christmas anthem
will travel with the Star that stood
above the cradle, from region to region,
from communion to communion, and
from tongue to tongue, till it has
compassed the land and the sea, and
returned to melt away upon the sides
of Mount Zion.

By the feeble remnants of the Syrian
and Armenian churches, creeping to
their furtive matins amidst the unbe-
lieving hosts of Islam, in the mountains
of Kurdistan and Erzeroum; within
the venerable cloisters which have
braved the storms of war and barbarism
for fifteen centuries on the reverend
peaks of Mount Sinai ; in the gorgeous
cathedrals of Moscow and Madrid and
Paris, and still imperial Rome; at the
simpler altars of the Protestant church
in Western Europe and America ; in the
remote missions of our ov^m continent,
of the Pacific islands, and of the farthest
East, — on Friday next, for the Catholic
"and Protestant churches, the song of
the angels, which heralded the birth
of Our Lord, will be repeated by the
myriads of His followers all around
the globe.

WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING.

( " Tlie Perfect Lib." )

Who of us, on visiting the manger
at Bethlehem, and beholding an Infant
amidst accommodations provided for
animals, would not have seen in these
circumstances the presage of an obscure
lot? And yet this lowly birth was the
portal to that glorious though brief
career through which the greatest mind
established an imperishable sway over
humanity. In that Infant the passing
spectator saw only the heir of poverty,
and pitied His hard fate; and yet,
before that Infant the brightest names
of history have grown dim. The Caesar
w^hose decree summoned the parents
of Jesus to Bethlehem is known to
millions only through the record of
that Infant's life. The sages and heroes
of antiquity are receding from us, and
history contracts the record of their
deeds into a narrow and narrower
page. But time has no power over
the name and deeds and words of
Jesus Christ. From the darkness of
the past they shine forth with sunlike
splendor.

854

THE AVE MARIA.

Notes and Remarks.

In a new volume, "Essays in Appli-
cation," Dr. Henry Van Dyke deals with
one contention of Socialists which Cath-
olic writers on political economy have
successfully exploded ever since Rousseau
declared that private ownership is
theft. This contention is that private
ownership, besides being essentially
immoral and irreligious, because it
protects and rewards a form of selfish-
ness, is opposed to the teachings of
the Bible. "The Spirit of Jesus, who
was really a great Socialist," says
the twentieth - century communist, "is
altogether in favor of common owner-
ship." Dr. Van Dyke maintains, on the
contrary, that the Old Testament holds
out scanty encouragement to the
advocates of communism, and that the
Gospel seems to contain even less.

"Christianity," he writes, "never
would have found a foothold in the
w^orld, never would have survived the
storms of early persecution, had it not
been sheltered in its infancy ■ by the
rights of private property, which are
founded in justice, and therefore are
respected by all lovers of righteousness.
Christian or heathen. It is difficult to
see how the religion of Jesus could
have sanctioned these rights more
emphatically than by using them for

its own most holy purpose There

is a fundamental and absolute differ-
ence between the doctrine of the Bible
and the doctrine of communism. The
Bible tells me that I must deal my
bread to the hungry ; communism tells
the hungry that he may take it for
himself The Bible teaches that it is a
sin to covet; communism says that it
is the new virtue which is to regenerate
society."

^ ^ ^

It would seem that a new phase has
been reached in the development of our
parochial schools, at least in some of

the older dioceses of the country. Dr.
Henry A. Brann, the eminent rector of
St. Agnes' Church, New York, proposes
that the schools be endowed. " Why
not?" he writes. "Are not most of
our non-Catholic colleges and univer-
sities, which teach their students very
little of anything useful, endowed ? . . .
But our schools, in which the little
ones, besides receiving a good secular
education, are taught how to love and
serve God, who made them and who
died for them, are left to get on as
best they can. In this matter our
wealthy people are careless. They do
not seem fully to realize the imperative
need of religious training, or they
would follow the example shown by
non-Catholics in their gifts to their
schools. God has blessed us ^vith the
gift of faith, and those whom He has
also blessed with worldly wealth ought
to give special testimony of the faith
which is in them by works of charity."
There can be no doubt that, pending
the brighter and juster day when
statesmen worthy of the name wil 1 dis-
cover a feasible plan b3' which the State
may remunerate our parochial schools
for doing the State's work in the matter
of secular education, these schools need
to be placed on a financial basis that
will relieve our people of a portion of
the heavy burden now imposed upon
them.

The following remarkable statement
appears in a letter written to the
Literary Digest by Miss Anne S. Hall,
a lady w^ho somewhat vociferously
advocates the killing off of the "fatally
injured jind hopelessly afflicted":

Many physicians have told me they consider it
a duty to make peaceful the end [of life]. "What
do you say to the members of the family?" has
been my question. Without exception, the reply
has been: "Not a word ; I use my own judgment.
I put myself in the place of the dying patient, and
do to that one what I would wish another to do
to me." One said that no one knows what may
be the feelings of a person in a dying condition,

THE AVE MARIA.

855

and that he had administered morphine and
chloroform to his precious mother, and to an
uncle who, when past speech, motioned that he
desired an injection. The latter was in fulfilment
of a promise made during health to the uncle,
who was himself a physician. I asked the narrator
if his conscience smote him. "Not the slightest,"
he replied ; he knew he had done right.

With all due respect to the physician
in question, he did not do right. He
clearly and palpably did wrong. What-
ever may be his eminence in his profes-
sion, he has not the slightest warrant
to override the law of God, "Thou shalt
not kill "; and his intruding his personal
opinions into the sphere of purely moral
questions — or, rather, his waiving in
practice the moral question altogether —
is not merely impertinent, or outside
his legitimate sphere of action; it is
distinctly criminal as well. One lesson
to be drawn from this revelation is
obvious: Catholics should exercise due
care in their choice of physicians. The
ethics openly taught in some medical
colleges are purely and simply unchris-
tian, and Christian people can not in
conscience willingly submit to pagan

practices.

» ■ »

The dearth of religious vocations, of
which we wrote at some length a few
weeks ago, is noticeable in England
as well as in this country. Discussing
St. Joseph's Foreign Missionary Society
of Mill Hill, Father Jackson declared
that the hope of its founder. Cardinal
Vaughan — that crowds of English and
Irish youths of the right sort would
come to it to offer themselves as can-
didates for the apostolic priesthood,—
has never been realized. "The Catholic
youths of this country have kept
coldly aloof, and have shown but little
desire to become missionaries; and I
know of some who had the desire
but who were hindered or dissuaded
by people who ought to have known
better."

We are gratified to learn that at
present the prospects are brighter, and

that St. Peter's College, the preparatory
school for Mill Hill, is being better
patronized. But the distressing fact
remains that "if Mill Hill College had
depended for its supply of students
upon the youth of Great Britain, it
w^ould have been a great failure. If
young men had not come to it from
the Continent, and especially from
Holland, it would have been closed
long ago for want of students."

This lack of religious and sacerdotal
vocations is due in part, no doubt, to
the pusillanimity of the young people
themselves; but we venture the asser-
tion that, in greater part, it is owing
to sheer neglect of duty in parents,
teachers, and pastors, who take no
pains to discern the seeds of such a
vocation, and fail to foster its healthy
growth even when the plant sprouts
visibly before them.

*
• *

In connection with the foregoing,

and as an answer to those who insist

on home needs as opposed to the

wants of foreign missions, these words

of the late Bishop Ullathorne are

worth reproducing:

I believe our own future will be blessed with
increase in proportion as we, with earnest faith,
send help to those who cry to us, as we have
cried to others and received their help. I believe
it, because it is the disposition of our Heavenly
Father greatly to help those who do such works
of faith and charity. I believe it, because there
is no charity greater or more blessed than that
which co-operates with God in sending His
servants forth to spread His light and minister
His grace to the nations afar off, who sit in
darkness and alienation of soul from their
supreme good. I believe it, because the mission
to the heathen is the school of generous hefoes,
whose works of faith and sanctity will bless the
country that sends them forth. I believe it on
the word of our Blessed Lord : "Give, and it shall
bt given to you again, full measure, and heaped
up, and overflowing into your bosom."

The attitude of the Church toward
cremation, as embodied in various
decrees of the Holy Office, is explained

856

THE AYE MARIA.

in the Advent pastoral of the Bishop of
Birmingham. After stating that those
who, disregarding the Church's pro-
hibition, direct that their bodies shall
be cremated, and when admonished do
not withdraw the direction, belong to
the class of persons who are incapable
of receiving the Last Sacraments and
Christian burial, his Lordship continues :
The reason of the Church's prohibition is not
that she regards cremation as a thing intrinsi-
cally wrong (and there are many \vho defend it
on purely sanitary grounds), but the avowed aim
and intention of the sectaries who first promoted
the revival of that pagan usage was to withdraw
people from the salutary influence of the Church.
For this reason they advocated civil marriage,
and tried to introduce the practice of civil
funerals, from which every religious rite was to
be eliminated. They hoped that if the practice
of cremation were adopted, it would give plausi-
bility to their favorite doctrine that death is the
annihilation of man, that for him it is the end
of all things, that there is no future life and no
judgment to be feared in the other world. To
such men the Church could make no concession.
She was inflexible in her insistence on her own
traditional rite of burial, and would give no coun-
tenance whatever to the innovation proposed.

experiments, was Father Gregory
Mendel, an Austrian abbot who lived
and labored half a century ago. The
California genius, according to the
Professor, has been able to do, in part,
what he has accomplished "because of
the work of one clear-headed priest."
The Rev. Gregor Johann Mendel, the
priest in question, was an Augustinian
abbot at Briinn, Austria, and a botanist
of international renown. His experi-
ments in hybridization were first made
public in 1865. His theories as to
"the ratio of dominants, cross-breeds,
and recessives" remained in practical
obscurity for thirty -five years; but
finally attracted the attention of emi-
nent biologists, with the result that
they were translated and reprinted in
the Journal of the Royal Horticultural
Society, in 1901. Mr. Burbank may, of
course, be an independent discoverer in
his chosen field of activity; but that
circumstance does not alter the fact
that the eulogies bestowed on the
American botanist redound of right to
the glory of the Austrian monk.

Wendell Phillips used to say that it
seemed to him "the American people
might be painted in the chronic attitude
of taking off its hat to itself"; and
he wrote his lecture on "The Lost
Arts" for the avowed purpose of
lessening our undue appreciation of
ourselves. Were Phillips living to-day,
he would assuredly insert an additional
paragraph in that famous lecture, just
to call attention to another bubble of
American self-conceit which Professor
Brewster punctures in a recent issue of
the Saturday Evening Post. The world
at large has heard of late of Mr. Luther
Burbank, of California, whose successful
experiments with flowers and fruits
have dowered him, in the vocabulary
of headline writers, with the epithet
"Wizard." There is, however, nothing
new under the sun. Professor Brewster
conclusively shows that the original
discoverer, along the lines of Burbank's

Archbishop Zaleski, in thanking the
Catholics of Jaffna, Ceylon, for their
cordial welcome on his arrival amongst
them, alluded to an ancient and inter-
esting tradition that one of the Magi
was a King of Jaffna, named Caspar
Peria-Pcramule. He returned to Jaffna
from Bethlehem, and later on joined the
Apostle St. Thomas on his arrival in
India. Baptized by him, ordained priest,
and consecrated bishop, he shared his
martyrdom and was buried in the same
grave with him. "Such," said the Arch-
bishop, "was the first of your kings
mentioned in old tradition. Your last
King, Don Constantine, left the throne
and the world to become a Franciscan."

There has been no dearth of news from
Russia since the revolution broke out.
Day by day, readers of American news-

THE AVE MARIA.

857

papers at least have been treated to
long reports of bloody riots, outbreaks
on the part of nihilists, wholesale
massacres of Jews, mutinies in the
army and navy, plots to overthrow
the constitutional government, fruitless
attempts on the part of the Czar and
Mr. Witte to reconcile the monarchists
and the revolutionary groups, — every-
thing, in fact, to give the impression
that Russia is on her last legs. That
much of this news was manufactured is
plain from the statement that, •wing
to the general strike of the postal and
telegraph officials, Russia was practi-
cally cut off from the rest of the world
for a whole week. However, a little
thing like this is no embarrassment to
a great daily.

The horrors of the African slave-trade
of to-day, as described by Henry W.
Nevinson, ought to be enough to rouse
the indignation of all Christendom, and
to coerce civilized rulers to take con-
certed action for the immediate and
complete suppression of this infamous
traffic. Many persons will doubtless
be surprised to learn that in this age
of the world such atrocities as Mr.
Nevinson tells of are possible anywhere.
In the January number of Harper's
Magazine he writes:

The day after leaving Benguela we stopped
off Novo Redondo to take on more cargo. The
slaves came off in two batches — fifty in the
morning and thirty more toward sunset. There
was a bit of a sea on that day, and the tossing
of the lighter had made most of the slaves very
sick. Things became worse when the lighter lay
rising and falling with the waves at the foot of
the gangway, and the slaves had to be dragged
np to the platform one by one like sacks, and
set to climb the ladder as best they could.

I remember especially one poor woman who
held in her arms a baby only two or three days
old. Quickly as native women recover from
childbirth, she had hardly recovered, and was
very seasick besides. In trying to reach the plat-
form, she kept on missing the rise of the wave,
and was flung violently back again into the
lighter. At last the men managed to haul her
up and set her on the foot of the ladder, striking

her sharply to make her mount. Tightening the
cloth that held the baby to her back, and gath- -
ering up her dripping blanket over one arm, she
began the ascent on all fours. Almost at once
her knees caught in the blanket and she fell flat
against the sloping stairs. In that position she
wriggled up them like a snake, clutching at each
stair with her arms above her head. At last she
reached the top, bruised and bleeding, soaked
with water, her blanket lost, most of her gaudy
clothing torn off or hanging in strips. On her
back the little baby, still crumpled and almost
pink, squeaked feebly like a blind kitten. But,
swinging it round to her breast, the woman
walked modestly and without complaint to her
place in the row with the others.

" I have heard many terrible sounds,"
says Mr. Nevinson, "but never anything
so hellish as the outbursts of laughter
with which the ladies and gentlemen
of the first class watched that slave
woman's struggle up to the deck."

Benguela, as some readers may not
know, is a seaport on the west coast
of Africa, capital of the district of the
same name, in the Portuguese colony of
Angola. The slave-trade was supposed
to be suppressed there a number of
years ago.

Cardinal Arcoverde Cavalcanti de
Albuquerque, Archbishop of Rio Janiero
a 111 Metropolitan of Brazil, who at the
recent consistory was created the first
oi South American cardinals, belongs to
one of the oldest families in Italy, where
he was born (at Pemambuco, diocese of
Olinda) in 1848. One of the members
.of this illustrious family, Guido Caval-
canti, was the friend of Dante.

The Oxford correspondent of the
London Tablet concludes a recent
budget of notes with the following
paragraph, to which, with fine restraint,
only an exclamation point is added :

Rhodes Scholar (to the dean of his college, when
called on to produce the usual fortnightly essay) :
" I re-gret to say, Mr. Dean, that I have found
myself unable to com-pose anything on the
theme indicated by the college authorities; but
I have brought you a few notes of my own
on the po-sition of South Dakota'Jin Amurrican
politics" !

Christmastide.

BY SYLVIA HUNTING.

QHRISTMAS tree, Christmas Tree,

Glistening with light,
How radiant your branches are.
Your jewelled tips how bright !

Christmas Crib, Christmas Crib,

In the stable cold;
The only rays that pierce the dark.

From Bethlehem's Star of old!

'One of His Jewels.'

BY T. L. L. TEELING.

XII.
I ANY years had passed away.
A somewhat long and severe
winter had been succeeded by
the balmy air and budding
verdure of spring; and everywhere
along the Corniche coast scented orange
blossoms and pink almond flowers
were wafting their sweet fragrance
across the white winding roads, along
which carriageful after carriageful of
departing invalids were turning their
backs upon the Mediterranean - washed
shelters in which they had taken refuge
from more northern shores. The bright
little railway station at Mentone was
literally packed with baggage of all
kinds, over which shrill American or
English voices echoed energetically.

The priest of the parish had come
down to the station to meet a brother
priest, a member of the new Salesian
Institute lately established in Nice, who
was to take his place for a brief eight
days or so, while he went up to his
diocesan seminary for a retreat.

"What a crowd!" he exclaimed, as
he passed to the platform, jostled by a
tribe of children and nurses with cloaks
and parcels.

In another moment the train from the
West came gliding in, and a tall, slight,
keen-eyed priest was alighting from it.

"Monsieur le Cure?"

"Le Pere Giovanni?"

And each broad-brimmed hat swept
through the air.

"Your baggage, mon Pere?"

" Oh, here it is ! Only what you see," —
and the bright face sparkled into an
almost boyish smile.

"Very well. This way, then 1 "

And the two black-robed figures went
out side by side.

"This is your first visit to Mentone ? "
queried the Cure.

"Oh, yes! I have not been in these
parts very long. You see, I come from
Turin. I have been there all my life, —
at least nearly all."

So they chatted as they passed along
the well -planted avenues, skirted the
seashore for a while, and then turned
sharply upward to the town. Here and
there a word was exchanged with some
passer-by, a smile or gentle pat of the
head bestowed on one of the little
brown -skinned children who played
marbles or stood idly gazing before the
open doorways, till at length the time-
worn fa9ade of the old parish church
was reached.

"Herx:. we are!" exclaimed the Cur^,
cheerily. "A little visit to the Blessed
Sacrament first, and then a good dish
of macaroni k la Milanese. You will
feel quite at home again."

They passed into the cool, dim church
for a few moments' prayer; and then
into the presbytery, with its clean
red -tiled floor and wooden furniture,

THE AVE MARIA.

859

its hospitable table, covered, after
the fashion of those parts, with white
oilcloth, and bearing great plates of
luscious fruit, to which was soon added
a dish of smoking macaroni, and
another of the appetizing polenta fried
with cheese, which is the staple food
of that district.

"You are tired, Father, I fear ? " spoke
the old Cure, as his keen eye, accus-
tomed to read faces at a glance, noted
a certain look of perplexity oi^anxiety
on the young face before him.

"Oh, not after that little jot

The elder man looked the
he was too courteous to put ii

"The fact is," Father Giovanni went
on, "I have an odd feeling that I
have seen all this before. I feel as if
I were in a kind of dream — a troubled
dream,— and it has all come since I left
the station a while ago."

"Oh, if that is all, a good night's
rest will soon dispel those shadows!
Here, try those mountain strawberries."

" I suppose you do not see much
of the visitors who come here ? "
queried Father Giovanni, shaking off
his abstraction with an effort.

"One is called to Catholic sick-beds
from time to time, that is all. But
for the most part the visitors attend
that pretty little Protestant chapel I
pointed out to you on the shore."

" What a pity ! " ejaculated his hearer,
half absently. " Monsieur le Cur€, do
you mind if I take a short walk after
supper? I want to see if this strange
feeling continues, — that it is all familiar
ground."

" Very well. Shall I accompany you,
or do you wish to go alone ? "

" I will not disturb you. Monsieur le
Cure. And I shall return before long."

So he took up his hat and went out,
looking to right and left, and finally
choosing a long, narrow street which
wound upward, still higher, on the hill.

"It is strange," he thought, "but
the feeling grows stronger. I almost

seem to know my way. Let me see !
There, to the right, runs another road.
The first shop in it is a butcher's, then
a hairdresser's, then a little baker's-
shop w^ith a board swinging above the
door, and a loaf of bread painted upon
it. Let me see."

He turned the comer, and there before
him stood the three shops!

" I must have dreamed it," he went on
with his soliloquy. "It is useless going
farther, however. Even the church
seems familiar to me. Perhaps I shall
understand better to-morrow."

But he did not. Indeed, the town
looked strange to him next day, when
that one flash — was it of memory ? —
had passed. And he went down to
the station with Monsieur le Cure, to
see him off; and came back to say his
Office, and his daily Mass, and respond
to the few sick-calls. After that he
wandered, Breviary in hand, along
the lovely Comiche road, drinking in
the fresh evening breezes which blew
across the sea, and watching the fishing
boats as they tossed at anchor. But
he almost wished the week were over,
that he might go back again to that
busy hive of human souls in which
his beloved master, Don Bosco, had
gathered the waifs and the strays of
human civilization, and w^as moulding
them into brave Christians and good
citizens for the glory of God.

So it came to the last evening of his
stay. He had lingered somewhat later
than usual, watching the boats, and
the distant headlands just touched with
sunset hues, — his last idle evening, he
said to himself; for he would soon be
away in busy Nice. As he climbed the
steep, narrow street, with its rough,
ankle -twisting cobble-stones, he per-
ceived his housekeeper (or rather the
servant of Monsieur le Cure) awaiting
him on the doorstep with unusual
anxiety.

"At last. Father,— at last! I have
sent endless messengers to seek you!"

860

THE AVE MARIA.

"What is it ? A sick-call ? "

"Yes, Father, and an urgent one. It
is the good old widow who has fallen
downstairs and hurt herself seriously, —
internal injuries, the doctor says. She
is sinking fast."

"How far is it?" asked the priest,
eagerly. "Shall I be able to go there
first, and fetch the Holy Viaticum
afterward?"

"It is just there, — up that narrow
street. Turn to your left: you will see
a baker's-shop. It is there."

But the young priest had already
passed on, with swift, steady strides,
and a sudden recalling of his strange
memories of a week ago. A group of
excited, chattering women made way
for him in the doorway ; and some one,
he hardly noticed who, ushered him
upstairs to where, in a big four-post
bedstead, lay the dying woman. She was
not very old, as years go ; but women
age fast in those southern climes, and
toil, if not actual privation, had lined
her face with premature wrinkles.

Father Giovanni drew up a chair to
the bedside and sat down, taking the
thin, bony hand in his, and looking
into the pale face. There was a look
upon it which struck him with awe;
and he remembered that, though he had
attended several sick-calls, he had never
seen death so near, save in the case of
one or two of their children, to w^hom
he had been called upon to minister.

As he looked at her, the dying woman
opened her eyes and feebly murmured:

"It is you, Monsieur le Cure?"

Evidently her failing sight had not
recognized the fact of a stranger.
Without noticing the remark, the priest
bent over her and asked the usual
questions. She responded, and made
her confession. As he finished the
w^ords of absolution, she made a further
efi"ort to speak.

"Father, I am dying,— am I not?"

"Yes." Hej could say no more, for
a great awe seemed to hold him.

"Ah, then I shall see him — soon!"

" Yes, you will soon see the good God,"
answered the priest gently.

"I shall see him!" she went on, un-
heeding,—"my Luigi, my little Luigi.
Tonio too. Oh, it is so long, so long
since he disappeared, — my little Luigi ! "

Father Giovanni bent still lower over
the dying bed.

" Who is Luigi ? Can you tell me ? "

"Luigi, — my little boy who went
away up to the mountain. Stefano the
shepherd took him, and they came back
next year and told me he had died. Oh,
my child died far from me, his mother! "

As she gasped out the words, her
hearer raised himself from the stooping
position in which he had been striving
to catch her feeble utterances, and,
gazing fixedly at her, murmured in great
agitation :

"My God! Is it possible?"

Then, bending down once more, he
asked :

"How long ago was it?"

But the dying woman seemed tp have
sunk into a stupor. Father Giovanni
looked round helplessly for a moment,
then strode to the door and flung it
open. As he expected, a little knot of
women stood whispering on the stairs
without.

" Can any of you tell me something ? "
he spoke abruptly. "She is speaking
of a child named Luigi that died away
from home. Was there such a one?"

"Ah, yes. Padre!" answered a woman,
in a mixture of French and Mentonese
dialect, which sounded quite familiar to
the listener. "It was her son, her only
child. He was sent up to the mountains
one hoi summer, and was lost."

"Lost or died — which?"

"Lost only, I think. But they told
her he was dead, to quiet her, else she
would have tramped the mountains to
find him."

"Ah, who told her that — that lie?"
The young priest was trembling, visibly,
as he stood before them.

THE AVE MARIA.

861

"Eh— who knows? But here, mon
Pere, — here is one who can tell you all.
She is the girl that took him away.
Toinetta, you speak, then."

A plump, pleasant -looking woman,
with a baby in her arms, came forward.

"It is true, I did. It was my father
\yho had charge of him. We lost him
in the Col di Tenda."

father Giovanni looked at her for a
moment without speaking. Then, with
one bound, he was back in the room
of the dying woman, and on his knees
by her side.

"Mother! mother!! mother!!!"

He had left the door open, and they
all trooped in, but he heeded them
not. His arms were round the frail,
shrunken form, and he was crying out
again and again :

"Mother! Look at me, mother! I
am your Luigi! "

The cry reached her deadened brain>
and she looked up at him.

"You, Monsieur le Cure? You are
not my Luigi!"

"I am not Monsieur le Cure: I am
your child, — yours, mother! I did not
die. God protected me and has brought
me back to you. Mother darling, give
me your blessing!"

A feeble smile played over the
wrinkled face.

"Is it my Luigi? Where have you
been so long? La mamma is so tired,
bambino! She must go to sleep now."

"O my mother, say, 'God bless you,
Luigi!" he pleaded softly.

"God bless you, Luigi ! " uttered the
quivering lips.

One irrepressible sob broke from the
young priest, as, laying the frail form
once more upon the pillow, he turned
to glance at the listening group beyond.
The doctor, who had just looked in,
now came forward.

"Can I do anything for you?"

"One thing, if you please. Monsieur!
I wish to give my mother the Holy
Viaticum. Will there be time?"

"I think so, — yes. If you will bring
It, I will wait here and give her some
restorative."

So, almost before the little group
of neighbors had time to realize his
absence. Father Giovanni, once more
the grave and priestly ministrant,
was re-entering the room where his
mother lay dying. The "old sacristan
preceded him, bearing a red light. A
few moments more, and there broke
upon the solemn silence those majestic
sentences, which have been paraphrased
for us by one of the greatest masters
of the English tongue :

Go forth upon thy journey, Christian soul !

Go from this world! Go, in the name of God,

the Omnipotent Father, who created thee!
Go, in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord, Son

of the Living God, who bled for thee !
Go, in the name of the Holy Spirit, who hath

been poured out on thee!
Go, in the name of angels and archangels ; . . .
And may thy place to-day be found in peace.
And may thy dwelling be the Holy Mount of

Sion, — through the name of Christ our Lord.

And, to the music of her son's voice,
Maria Biancheri fell asleep in Christ.

( The End. )

Charlemagne's Repentance.

Charlemagne, the celebrated Charle-
magne, had sinned. His sin had been
great, his heart was oppressed with it,
and his conscience tormented him night
and day. The Emperor could neither
eat nor sleep; for the thought of his
terrible sin rendered him too unhappy.
He regretted deeply his having com-
mitted it, he swore he would never
commit it again, and finally he went
to his confessor to obtain its pardon
and absolution.

The priest told him to kneel down
and confess himself humbly. Charle-
magne obeyed. He accused himself of
a multitude of minor offences, and at
last there remained only the great sin
to reveal. But the Emperor was so
penitent and began to weep so bitterly

862

THE AVE MARIA

that he could not speak. Every time
he tried to avow his guilt his tears
choked his voice.

The good priest, seeing that his
repentance was sincere, and wishing to
absolve him, finally told Charlemagne
that, since he could not speak of what
he had done, he might write it down.

"Oh, I'd willingly do so, Father,
but, alas! I can not write."

"What one doesn't know one can
learn," replied the priest, and he at
once began giving the Emperor lessons
in writing; because, like most men of
his time, Charlemagne could wield the
sword much better than the pen.

The Emperor applied himself so dili-
gently, however, that he soon acquired
the art; and, as he had never been
able to confess his sin by spoken words,
the priest renewed his advice that he
should write it. Charlemagne took the
waxen tablets, went into a comer,
and painfully traced the letters forming
the necessary words. While engaged in
writing, he wept profusely; and when
he had finished, he added a little prayer
asking God to pardon and to blot out
his grievous sin.

When it was all done, Charlemagne
carried the tablets to his confessor, and,
kneeling before the latter, gave them to
him, asking for a severe penance.

The confessor looked at the tablets
and saw with astonishment that there
was not a single word to be seen on
them. Yet he himself had watched the
Emperor drawing the letters upon
them, and he could not understand how
the tablets could be so clean, though
they were wet with tears.

Whilst he was still examining the
tablets, he saw some characters appear-
ing on them, and soon read : "God has
pardoned Charlemagne."

The jionfessor showed the message
to Ime^^^TTiserV ; and Charlemagne,
rejcfe^u to see\tiat his sin was forgiven,
retitril^<!!Wlftft5ti*s I to God, and sinned
no

^Vind - Rhymes.

An old rhyme says:

If New Year's Eve night wind blow from south,

It betokeneth warmth and drouth;

If west, much milk and fish in sea ;

If north, much cold and storm there'll be ;

If east, the trees will bear much fruit ;

If north, flee from it man or brute.

The Scotch people dislike the south
wind, perhaps because it is English;
and they say :

The rain comes scuth

When the wind's in the south.

The Britisher quotes this rhyme:
Wind in the west, weather at its best;
Wind in the east, neither good for man nor beast.

Another English saying, come down
to us from Anglo-Saxon times, is:
The west wind always brings wet weather;
The east wind, cold and wet together;
The south wind surely brings us rain, '
The north wind blows it back again.

A Fable.

A certain boy, as Epictetus tells the
fable, put his hand into a pitcher where
a quantity of figs and filberts were
deposited. He grasped as many as
possible; but when he endeavored to
pull out his hand, the narrowness of
the neck prevented him. Unwilling to
lose any of the good things, but unable
to draw back his hand, he burst into
tears, and bitterly bemoaned his hard
fortune. An honest fellow who stood
by then gave him this wise advice:
"Grasp only half the quantity, my boy,
and you will easily succeed."

Christmas Island, in the Pacific
Ocean, was discovered by Captain Cook
on December 24, 1777, and so called
in honor of the season.

In Tennessee there is a village called
Christmasville, and it lies in Carroll
County.

THE AVE MARIA.
With Authors and Publishers.

863

— "Babyhood Tales" is about the most appro-
priate rendering for Recks Enfantins, an illus-
trated little volume published by Descl&, De
Brouwer & Co. And French babies will like it.

— It is rumored that a new Catholic daily will
make its appearance in Rome early in the coming
year./ The lack of such an auxiliary is generally
deplored, as of late the anti-religious press has
become more and more violent and unscrupulous.

— As a sign of the growing position of the
United States in the world, the London Tablet
notes that President Roosevelt's message to Con-
gress was given almost in extenso in the Times.
But it is a good many years now since our own

. daily papers began to publish Papal encyclicals.

— "The Mystic Rose; or, Pilate's Daughter," is
a Scriptural drama for female characters, written
by the Rev. P. L. Kinzel, C. SS. R., and published
by the Redemptorist Fathers, Boston, Mass. This
interestiC^ play 's full of movement and color,
embodies a good story, teaches a striking lesson,
and gives scope for strong character -portrayal.

— In eight chapters, comprising one hundred and
twenty -five pages, M. Roger de Cond€ tells the
life-story of "Le Bienheureux J. B. M. Vianney."
This biography of the Blessed Cur^ of Ars,
published by Descl&, De Brouwer & Co., deals
rather summarily with the broad lines of its sub-
ject's career; and, apart from a number of interest-
ing illustrations, contains nothing unfamiliar to
admirers of the saintly pastor. The volume is in
the form of a brochure and is well printed.

— " Witching Winifred " would be an appropriate
title for the pretty story, with its charm of Irish
setting and Irish character, first published in The
Ave Maria under the title of "Wayward Wini-
fred" and now issued in book form by Benziger
Brothers. The action begins in the Glen of Dargle
and closes there, too, but there is a journey to New
York in the meantime ; and the life of the heroine
of the story is woven about with mystery and
moonlight and fairies and good friends. Old Neall
and Father Owen, Granny Meehan and Roderick,
— all are real people, while Winifred is a delight ;
wayward, it is true, but winsome and whole-
hearted, and altogether lovable.

— A very large circle of American and English
readers will sincerely regret to learn that no more
books may be looked for from the author of
"The Cardinal's Snuff-Box," "The Lady Para-
mount," and " My Friend Prospero." Henry
Harland (the Sydney Luska of twenty years ago)
is dead at San Remo, Italy. Mr. Harland was
born in St. Petersburg, forty-four years ago. He

was educated in New York and at Harvard, and
removed, later, to London. As a novelist he will
be longest remembered as the author of the three
volumes mentioned above, all written, we believe,
after his conversion to Catholicity. R. I. P.

— \ charming gift -book for Catholic children,
which should have been published in time to reach
this country for Christmas, is "The Child to
whom Nobody was Kind," one of the exquisite
stories of the angels written nearly half a century
ago by Father Faber. The book is illustrated
by Mr. L. D. Symington, and the publishers
have added an excellent portrait of the beloved
Oratorian.

— The following lines of an old and forgotten
English song are proof of such genuine book love
as to make one regret that the authorship of them
is unknown:

Oh for a booke and a shadie nooke,

Eythcr in-a-doore or out; *

With the greenc leaves whisperings overhede,

Or the streete cryes all about, —
Where I male reade all at my ease,

Doth of the newe and olde :
For a joUic goode booke whereon to looke
Is better to me than golde.

— Walker's "Essentials in English History,"
prepared for High School work, is published by the
American Book Co. In the publisher's review of
this book there are some statements to which we
give assent, as, for instance, when it enumerates
the technical good qualities of the work ; but we
must take issue when it is claimed that the
history meets thoroughly the most exacting col-
lege entrance requirements. ( Perhaps, we should
find fault with the college requirements as well as
with the book.) The account of the quarrel of
Thomas k Becket with the King, the story of the
Gunpowder Plot, the light in which Pope Clement
is placed with regard to Henry's marriage, and
many other points, arc not stated as they should
be. Then, too, in the list of references, there are
omissions hardly excusable nowadays, when
fairness and thoroughness are expected of all who
prepare text-books. • *

— Among articles of exceptional value and
interest to appear in The Ave Maria next year
we may mention Wolscy and the Divorce, Edward
VI. and the Catholic Liturgy, The Elizabethan
Settlement of Religion, and Anglican Ordinations,
by Dom Gasquet; Individualism vs. the Church,
The Bible and Modern Difficulties, Present Day
Questions, etc., by the Rev. H. G. Hughes, author
of " The Essentials and Nonessentials of the
Catholic Religion." Space forbids mention of
other important contributions by distinguished
authors like the Rev. Ethelred L. Taunton, the

864

THE AYE MARIA.

Rev. Father Edmund Hill, C. P., the Rev. H. G.
Gauss, the Very Rev. R. O'Kennedy, Dr. James
Walsh, and Ben Hurst, who have declared that,
on account of the peculiar and far-reaching
influence of The Ave Marla., they would rather
write for it than for any other Catholic periodical.

— The Ave M.\ria for 1906 will abound as
usual in good fiction. "V^ra's Charge" is the
title of a delightful serial by Christian Reid, the
initial chapter of vi'liich will appear with the New
Year. It is more on religious lines than anything
this popular author has written for some time,
and deals with the different standards of modern
society and Catholicity, and the difficulty, or
rather impossibility, of reconciling them. Long
experience has taught Catholic readers that
Christian Reid is always at her best when writing
for The Ave Maria. Mary T. Waggaman, the
author of "The Transplanting of Tessie," "The
Ups and Downs of Marjorie," etc., stories that
have endeared her to young folk everywhere, has
contributed another charming tale, which will
head the list of juvenile serials for 1906. "Cap-
tain Ted" has equal interest for boys and girls,
and will be notable for variety, liveliness and the
spirit of youth. Of short stories for young and
old readers there will be a bountiful supply by the
best Catholic writers.

The Latest Books.
A Guide to Good Reading.

The object of this list is to afford information
concerning important new publications of special
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will
appear at the bead, older ones being dropped out
from time to time to make room for new titles.
As a rule, devotional be .' ks, pamphlets and new
editions will not be ina:xdd.

Orders may he sent to < ur Office or to the pub-
lishers. Foreign books r • on sale in the United
States will be imported t::tb as little delay as
possible. There is no bookseller in this country
who keeps a fall supply of works issued abi cad.
Publishers' prices generally include postage.

"Wayward Winifred." Anna T. Sadlier. 85 cts.
"The Method of the Catholic Sunday -School."

Rev. P. A. Halpin. 40 cts.
"Psychology of Ants and of Higher Animals."

Rev. Eric Wasmann, S. J. $1, net.
"II Libro d Oro of those whose Names are Written

in the Lamb's Book of Life." Translations

by Mrs. Francis Alexander. $2, net.
"Oxford Conferences on Faith." Father Vincent

McNabb, O. P. 90 cts.
"In the Land of the Strenuous Life." The Abb^

Felix Klein. $2, net.

"St. Catherine de Ricci. Her Life, Her Letters,
Her Community." F. M. Capes. $2, net.

" Heart's Desire." Emerson Hough. $160.

" .Mary the Queen " A Religious of the Society of

the Holy Child Jesus. 50 cts.
"The Four Winds of Eirinn." Ethna Carbery.

75 cts , net.
"Handbook of Homeric Study." Henry Browne,

S.J. $2, net.
"The Dollar Hunt." 45 cts.
"Meditations on the Passion of Our Lord." 50

V

cts.
"Prayer." Father Faber. 30 cts., net.
"Lives of the English Martyrs." (Martyrs under

Queen Elizabeth.) $2.75.
"Joan of Arc." Hon. Mrs. Maxwell-Scott. 75 cts.
" The Life of St. Patrick, and His Place in

History." J. B. Bury, M A. $3.25, net.
"The Suffering Man -God." P6re Seraphin. 75

cts., net.
" Yolanda, Maid of Burgundy." Charles Maior,

$1.50. _^^^^___

Obituary.

Memember tbetn tbat are in baada. — HaB., xiil.

Rev. A. De Campos, of the archdiocese of San
Francisco ; Rev. P. C. Wiechman, diocese of Fort
Wayne ; Rev. Peter Bcrkery, diocese of Buffalo ;
Rev. John Connelly, diocese of Pittsburg; Rev.
Joseph Zimmer, diocese of Brooklyn; Don Francis
Turner, O. S. B. ; and Rev. A. S. Fonteneau, S.S.

Sister M. Peter, of the Sisters of the Holy Cross.

Mr. J. F. Certia and Mr. John Hilliard, of South
Bend,IInd. ; Mrs. Bridget Sullivan, Chicago, 111. ;
Major W. Fletcher Gordon, Wimbledon, England;
Mr. Michael Culeton, Oswego, N. Y. ; Mr. Philip
Kirsche, Pittsburg, Pa. ; Mr. Edward McBride,
Conshohocken, Pa.; Mr. John G. Riddell, Oldcott,
England ; Mr. Patrick Walsh, Bridgeport, Conn. ;
Mr. C. Becktold, Allegheny, Pa. ; Miss Josephine
Herpin, Mobile, Ala.; Mr. E. V. Caulfield, Hart-
ford, Conn.; Miss F. Galvin, Santa Clara, Cal.;
Mrs. Margaret Lillis, Baltimore, Md. ; Mrs. Ann
Foster and Mr. Andrew Loughlin, Scranton,
Pa.; Master W. A. Naud, Manistee, Mich. ; Mrs.
M. Lynch, Mrs. K.Terry, and Miss M. E Kearney,
San Francisco, Cal. ; Mr, Thomas Brothers,
Toledo, Ohio; Mr. J.J.Gannon, Jr., Escanaba,
Mich. ; Mr. Edward Blewitt, Mr. John Horn,
Mr. Thomas O'Rourke, and Mr. Michael McGee,
Piiiladelphia, Pa. ; Mr. William Kirchner, and
Mrs. Catherine Mueller, Cleveland, Ohio; Mr.
John Nolan, Brooklyn, N. Y.; Mr. David Donahoe,
Trenton, N.J.; Mr. Joseph Umbs, Defiance, Ohio ;
Mrs. Sophie Lippert, Canton, Ohio; Mrs. Cath-
erine O'Brien and Mrs. Alice McAvoy, New Britain,
Conn. ; Mr. Jacques .\ubertin, Willimantic, Conn.;
and Dr. James Elliott, Newark, N. J.

Requiescaat in pace !

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